Flourless to Stop Him by Nancy J. Parra Page A

to-do list. I sighed. I did not have time to investigate anything. How was I going to get out of helping Tim when he and Grandma Ruth were so insistent that I do?

CHAPTER 8

    “I can’t believe you’re not investigating.” Tasha and her son, Kip, sat at the small table in the bakery kitchen and watched me make cookies.
    “I promised myself I’d stay out of this one,” I said. “I have to trust Officer Bright.”
    “You know how I feel about Calvin,” Tasha said. “I am very close to thinking he’s the one for me. But according to Tim, the police searched our home with no real compelling reason other than the prosecutor plays golf with the judge. Calvin can’t be everywhere to ensure this is done right.”
    “My teacher says it takes a lot of proof to get the paper to search your property,” Kip said.
    I looked at him with curiosity. “She does? Why were you talking about that?”
    “They’re learning about the constitution in class,” Tasha said.
    “They can’t search your stuff without a lot of suspicion.” Kip played with the little colored packets of sweeteners.
    “The police got an anonymous tip that Tim had brought drugs to the house.” I layered my second batch of triple-layer cookie dough with white chocolate cookie dough and dark chocolate cookie dough with the pistachio dough. Both kinds of triple cookie used three types of dough that were rolled out into a rectangle. They were then stacked one on top of the other and refrigerated for two hours. Once they were cold enough you could slice the dough into layered bars and bake them into the classic triple cookie. I liked to make the Neapolitan with pistachio and cherry and the dark and white chocolate with pistachio for the holidays. They looked really pretty on a cookie tray.
    “That’s ridiculous,” Tasha said.
    “That’s what I said. Then Brad called. It seems Officer Warwick discovered cocaine in the garage.” I rolled out dough, putting my anger into my rolling pin. “I couldn’t believe it. There is no way there were drugs in or near my home. I explained that anyone could have had access to the garage. Tim is being framed.”
    “They found drugs in our garage?” Tasha’s eyes were wide with horror.
    “Cocaine’s real name is benzoylmethylecgonine,” Kip said as he ran a toy car around the edges of the table and down the sweetener packet roads. “It comes from the leaves of the coca plant.”
    “Really?” I raised an eyebrow and gave Tasha a look. Tasha shrugged.
    “Yes,” Kip said without looking up. “It can be used as a stimulant, an appetite suppressant, and a topical anesthetic. It’s illegal to possess, produce, or distribute cocaine for nonmedical purposes in almost every country.”
    Tasha and I stared at Kip in stunned amazement.
    “Where did you learn that?” Tasha asked.
    Kip shrugged, his attention on the toy car. “I read it on a website.”
    “I thought your computer access was restricted,” I said.
    “I was working on a research project for school.”
    “What kind of research project?” I pressed. Seriously, what were they teaching in schools if a fifth grader could tell us what benzoylmethylecgonine was?
    “We’re studying Peru,” Kip said.
    “Huh.” I turned back to my cookies.
    “Surely Officer Warwick could tell it was planted.” Tasha wrapped her hands around a thick white ceramic mug filled with coffee.
    “Brad was there,” I said, embarrassed that my lawyer had witnessed the discovery of drugs in my garage. “He argued that the garage door was broken and anyone could get inside, which is true. But Officer Emry threatened to press charges against me for possession.”
    “Wow.” Tasha shook her head. “How do you avoid that?”
    “I’m not certain I can; I mean, it was found on my property. The only argument we have is that they can’t prove why it was there or who put it there. Still, it builds the case against Tim or even me.”
    “What about me or Kip or Mindy? What about