Football is Murder (Bee's Bakehouse Cozy Mysteries Book 4) (Bee's Bakehouse Mysteries) by Kathy Cranston

was closest. She answered and held the phone out to Jessie.
    “He wants to know why you’re not down there.”
    Jessie’s hands were heaped full of cups and saucers. “Tell him I had work to do here.”
    “Charles, I don’t know what’s gotten into her. It’s odd.” She paused and listened. “Okay. Yes. I’ll tell her.”
    Jessie threw her hands up. “Why will nobody accept that I need to put my job first?”
    Bee smiled. “Look, dear. It’s nice to have the help. But this is obviously something you’re passionate about. You think I can’t manage things here? I’ve been handling this place—”
    “Since I was a kid, I know,” Jessie finished. “I just don’t like piling my work on you.”
    “You’re not,” Bee said, pulling off her apron. “That’s the bulk of the rush out of the way. Things will be manageable until at least eleven thirty, and you’ve already got the meat braising on the stove.”
    “I’ll be back before then,” Jessie said, quickly washing her hands and untying her apron.
    She usually forgot and wandered all over Springdale with her apron on, but she knew better than to go to the police department when she was still wearing it. It wasn’t exactly good advertising for the café.
    * * *
    Officer Pete Kendall nodded in greeting as she burst through the double doors of the station. He didn’t even bother to ask her why she was there, he simply pointed to the big gray armored door and buzzed her through as soon as she reached it.
    Breathless from running all the way there, Jessie slipped into the now-familiar observation room that looked onto the interview room. She took a seat and stared at the window, which looked like a mirror to anyone on the other side.
    When she’d first been in the secure area of the station, she had hated every moment of it. By now, she’d been in there so many times that she was used to going through that thick steel door and hearing it lock behind her.
    She leaned closer and stared into the interview room. Chad sat across from the chief with a soberly-dressed older man at his side. Jessie wondered why they were at the Springdale PD and not the investigating department over in Rockfield. She also wondered how long they’d been in there and what she’d missed.
    Chief Daly was shaking his head. “You’re pulled over in the middle of the night with five hundred thousand in cash in the trunk. Am I missing something? Is that normal where you come from?”
    Chad shrugged and started to say something before his attorney cleared his throat and spoke over him.
    “My client is a wealthy man, Chief Daly. They have different… habits to the rest of us.”
    Chief Daly tilted his head to one side. “What, they think they can get away with murder?”
    Chad’s eyes flew open. “No. What’s he saying, Lewis?”
    Lewis looked unperturbed. “You’re putting words in his mouth, Chief. Think about it—if you had millions of dollars, would it seem strange to have a small fraction of that in cash?”
    “At two in the morning?”
    “These men work hard and play hard. What can I say?” the attorney said, shrugging.
    Chief Daly cleared his throat. “How about you start by explaining what your client was doing driving in the middle of the night with half a million dollars in cash in the trunk? Where was he headed?”
    “What’s this about, Chief Daly?” Lewis said, spreading his hands on the table.
    Jessie focused on Chad. It seemed to her like he was in some kind of trance, just staring at the table as if he couldn’t tear his gaze away.
    What is going on with him? she wondered. Why not come up with some kind of excuse to take the heat off? She shook her head. Was he so cold that he didn’t care about any of this; didn’t think they could possibly catch him? She clenched her fists tight, even more determined now to end this thing.
    “As I understand it,” Lewis was saying. “And I understand it pretty well considering I’ve been doing this for almost