Oyster-white columns flanked a door etched in gold lettering with the bakery’s very appropriate name for a woman who was proud to have served her country. Two cone-shaped topiaries in white vases sat on either side, with white twinkling lights on them.
We stopped at the entrance and I pointed inside. “Now, listen to me. I know how you feel about a good pastry. Or most sweets in general. But, and I can’t stress this enough, don’t let the luscious aroma of croissants and other delicacies deter you from the mission.”
He saluted me. “Right. Question Landry Tithers about where he was last night and why Patricia Fowler thinks he’s partially responsible for her son’s death. Let no cupcake made from the tears of a saint put asunder.”
I smirked and jabbed my finger in the air. “Exactly. And I’m here to tell you, it won’t be easy to fight off the scent of frosting and freshly baked petit fours, but you must stay on task.”
I might not have known Hobbs for long, but I knew his appetite for sweets could be insatiable. He loved cookies and cake, and he especially loved chocolate, but Twizzlers were his one true love.
He pulled the door open with a grin. “Swear it on my bag of chocolate Twizzlers. After you, Cowpoke.”
Slipping inside, I sighed at the incredible smells and the pink tinted glass cases, filled with rows upon rows of pastel-colored treats.
The enormous chandelier hung over us, positioned at the center of the raised-tray ceiling in white. Smaller recessed lighting dotted the ceiling above cases, making everything sparkle and glow.
There were pink and white ornaments strung everywhere, a small white Christmas tree in the corner and string after string of twinkling lights, floating end to end in the space. Christmas music in French, seeping into the air, completed the whole feel of the store—giving it what Rhonda had explained she hoped would be an “experience.”
“Ooohh,” Hobbs murmured, his eyes wide.
I tugged on the arm of his jacket. “Hey. Stop being bedazzled and stick to the mission.”
“Hal? Girl, is that you?”
I turned to see one of my favorite shop owners on the planet. Not only because she had amazing baked goods, but because she was so kind and friendly. She almost always had a good word about everyone, and if you were having a bad day, Rhonda somehow sensed it and offered a confection of consolation on the house.
She’d come from the back where the kitchen was located, her raven hair under her pastry chef’s hat, her pleasantly round, solid body covered in a double-breasted white jacket with gold and pink buttons.
Rhonda held out her arms to me, her coal-black eyes twinkling, and I went straight into them, letting her hug me hard. “How are you, my friend? You look great and the store looks amazing!”
She dropped a kiss on my cheek. “Well, the store looks amazing because you helped me design it, kiddo.”
Hobbs twirled his finger around. “You did…this?”
She swatted a tea towel in the air. “Yeah, she did. If not for Hal, this would be some tables and a chair and a lot of cake. I showed her what I’d seen in France, and she made it happen with her interior design contacts. And voila!”
I grinned at her, so pleased she was happy with her life and the dream she’d worked so hard to achieve. “It was your vision, my friend. I just drew a picture of what you wanted.”
“Oh, petunias,” she scoffed with a smile. “This happened because of you and I won’t hear any different. Now, what can I do for you today, pretty lady, and who’s this fine-lookin’ fella?”
Hobbs put his hand out to Rhonda. “Hobbs Dainty, ma’am. Pleasure to meet you. I rent the cottage behind Hal’s. I’m new around these parts.”
Her eyes went wide and her smile wider as she pushed her hands into the wide pockets of her jacket. “Do I detect a bit of a Southern accent? Where from?”
He grinned. “Texas.”
She rocked back on her heels. “Uh-huh. A Southern boy. Had a sergeant from Texas. Dallas, I think it was. Fine man to have served with.”
Hobbs grinned wider. “Yes, ma’am. A fine place indeed.”
I decided to get right to the heart of the matter. “Listen, Rhonda, I’m here to ask you a couple of questions about an employee of yours. I’m guessing you heard about Gable Norton’s murder last night?”
She clucked her tongue before she blew out a breath. “I sure did. Cryin’ shame is what that is. I sent over some croissants to that poor child Anna and her mother this morning. At least they’ll have a little something to put in their bellies, but Greer said they looked pretty torn up.” She shook her head then, her eyes two deep pools of sorrow. “I thought he’d really gotten himself together, but now the rumor mill’s talkin’ about drugs and whatnot. Smells fishy.”
Greer was Rhonda’s life partner, and her partner in Dessert Storm, and equally as warm and friendly.
“I talked to Anna and her mother at the hospital last night, and she was definitely in a bad way.”
“Aw, honey! I forgot. Your uncle was mixed up in that mess, wasn’t he? Is he okay?”
“He was. And that’s why I’m here. First and foremost, I’m worried about his safety. Ansel has an officer posted outside his room, but we’re worried the person who killed Gable might come after Uncle Monty.”
Her brow furrowed. “No. No, no. I can’t believe this is happening right in my hometown! First—’scuse my language—that pissant Lance Hilroy ends up dead, and now Gable and your uncle are mixed up in a murder. You just let him come ’round here and I’ll show him what’s what!” she said fiercely, taking a karate stance. “How’s your Uncle Darling? He okay?”
“He’s a wreck, and that’s why I’m here.”
“You want pastries? No, wait! Macarons. Andrew loves pink, strawberry-filled macarons. I’ll get you some to bring to him.”
I grabbed her arm and smiled. “You’re very kind, but like I said, Rhonda, I’m worried about my uncle and the possibility he might know something the killer wants to be sure he doesn’t tell anyone…and I can’t sit by without at least trying to figure out who did this. So I thought I might ask around about something Anna and her mother told me. It’s about Landry Tithers. Does he still work here?”
Immediately, I sensed she became guarded. “He does. He’s outside taking a cigarette break right now. Why?”
Instantly, I was on alert. He smoked? Interesting. “Can we speak with him?”
“You don’t think…” Rhonda shook her tea towel, her expression one of disgust. “You don’t think that boy’s mixed up in this mess, do you? He’s worked real hard to stay sober, and that’s the only reason we hired him. He has to take a drug test every week to stay employed here—no guff allowed about it, neither. I give it to him myself, and he’s clean as of last week.”
“I’m sure that’s true. But I have a couple of questions I’d like to ask anyway. Do you mind?”
“He’s right in the back alley. You go on ahead while I fix up a box of those macarons your uncle likes. And if you find something out I oughta know about, you better tell me, Miss Hal. I won’t have a druggie workin’ here.”