Murder Has a Sweet Tooth - By Miranda Bliss Page 0,70

knew Jim wouldn’t rest until even the slightest hint of scandal was removed from Alex’s name. Sure, we knew now that Alex had been set up, but until the real killer was found, there would always be that doubt, always that whiff of memory that would remind people that Alex had once been involved with a murder investigation. Had he been exonerated? Had he gotten off on a technicality? Most people wouldn’t remember. They’d only remember that he was involved.

Unless we found the killer.

But . . . Beth?

I slumped back on the bar stool, uneasy with what I had to say and knowing I had to say it anyway. “She’s blackmailing Edward. She says Edward’s guilty and she knows it. But—” A new thought occurred to me and, encouraged, I sat up again. “If she was guilty, the blackmail wouldn’t work, would it? She couldn’t blackmail Edward for being the murderer when she was the murderer. But it is working. She convinced Edward to give her husband a promotion. And Edward wouldn’t have done that if he wasn’t the guilty party. If Beth was guilty—”

“Maybe Edward’s thanking her for doing him a favor.”

As quickly as I was encouraged, I was disheartened again. “But she wears jumpers with teddy bears embroidered on them,” I wailed. It wasn’t much of a defense, not the kind Tyler could possibly understand, anyway, but he was kind enough not to point it out. He already had his cell phone in his hands and I watched him punch in a number, then say hello to Derek Harold and ask if they could get together and talk about something that might be important to the case.

Beth, a killer?

No matter how many different ways I looked at the theory, it just didn’t fit. Not in my book, anyway. Nobody who felt as guilty about misplacing Girl Scout cookie money as Beth did could possibly be heartless enough to kill a friend.

Could she?

And could she also have tried to cover her tracks by trying to snow another friend, one who was looking to get to the truth?

It was not a pretty thought, but then, I didn’t like to think that I could be fooled that easily.

Especially since it looked like it had worked.

AS IT TURNED OUT, I NEVER DID WORK ON THE Bellywasher’s accounts that night. By the time Tyler left to go talk to Derek Harold, my brain was spinning. I promised myself that come hell or high water, I would go into the restaurant the next day and not leave again until my desk was cleared, and after offering Alex a ride home one more time (and having Jim put the kibosh on the offer one more time), I headed home.

It was late, but I couldn’t sleep.

I couldn’t even relax.

I suppose it might have been the fault of all the Reuben dip, but I liked to think it was because my brain just wouldn’t settle down. What with thinking that Alex was finally out of jail, and Beth was blackmailing Edward, and Beth might be the killer . . .

Is it any wonder I paced my apartment, too fidgety to keep still?

Finally, near midnight, I’d decided I’d had enough. If I was going to stay up all night, I might as well put the time to good use.

As far as I could see, at that time of the night, and closing in on the date of my wedding, the best use I could find for the long hours of the night was coming to a decision about that Scottish dish I wanted to make as a surprise for Jim.

I’d just gone to my computer to do a search, when I remembered Beth’s magazine. It was on the counter in the kitchen, exactly where I’d left it the day I brought it home, and I hurried in there, fully prepared to find the answers to the culinary mysteries that had been dogging me.

I would have, too.

If when I picked up the magazine and paged through it, something didn’t flutter out and hit the floor.

Even before I bent down to retrieve it, I knew what it was. But then, the envelope had landed faceup and I’d bought enough Girl Scout cookies in my day to recognize the familiar logo.

It looked like Edward Monroe was right, after all. How depressing was that?

Not only had I absconded with Beth’s magazine, I’d stolen her Girl Scout cookie money, too.

Thirteen

“A PHOTO ALBUM WOULD BE A PERFECT FAVOR!” Apparently, Eve thought so, because even