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

glancing over her shoulder in case anyone was listening. “What evidence do they have against you?”
    She shrugged. “I don’t know how they got it. I don’t. They say they found it in my house, but I don’t know how it got there. I own one, but it’s kept outside and I haven’t used it in years. I have a maintenance guy who comes and helps whenever I want to make improvements to the kennels. And that letter they found? I had nothing to do with that. Lydia Mackenzie and I weren’t what you’d call friends, but I didn’t hate her. I certainly didn’t kill her.”
    Jessie frowned, nodding. “Letter?” she said slowly.
    Clarice’s eyes welled up again. Jessie swallowed, reminding herself she was trying to help. Not that it felt like that—she had a gnawing pit of dread in her stomach that bubbled with accusation. She was a busy-body, she knew. This was none of her business.
    Suddenly Clarice slammed her shaking hands on the table. “Why would I say those things to her? Why? I didn’t hate her. Sure, we were competitors, but I’ve been in this business a long time. You think I can’t handle a little competition?”
    “What did it say? What were those things?” Jessie’s voice was almost inaudible now, she was so ashamed of herself for probing the other woman when she had no official sanction to do so. But something compelled her to go on.
    Clarice closed her eyes and sucked in her cheeks. “Horrible things. Horrible things that I supposedly wrote to Lydia.”

Chapter 22
    “Happy now?” the chief asked.
    As soon as he had opened the secure door to let her out, she had asked him to step inside and waited as Clarice gave her permission for the tests to be carried out.
    Jessie gnawed the inside of her cheek. “No. I’m not.”
    The chief sighed. “What’s the problem now?”
    Jessie thought about it as she escorted him back into his office. She eased herself down into the guest chair and tapped her fingers on his desk.
    “I…” she stopped and looked around, trying to put into words the feeling that had been bugging her. “I might be wrong. God knows I have no experience of this or business being—”
    “Spit it out,” Chief Daly said, holding up his hand. “You know sometimes it takes someone from the outside to come in and shine a new light on things.”
    She looked up at him. “You’re not mad at me for coming in here and making a scene? For suggesting that your cops made the wrong call?”
    He looked amused. “I’ve been Police Chief of Springdale for a long time. A police officer for twenty years before that. And you know what? I wouldn’t be a good chief if I didn’t sometimes get it wrong. I don’t mind you coming in here and getting involved if it’s for the right reasons.”
    “And you think it is?”
    His eyes twinkled. “You think I didn’t keep an eye on your conversation?”
    “But you ca—”
    “You’re thinking of attorney privilege. You’re not her attorney. There’s no automatic right to privacy in a police station. Anyway, Jessie,” he said, shifting his weight. “It told me you’re a woman of your word. Now, what is it that’s making you unhappy?”
    Jessie sighed. “It’s just… It all fit together so nicely, you know? That boy with the flyers; the one arranging the protests. I was sure it was him. I mean, he’s against any industry involving animals, as Miss Waverly and I have both witnessed. So it’s totally believable that he killed Lydia Mackenzie and tried to frame Clarice. That’s all he had to do to put two dog breeders out of business.”
    The chief shook his head. “Except we’ve checked his alibis. They check out. It’s a nice theory, Jessie, but you’ve got to admit that’s all it is. You saw the kid—he crumbled as soon as I began to speak to him. He’s just a kid.”
    She nodded. “Yeah, I’m sorry for wasting your time. I was just so sure…”
    Chief Daly smiled. “Don’t apologize. You’re tenacious like your aunt. I get