Chapter 1- Whispers of Mystery

Chapter 1

 

Emma Harper, owner of Northern Pines Bakery, smiled as she handed Detective Daniel Lindberg his usual order - a large coffee with two sugars and a sprinkle of cinnamon. The shop wasn't open yet, but since they were dating, Daniel was allowed to come into the bakery early to have his breakfast with Emma before the both started their early-morning work days. She gave him a mischievous smile along with his coffee.

"I came up with something that might satisfy your cinnamon sweet tooth. Try this," she said, placing a snickerdoodle on the saucer. "And let me know if it needs more cinnamon."

Daniel bit into the cookie, the sugar crystals crunching between his teeth. "Mmm, delicious as always, Em," he said after swallowing. "Though I'd say a dash more cinnamon wouldn't hurt." He winked at her.

Emma laughed. "I had a feeling you'd say that, you cinnamon fiend." She pulled out a chair and sat beside him as she took a travel book from her apron pocket and set it on the table. The Eiffel Tower glittered on the cover.

Daniel looked up at her, surprised. "What's this?"

Emma rested her chin on her hands as she gazed at him earnestly.

"I've been thinking more about what I said a few months back," she began, "when we found those old French jewels buried in my basement. I know you said you can't take time off right now with the police department inspection and all, but..."

She trailed off, biting her lip as Daniel's eyes softened, his focus intent on her words.

"Well, I picked up some travel books from Izzy at the library," Emma said. "Just to take a look at. And I'm not going to lie. I really want us to go to France together."

Daniel raised his eyebrows but said nothing, flipping open the book she had placed before him. Sunlight filtering through the bakery windows glinted off the glossy pages as they turned them slowly, taking in the sights.

"The Eiffel Tower, of course," Emma murmured. "And Versailles would be amazing. Ooh, and Provence - think of the lavender fields and little cafés perched on cliffs over the sea!"

Daniel smiled, pointing to a photo of Mont Saint-Michel. "This looks incredible too - an island monastery in Normandy. We could explore the old abbey and winding streets."

Emma nodded eagerly. "Yes, and the Loire Valley châteaus - so romantic! We just have to go, Daniel." She grasped his hand, hope shining in her eyes.

Daniel squeezed her hand gently. "I know, Em. As soon as this inspection is done, I promise I'll put in for time off. We're scheduling a long way out. Since Jensen left, we're short staffed. Maybe next summer."

Emma sighed and nodded. As much as she dreamed of going to France, unless she wanted to go without him, it would have to wait.

"I'm sorry, Em," Daniel said, squeezing her hand. "I know how much you want this trip. But I just can't get away right now."

"It's okay," Emma said, forcing a smile. "I understand." 

She stood up to clear their coffee cups, brushing a stray lock of hair from her eyes.

Daniel watched her, his brow furrowed. "Hey," he said gently, catching her hand. "We'll go someday, I promise."

Emma nodded, her green eyes meeting his blue ones. "I know. And I'm not upset, really. It's just...that word. Someday."

Daniel smiled and pulled her in for a quick kiss.

The bell over the bakery door jingled as Jake flipped the sign to "Open." Bridget pulled a fresh batch of cinnamon rolls from the oven and the sweet aroma wafted through the bakery. 

Emma gazed out the bakery's front window at the town coming to life. Sunlight glinted off the nearby shop windows and two children zipped by on scooters. "What's on your schedule today?"

"Mostly paperwork, I'm afraid," Daniel sighed into his coffee. "The thrilling world of detectives - I'll be battling the evil forces of administrative bureaucracy all day. This inspection will be the death of me."

Emma grinned and patted his hand. "Even heroes have paperwork. Try not to fall asleep at your desk. I'm making a wedding cake for a couple coming to be married at the Lodge tomorrow. Has the inspection officially started?"

"Oh yes,." As Daniel launched into a dramatic retelling of his last conversation with the inspector, Emma's gaze wandered out the front window. She watched as Mrs. Finch, an elderly artist and long-time Whispering Pines resident, stepped out of her new pearly white BMW onto the sidewalk. Her silver hair was swept up in a lose bun and a colorful silk scarf was tied around her neck. Emma smiled to herself, amazed at how the older woman's sense of style wasn't confined to her dramatic oil paintings, but showed in everything she did.

Mrs. Finch walked purposefully toward the bakery, but stopped when a younger woman, Abigail Taylor, hurried up the street pushing a stroller. Abigail's toddler son waved a bright red pinwheel from inside the stroller.  Abigail's body language was tense as she called out to the older woman. Mrs. Finch stopped and said something to Abigail, then kept trying to walk away. But Abigail moved the stroller to block her path. She was speaking dramatically, waving her hands as if she was really upset. After a moment, Mrs. Finch brushed Abigail aside and hurried into to the bakery.

Emma realized she had stopped listening to Daniel, her focus entirely on the scene outside. As soon as Mrs. Finch came in the door, Emma could see that she was upset. She stood, apologized to Daniel for walking away mid conversations, and asked, "Are you alright, Mrs. Finch?"

The older woman nodded, though her face was pale. "Yes, yes, I'm fine." She moved shakily to a table in the corner.

Emma shot a concerned glance at Daniel before grabbing a cup of chamomile tea. She brought it over to Mrs. Finch's table.

Emma set the tea down in front of Mrs. Finch, who grasped it with a small smile of thanks.

"Are you sure you're alright?" Emma asked as she pulled out the chair across from the older woman. "That seemed like quite an intense conversation with Abigail."

Mrs. Finch waved a hand dismissively, though her face was still pale. "It's nothing to worry about. I don't handle disagreements as well as I used to. But it's nothing. Just a matter about my shop on Main Street. Abigail wanted to buy it. But I've decided not to sell." She took a long sip of the chamomile tea and sighed.

Emma studied her face, noticing the tension still evident in the corners of her eyes. But then Mrs. Finch seemed to make an effort to relax, sitting up straighter and forcing a smile.

"Actually, I have some wonderful news," the older woman said brightly. "One of my paintings sold recently - that large oil I did of the waterfall up near Ely. It fetched quite a high price at auction in New York last week."

"That's fantastic!" Emma said. She had always loved that particular painting whenever she saw it hanging in Mrs. Finch's studio. The way the water seemed to roar off the canvas had amazed her.

"So is that where your new car came from?" Emma gestured out the window to where the pearly white BMW was parked at the curb. "I was wondering if Mr. Thompson was spoiling you!" Emma said with a wink.

But Mrs. Finch shook her head. "No, I bought this beauty with my own money from the sale proceeds. A girl has to treat herself every now and then, right?" She laughed lightly.

Emma grinned back. "Your waterfall painting certainly deserves a special treat - it's incredible. Your work is getting the attention it deserves." 

Mrs. Finch blushed at the praise. "You're too kind, Emma. But it does feel good to finally be appreciated after all these years of painting. I'm actually meeting with an art dealer tomorrow to discuss selling another piece. I'm heading into the city this evening."

"You're going to be famous at this rate!" Emma said. She was amazed to be sitting with someone whose paintings were selling for small fortunes in New York galleries.

Mrs. Finch waved her hand again. "I don't know about that. But it is nice to know my work is valued. Now, I suppose I should be off, I have quite a few errands to run before meeting that art dealer this evening. I just came to pick up a scone for breakfast."

She stood, smoothing out her silk scarf. Emma put an orange cranberry scone into a bag, still thinking of Parisn, and walked with her to the door.

A minivan of tourists pulled to a stop in front of the bakery. Emma paused as she watched them, realizing with a start that she couldn't leave Whispering Pines right now any more than Daniel could. Her business was finally taking off. She couldn't just leave. Ever since the newspaper article in St. Paul had come out detailing her role in solving the jewels and murder mystery, curious tourists had been flocking to the bakery. Emma could hardly keep the display case stocked some days. And she certainly couldn't just run off to Europe and desert her business that was finally booming.

She watched as the minivan disgorged a large family. Two young kids were already smashing their noses against the front window display case, while the parents took a selfie in front of the shop and then tried to herd the kids inside.

Emma straightened her apron and put on her best customer service smile. "Welcome to Northern Pines Bakery!" she called out. The parents looked relieved to finally step inside the cozy space, the sweet aroma enveloping them, as Mrs. Finch gathered her purse.

Emma let Jake take over ringing up the large order of muffins, scones and milk for the kids while she carefully arranged pastries, making sure her infamous chocolate raspberry cupcakes were front and center.

As she ducked into the kitchen to pull out more trays of freshly baked goods, she sighed. If she up and left for a vacation now, even a short one, she'd lose all this momentum and traffic. The story was still fresh in people's minds, and it seemed everyone wanted to see the bakery where Emma had dug up buried treasure.

A getaway to France would be incredible. But her responsibility was here, to the bakery she'd poured so much sweat and love into. The timing just wasn't right.

Emma scooped up a tray of snickerdoodles hot from the oven and returned to the front, determined to make the most of this busy season at Northern Pines Bakery.

"Thanks for the tea, dear. You're a gem." Mrs. Finch said, squeezing Emma's hand. But before she could leave, the bell over the door jingled and Betty Wilson walked in.

"Bridget! Good morning! How are your tulips?" Mrs. Wilson said. "I called ahead to pick up an order of cookies."

"The tulips are blooming! And I've got your order right here," Bridget said as she lifted out the bakery box tied with the signature pink ribbon. As she was ringing it up, Mrs. Wilson glanced around the bakery at the noisy children and frazzled-looking parents. When she saw Mrs. Finch, her eyes flew wide open.

Without a word, Betty spun on her heel and made a beeline for the door, nearly knocking over a display of croissants in her haste.

"Not so fast, Betty," Mrs. Finch called out sharply. "I want to have a word with you."

Betty froze with her hand on the door. Slowly, she turned to face Mrs. Finch, her lips pressed in a tight line.

"I don't have anything to say to you, Eleanor," Betty said stiffly.

Mrs. Finch stepped towards her, eyes flashing. "Oh, I think you do. Specifically about the Japanese peony you dug up from my garden the other night."

Betty's mouth dropped open. "How dare you accuse me of something so vulgar!" she sputtered. "I would never stoop so low."

"Save it, Betty," Mrs. Finch snapped. "I saw you walking your horrid pug, Beverly, letting her poop on my grass, and then sneaking around my flower bed the other night. And now one of my prized purple peonies is missing. The one I imported specially from Japan. We both know you've always been jealous of my gardening skills."

"That's preposterous!" Betty shouted, her face growing red. "You have no proof. You're just trying to make me look bad in front of the Gardening Society. In front of the whole town!"

Bridget had paused at the cash register, and Jake had come out from the kitchen to see what the commotion was about. Even the rowdy children had gone quiet, watching the two old women argue. Emma stood to the side, watching the argument unfold with wide eyes.

"You have no shame, Betty," Mrs. Finch continued, jabbing her finger towards the other woman. "Sneaking onto my property to steal my flowers?"

"I don't have to stand here and listen to these outrageous accusations!" Betty yelled. She grabbed the door handle again. "You've clearly lost your mind if you think I would ever set foot on your pretentious property."

With that, Betty yanked open the door and stormed out of the bakery. The little bell over the door jangled violently as she exited.

Mrs. Finch stood shaking her head, one hand pressed to her chest. Emma reached to take her arm.

"That old lady was grouchy!" the little girl said. Chocolate frosting from her cupcake was all around her mouth.

"Come sit down, Lily," her father said. "I have your milk right here."

"Mrs. Finch, please sit down," Emma said gently, guiding the older woman back to the table. "Would you like another tea?"

Mrs. Finch sank back into her chair. "That woman! I'm sorry you had to witness that, dear," she said weakly. "I just can't believe Betty would stoop so low over a silly plant. She asked where I got it, and when I said I'd ordered it from Japan, she looked like she wanted to kill me!"

Emma patted her hand. "Don't you worry about it. It's just Betty being Betty. You've had quite the morning. Bridget got your scones for you. Can I send you with a snickerdoodle to brighten your day? It seems like you could use it."

"Oh no," Mrs. Finch said, smoothing her silk scarf and standing again. Then she paused. "Actually, now that you mention it, I'm meeting Henry for dinner before I head out this evening. He loves cookies. Could I get a couple of those snickerdoodles to take with me?"

"I want a snickerdoodle too!" the little girl said.

The bell over the door jingled again as Mr. Blackwell held the door open for Mrs. Olson. "After you," he said.

"Thank you!" Mrs. Olson said. "Bankers are such gentlemen," she said to Emma as she entered. "Don't you think?"

Mrs. Finch sniffed. "If you say so, Doris." She shot Mr. Blackwell a look as he gave the older woman a look Emma could not interpret. It seemed Mrs. Finch, who was usually so cheerful, was unhappy with everyone today.

While Emma filled Mrs. Finch's order for cookies, the doorbell jingled again and a dozen more customers came in exclaiming over the delicious smells.

No, Emma thought with a sigh as she looked around her busy bakery. I can't leave or France right now. She tucked the travel guide further down into her pocket and handed Mrs. Finch her snickerdoodles.