Revenge Is Sweet Read online

  “Do you need to be best buddies with your hired help? It might be better this way.”

  Tally gave that a moment’s thought. They walked on, and light from the shops that were still open spilled onto the sidewalk in huge, misshapen rhomboid patches.

  “What’s the other thing?” Yolanda asked. “You said you had two questions.”

  “I need you to see what you think about my bookkeeping. Not tonight, but maybe tomorrow? It looks like I’m off somewhere.”

  Yolanda gave her a sideways look. “Off? Which way?” Headlight beams from a car that was turning at the next corner caught the gleam of her dangling earrings.

  “The wrong way.”

  “So maybe Andrea is stealing your money.”

  Yolanda might be saying that, thought Tally, because she doesn’t like Andrea. But still… “I started thinking that as I was telling you all this. Look, Gene borrowed money from you, money that he hasn’t paid back, right?”

  “I doubt he ever will, or ever intended to,” Yolanda said. “I was such an easy mark.” She turned her face to the stars. “I thought we had a thing going. Ha. Am I ever dumb.”

  “You are not dumb.” Tally caught her hand and squeezed it. “He’s a sleazebag. But what if he’s doing the same thing to Andrea? He’s persuasive, wouldn’t you say?”

  “Oh yes. He is. So, you think he’s having her dip into your till?”

  “She could be. Maybe. Or maybe not that. Not directly. But maybe he’s borrowing from her and she’s running out of cash and…there’s all that money that she handles every day.”

  “Or Gene might be swiping it all by himself. Is he ever alone in your place?”

  “Not exactly alone, but I’ll bet he could probably manage to do it.”

  * * * **

  After Tally and she parted ways, Yolanda couldn’t stay still. She’d gone inside and dropped off her purse. She locked up and went outside again. She starting walking in the dark, pondering, trying to decide whether or not she really would go to Mayor Faust about his adoptive son. If she told him, would he reimburse her the money she was out? She could ill afford to lose it permanently, and it was beginning to seem that she might never get it back from Gene.

  She tried to picture talking to Mayor Faust. He was an imposing figure. He looked a bit like the Monopoly mayor, heavyset, potbellied, and bald. But he was also tall and eagle-eyed, and without the white mustache and top hat. What would he do if she went to him and said his son had bilked her out of money and possibly was hitting on other women? He had no deep love for Gene anyway. Would he disinherit him completely? Tell her to bring charges against him?

  He was running for reelection, so that might have a bearing. Maybe he’d want to hush up his son’s misdeeds, fearing scandal and taint—things that would hurt his chances of retaining his office. If he wanted it swept underneath the rug, he might pay her.

  Another thing to consider, though, was the possibility that Gene might be getting money from others. Andrea, for instance. It might be too much to overlook.

  Yolanda walked for about an hour, thinking hard, as night grew deeper and deeper.

  * * * *

  The next morning, Tally was determined to get to the bottom of her shortage. She decided to ask Andrea, point-blank, if she had taken money from the shop. If she phrased it right, it wouldn’t be harsh and accusatory. She hoped. She rehearsed some phrases on her short walk to work. Maybe something like, “Are you having any financial problems, Andrea?” Or maybe, “I wonder if you need any help, Andrea. Am I paying you enough?”

  However, so many customers streamed in that Tally was kept busy helping wait on them and bringing out fresh candies to replenish the emptying shelves. Having to hold her bandaged finger straight was a hindrance boxing up candies as well as making change, but she was getting used to it. She had to run over to Yolanda’s twice and retrieve her chilled goods from the floral cooler. Both times, she returned to her own kitchen and noticed Yolanda’s ribbon and scissors still on her counter, forgotten by both of them. She kept telling herself she would return them on her next trip.

  Gene showed up mid-morning, right after Mart arrived, with some more mysterious-looking parts, and got to work tinkering with the refrigerator. Allen came in soon after he did. They had a short conversation that ended with Allen fuming and Gene giving him a shrug. Tally remembered Allen complaining about getting reimbursed from Gene for purchasing parts with his own money. Was he even getting paid for his work? she wondered.

  With both of them working, Tally hoped she would have a functional appliance soon. She worried about how much this was going to cost, though.

  A few minutes after Allen arrived, a young woman walked in the front door and came up to Tally with a purposeful stride. “Is Gene Schwartz here?” she spat out with a frown. She looked about Andrea’s age, maybe two or three years out of high school. Her soft blond curls fell prettily around her heart-shaped face.

  Tally hesitated for a moment. She had almost forgotten that he used to be Gene Schwartz, before he was adopted by Mayor Faust. “He’s fixing something for me.” She didn’t want this strange, angry woman wandering freely in her store, so she didn’t direct her to the kitchen, where he was. “Can I give him a message?”

  “I need to talk to him. It’s important.” She bobbed her head to emphasize her words. “Tell him Dorella Diggs needs to see him. I’ll wait outside.”

  How odd, thought Tally. Maybe this was another female Gene had borrowed money from. She didn’t have time to leave the floor now, though. The message would have to wait. She wasn’t Gene’s errand girl.

  A little while later, Allen ducked into the room. “I need to leave, but Gene is finishing up. You should be good to go now.”

  Tally called her thanks and heard him go out the noisy back door. It had a bad squeak. Maybe she should have Gene fix that before he left.

  Andrea pulled Tally aside as soon as Allen left. “I don’t feel well. I’m afraid I’ll have to leave.” She certainly was pale and shaky.

  “Do you want to sit for a while?” She wanted to feel her forehead, but she knew Andrea would not like that.

  “No, I have to go.” She grabbed her bag from under the counter and headed for the kitchen, her tennis shoes squeaking on the floor as she pivoted. “I’ll leave out the back.”

  Luckily, the steady stream of customers eventually slacked off somewhat so Tally and Mart survived the next hour. A short downpour helped keep the shop from overflowing with customers.

  A little before six o’clock, Yolanda came in the front door. Today she wore a red and yellow dashiki over lilac leggings. Her earrings were huge brass discs that flashed in the light shed by the Mason jar lights. Several brass hoops adorned her right wrist. “Did you know your back door is locked?”

  Tally shook her head. “Maybe Andrea or Allen pushed the lock accidentally when they left.”

  “I have my helper working, and we’re not very busy,” Yolanda told Tally. “I wonder if I could go over your books while I have a few spare moments.”

  Tally hadn’t mentioned a thing about the shortage to Andrea yet. She hadn’t had a chance before Andrea started looking so ill, and she couldn’t say anything before she left in such a rush. She hadn’t even given Gene the message from Dorella. “Sure, go ahead.” She waved Yolanda toward the kitchen office.

  Yolanda stared at Tally’s bandaged finger for a couple of seconds. “Is it…is your finger okay?”

  “Sure, it’s—” Tally glanced down. The bandage, decidedly pink, needed changing. “I have another one in my pocket. I’ll freshen it. Go on back and I’ll be there in a few minutes.”

  Poor Yolanda. The sight of blood incapacitated her. Tally quickly changed the bandage and kept working while Yolanda went into the kitchen. By some miracle, Tally hoped she could make the numbers jibe and not indicate a shortage.

 
* * * *

  Yolanda started across the kitchen to Tally’s office, but didn’t get far.

  Something she had never seen before stopped her. Took her strength from her. Paralyzed her.

  So much blood.

  She had trouble comprehending what she was seeing. Her legs started to give way.

  The next thing she remembered, she was sitting on the floor next to it. There was one familiar item. She still couldn’t quite grasp what she was seeing.

  Too much blood.

  She shook her head to clear it and took a deep breath. But evil smells entered her nose and her lungs so she blew it back out. She clamped her hands to her head.

  What was she doing here? Oh yes, she was supposed to go over Tally’s financial records and find out what was happening.

  Her head spun, felt like it would float off her neck and bump against the ceiling. She kept a tight grip on it with both hands to keep it in place. Bring it down. Keep it sitting on her neck.

  But there it was, still lying there. She grabbed the familiar object and got off the floor.

  She started for Tally’s office again, then shook her head again.

  She needed to leave. She needed to think. She needed to hide this thing.

  * * * *

  It seemed like only minutes passed before Tally heard the back door squeaking open again. Was Yolanda done already? How could that be? She called to Yolanda, but didn’t get an answer. She called Gene’s name, too, and he didn’t answer either.

  “Excuse me a moment,” she said to the woman, who had her arms full of Whoopie Pies. “I’ll be right back. Mart, could you help this customer?” She had to see who had come in, or gone out. Mart was staying late today, luckily. It sounded like the door was unlocked now. Maybe Yolanda had left, or Gene. Had they left together? She didn’t want Yolanda to forgive him and take him back.

  She took two steps into the kitchen and froze. Gene hadn’t left. He was sprawled on the floor in a large pool of blood. He looked very dead.

  Chapter 4

  Tally tried hard to swallow the bile that rose in her throat, but had to run to the bathroom, where she got sick. She reentered the kitchen and blinked, but the dead body of the handyman was still there. Gene Faust lay dead on her floor. It couldn’t be a natural death, not with all that blood. There wasn’t anything sharp in the vicinity that he could have accidently fallen on.

  When Tally gripped the edge of the countertop and willed herself to look directly at him, she almost needed to run to the bathroom again. There was a gaping hole in his back. Had he been stabbed? She glanced at the counter for Yolanda’s scissors. They weren’t there.

  She needed to call the police.

  Her vision grayed around the edges, and her ears rang. Before she collapsed, she plunked onto the floor and lowered her head to get the circulation flowing up to her brain.

  She needed to call the police.

  But Yolanda’s scissors! Had she killed him? He couldn’t have fallen on them. Could he? Had something else killed him? Surely something had stabbed him. Was he dead when Yolanda had come through here?

  She needed to call the police.

  Tally texted Yolanda: Where are you? She waited, still sitting on the floor, for an answer. None came. She called Yolanda’s number. It rang and rang. Voice mail came on. She punched the call off, getting more and more upset.

  “Where are you, Yolanda?” she whispered. Should she run next door? Squeezing her eyes shut, she pondered what to do.

  “I’m leaving,” Mart called from the front. “The shop is almost empty. ’Bye.”

  Tally managed to call out a good-bye and heard Mart leave through the front.

  She jumped an inch when the phone in her hand trilled. She started to silence it, then noticed her brother’s number. She swiped her finger across the face of the phone and answered his call.

  “Hey, Sis!” Her heart rose a bit at his cheerful, booming voice. “How’s it going?”

  She thought about telling him, but only hesitated a second. “Fine. It’s all…fine here. Where are you?”

  “On my way!”

  “On your…way? Here? How close are you?” No! He couldn’t come here now!

  “Mom didn’t tell you I was coming? I should get there tonight. Maybe about nine or ten.”

  No. Mom did not tell her that. Okay. Nine or ten o’clock. Better than right now.

  “Sis? You there? I’m driving, so I’ll come straight to your place.”

  Her place. Any place but the shop. “Yes, that would be perfect. Come to my place. No, Mom didn’t say anything. I guess she forgot. She’s excited about their new show.”

  Cole let loose with his infectious laugh. “Yeah, she is. Well, I’m coming, and I’m bringing a surprise. Someone for you to meet.”

  It was now about seven thirty. Nine o’clock would come very soon.

  “If I’m not there,” she said, “wait a bit and hold tight. I’ll be home soon. There are some…things to clean up at the shop.”

  “I can help.”

  “No! I mean, it’s nothing. I’ll do it. See you soon.”

  She broke the connection before she had to explain anything else, then she called the police.

  They arrived within minutes. She called Yolanda three more times before they got there and still couldn’t reach her.

  Official people swarmed over her kitchen, setting up lights and taking pictures, cordoning off the whole room so that she was moved to the front of the store to be questioned. Tally felt she could breathe much better when the body was out of sight.

  The police had ushered out the remaining customers and locked the place up tight.

  Gene! Dead! In her shop!

  Those thoughts kept circling above her calm, rational answers to their questions. She couldn’t tell them much. Several people had gone through the kitchen, but they must have been there while he was still alive. She gave them the names of Allen, Andrea, Mart, and Yolanda. Had there been any deliveries that afternoon? She was sure there hadn’t been. She herself hadn’t been in the kitchen for hours.

  She told them that the back door was usually left unlocked, but had been inadvertently locked for a short time. What time was that? She couldn’t tell them, she’d been so busy with customers.

  After about an hour she was released and slowly walked home, her mind repeating the fact that someone had died—no, had been murdered—in her own shop. She’d gone half a block when she halted, remembering she hadn’t mentioned Yolanda’s scissors. A question entered her head—had Yolanda finished that tea basket for the woman’s sixty-fifth birthday today? If so, it wasn’t decorated with either of the two ribbons, the bright yellow with polka dots, or the pale two-tone yellow. Maybe she had used white ribbon. Maybe she had forgotten where she left her supplies. Maybe someone from Gene’s checkered past had come into the kitchen, stabbed him with Yolanda’s scissors, and run out, taking them with him.

  But where was Yolanda?

  Tally turned around and headed over to Bella’s Baskets. It would be closed now, but maybe she was there. Tally peered through the dark front windows, but did not see any sign of Yolanda. When she went around back, the door was locked. One more text to her friend, then she headed home to be there when her brother, Cole, arrived. With a surprise. A friend for her to meet. She sure didn’t feel up to that.

  When Tally had come home for her grandmother’s funeral in the spring of this year, Yolanda had made her realize how much she missed living in the place where she’d grown up. Her small bakery in Austin had been doing well. She wondered How could she justify leaving a booming business to start another one? It would be making a leap into the unknown. Yolanda had dragged her to see the shop next to her own gift basket business. It was an empty sandwich shop with a For Sale sign in the window.

  “See?” Yolanda had said, pointing through
the windows of the darkened space. “You’d be right next door to Bella’s Baskets. We could work well together, your baked goods and my baskets.” She gestured to her own shop window, crammed full of baskets, shiny balloons, and delicate silk flowers. Her sign swung gently on a wooden arm that stuck out across part of the sidewalk, proclaiming that this was, indeed, Bella’s Baskets. To go with the name, Yolanda made it a practice to tuck a small jingle bell into each gift basket she sold.

  Yolanda had half persuaded her, but Tally was still on the fence when two boxes were delivered to her Austin apartment after she returned from the funeral. The first was marked fragile and contained mostly packing material. Nestled in the middle was the ornate mantel clock that Tally remembered being over her grandmother’s fireplace. As a child, she had sat on the floor in her granny’s house playing with her dolls and listening to the comfortable ticking of the clock for many hours.

  She carefully lifted it out and ran her hands over the smooth wood, then traced the carvings around the face. She opened the door on its back and wound it. After she set it on a shelf and heard the ticking in her own apartment, tears sprang to her eyes.

  Tally wiped her eyes and opened the second box to find several more things from her grandmother’s estate. She was charmed by the faded one-foot-square hooked rug of a yellow rose that she had made for her granny when she was small, and by some of the dangly earrings she’d been permitted to use for playing dress up. But she was enthralled by the old-fashioned metal box of recipes. Her granny had been the best candy maker ever. And these were her old-time candy recipes.

  She remembered reading through the first one, for something called Mallomars. Her grandmother had grown up in New Jersey, and after she moved to Texas, she experimented with re-creating treats from her childhood. This one was made with honey, brown sugar, some gelatin, egg whites, and semisweet chocolate, plus a few other ingredients. Even reading the recipe, she could almost taste and smell the chocolate-covered gooey treat.

  She had tried that one out first, using lots of pans and her candy thermometer, and had gotten hooked on vintage candies that very night.