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

I guided Hannah to the guest bedroom and helped her lie down for a nap. She would sleep for a few hours, and with any luck, she would be back to her normal self by the time Michael came to pick her up.

The moments when Hannah zoned out and didn’t remember names or faces were becoming more frequent and lasting longer. Michael and I had discussed her condition. He was concerned, but since there was no cure, he kept her as comfortable as possible.

When I returned, April was sharing her whereabouts the night her husband was murdered.

“It was chaos. Word about Chloe’s appearance had spread like wildfire, and people were swarming downtown. Cars were backed up from Main Street all the way to Interstate 94. In both directions. And Red Arrow Highway was a parking lot. People literally abandoned their vehicles and ran downtown.” She shook her head. “It was a nightmare. If I had shut down the concert, the crowds would have been furious and caused a riot. You’ll never convince me Clayton didn’t know exactly what he was doing. And springing that on us at the last minute was irresponsible. If he had told us . . . anyway, I was furious. I could have strangled him.” She pounded the table with her fist, rattling the dishes and sloshing coffee.

I grabbed a towel and wiped up the mess.

“I’m sorry,” April said.

“How did you get it under control?”

“I called the state police and asked for backup, which is one reason Trooper Bob was on the scene so quickly.” She paused. “Then, I told them that the city ordinance required that the music stop at ten. People were upset, but Chloe helped a lot. She said she had a concert the next day in Spain and had a flight to catch, but she would perform a few more songs before heading out. And that’s what she did. She performed until ten and then waved goodbye, hopped on her tour bus, and left.”

Something tugged at the back of my mind. “Are you sure she left?”

April frowned. “She said she was leaving, but I didn’t follow her to the airport. Why?”

I told April about my late-night walk downtown near the Carson Law Inn and how I saw the limo parked in the parking lot. “At the time, I assumed that it belonged to Clayton Davenport, but what if it didn’t? What if it belonged to Chloe? I mean, Davenport was in town for at least two whole days, and we never saw a limousine until Chloe arrived.”

April stifled a yawn. “I can check at the inn. They’ll have a record of the license plate. Which is interesting because later that night, we were called to the inn because of a break-in.”

“Really? What was taken?”

“I had my hands full with getting traffic moving. I sent a patrol car. One of the guest rooms was broken into. Someone trashed the room, probably looking for something small they could hock. The hotel didn’t want any publicity and refused to file a police report. So, he left and came back to help with traffic control.”

“If they weren’t going to file a report, why’d they bother calling the police?” Leroy asked.

“Good question,” I said.

“One of the housekeepers was picking up trays from the hallway and noticed the door was open,” April said. “She looked in and saw the room was trashed and told the night manager. They called the police and then called the general manager. That’s who told me neither the guest nor the inn wanted to file a report with the police.”

“Interesting. Do you know whose room it was?”

She shook her head. “The inn refused to disclose that information but assured me that they had spoken to the guest and were acting under their direction.”

“Don’t they have to give that information to you? You’re the sheriff.”

April yawned. “Not without a court order they don’t.”

“I might be able to help,” Leroy said. “My mom is a housekeeper at the Carson Law Inn. I could ask her. She should be able to find out whose room was broken into.”

Leroy rarely talked about his family. I knew his mom lived in New Bison, but I didn’t know she worked at the inn. Whenever I asked about her, like April’s relationship with Clayton Davenport, he merely said It’s complicated. My mom died when I was a baby, but having been raised by the Admiral, I understood complicated.

I glanced at my watch. “I have to meet Mayor Abernathy to ask about Daisy’s owner and to pick his brain on ideas of why Baby is moping around. How about we meet for lunch at the Carson Law Inn?”

April nodded.

Tyler was texting. He finished his message and put down his phone. “Sorry, I can’t meet for lunch. I’m meeting Candy. I’ll let you know what I find out.”

We agreed and spent the rest of the meeting talking about the bakery and the Spring Festival. Leroy was going to bake and make sure we were well stocked for opening up tomorrow.

Tyler left to open his store before his lunchtime meeting with Candy.

April yawned again.

“You’ve been up all night, and you’re exhausted,” I said. “Go downstairs and get some sleep.” She revved up to object, but I cut her off. “You’re not going to be any good to us if you fall over from exhaustion. Plus, your little gray cells need to be well rested if you’re going to help figure out whodunit.”

She smiled at my reference to Hercule Poirot, one of my favorite fictional detectives, but the smile didn’t make it up to her eyes. “All right, I’ll try, but I don’t intend to sit back and do nothing while you’re all out following clues and tracking down a killer. I need to work . . . investigate. I’ve got too much at stake.”