Baking is Murder (A Bee's Bakehouse Cozy Mystery) (Bee's Bakehouse Mysteries Book 1) by Kathy Cranston Page A

her?”
    “Jessie—”
    “Why would she refuse? Did you speak to her doctor?”
    He shook his head.
    Jessie buried her head in her hands. “Her attorney?”
    The chief sighed. “She’s hired some guy from Dukefield. Couldn’t defend a mouse from a kitten.”
    “Well then. How do we know she even knows that admitting to her illness might be the thing that clears her?”
    He shrugged. “You’re putting me in an awkward position, Jessie. I can’t very well sit down with all my suspects and give them step-by-step guidance on how to walk free.”
    “But if her attorney isn’t helping her…”
    “There’s not a lot I can do. I care about her as much as you do, Jessie, but my job is to uphold the law.”
    That was it—there was no other option. “I need to see her,” Jessie said, jumping to her feet.
    Chief Daly shook his head. “Now why do you want to do that? I can’t have you going in there and blowing my investigation.”
    “No, chief, I’m not trying to ruin your investigation. But what’s the harm in trying to convince her to take those tests, huh?”
    His eyes narrowed.
    “Please. I just…” Jessie shook her head. She didn’t fully understand the reason for her involvement either. “She seems like a nice lady. I just want to help.”
    “Fine,” he said with an exaggerated sigh. “Fine. Just don’t go telling her she’ll get out if she takes those tests, you hear? Don’t make promises you can’t keep.”
    “Oh thank you chief, thank you! I won’t take long.”
    ***
    If Clarice had been glum before, she was positively miserable now.
    “I don’t know how much longer I can stay here.”
    Jessie forced a smile, trying not to get discouraged by the gray surroundings and Clarice’s hollow cheeks. “Clarice,” she said, sitting down in the visitor’s chair. “Why won’t you tell them what you told me? About your illness?”
    The older woman’s face pinched. “It’s none of their business.”
    “But what’s the harm? They can get you the treatment you need.”
    “I don’t need treatment. I do my exercises and follow a strict diet. That’s worked for a lot of people.”
    Jessie sighed. She could see the resolve in the other woman’s eyes. She didn’t want to break her promise to Chief Daly, but she didn’t see how she was going to get through this. “Please,” she said. “The jury might be more sympathetic if they know you’re sick.”
    Clarice’s face fell. “I don’t want anyone’s sympathy. I just want to go home.”
    Jessie took a deep breath and stared in dismay at Clarice’s shaking hands. If only she knew how important that test was. She shook her head. What she’d give to be more persuasive.
    “Look, Clarice,” she said slowly, leaning across the table and channeling the voice her mom had used when she’d wanted her to tidy up or do her homework. She hated doing this, but she had no other choice. She just hoped Clarice would understand that her intentions were good. “You can’t just think of yourself. I’ve been taking care of your gorgeous pugs. What’s going to happen to them if you’re in prison for fifteen years? I know you’re a private person, but please just consider it. The jury will be more sympathetic if they know you’re unwell. And that means you’ll get to see your animals sooner.”
    Clarice’s eyes welled up at the mention of her beloved dogs, and Jessie wanted the ground to open up and swallow her. She knew by now that Clarice’s animals were far more than just her livelihood—they were her family. The woman had pictures of them on her walls.
    “You’ll think about it?” Jessie said softly.
    Clarice nodded, her face contorting and growing wet with tears.
    Hating herself, Jessie pushed herself up and began to move to the door. She stopped dead and spun around. The chief had barred her from discussing the details of the case, but he hadn’t told her not to ask questions.
    “Clarice,” she said, moving back to the table and