free coffee would keep people coming through
the door instead of hanging around watching the cops haul away a drunk.
Both women smiled and went inside as the patrol cruiser screeched to a halt in front
of the bakery.
“You can hang up now,” Sarah said. “But don’t let John forget the turnovers.”
I pressed End on my phone and watched Barney Fife step out of the patrol car. I swear,
the officer looked like the character on the old Andy Griffith show my mother used
to love. He was a thin man in a blue uniform who sniffed and hitched up his heavy
gun belt and walked over to me.
“What exactly is the problem here?” he asked, his voice cracking.
I tried to place him, to see if I knew him from school, but I couldn’t get the Barney
Fife thoughts out of my head. “Hi, I’m Toni Holmes. This is my bakery and that”—I
pointed toward the arms and legs sticking out of the brass trough—“seems to be a drunk
guy who was attempting to vandalize my shop.”
I made an exaggerated motion toward the spray can on the ground and then the red paint
on the brick front of my store.
“I see.” The officer hitched up his pants and stared at the drunk. Not that I blamed
him. The guy appeared to be twice the size of the officer.
“Maybe you should call for backup?” I asked.
He shot me a look of disgust. “I’m a trained officer of the law. I can handle this.”
Then he hitched his gun belt again and took three steps toward the drunk. “All right,”
he said, “fun’s over. Get out of the trough.”
The wind blew and rustled the guy’s coat, but the drunk didn’t move.
Officer Fife, as I thought of him, had red creeping up his thin pale neck. His giant
Adam’s apple bobbed in his skinny neck. “I said, show’s over, pal. Get out of the
trough.” He took out his nightstick and poked the drunk on the back. The guy didn’t
stir.
I pursed my lips. I could feel the customers behind me staring out the window. “Maybe
if you removed his Stetson? Sun shining in his eyes might help.”
Barney gave me another evil look, but he did what I said. He reached down and took
the hat and we both gasped. The drunk was facedown in about an inch of water and the
back of his head was covered in blood.
“That can’t be good,” I muttered. I dialed 911 again because Officer Fife stood frozen
and stared at the guy.
“Nine-one-one dispatch, how can I help you?”
“Hello, Sarah, this is Toni again, down at the bakery. I think you need to send a
second squad car and possibly an ambulance. I think the drunk guy might be dead.”
CHAPTER 6
I stepped closer as the officer reached down and felt the drunk guy’s neck for a pulse.
He was a lot braver than me because I wasn’t touching a possible dead body. I guess
that’s why they paid this guy the big bucks.
“Is there a pulse?” I asked. “Should we turn him faceup and start CPR or something?”
“No.” The officer straightened. He was a couple inches shorter than me, and his face
had gone white. His eyes were big and dark in his face. “There’s nothing to revive.
The man’s colder than a witch’s tit.”
“Cold as in has been dead for a while?” The thought creeped me out. Had there been
a dead body outside my bakery the whole time I was working this morning? I took an
involuntary step back. “How long do you think he’s been dead?”
The officer ignored me and hit the two-way radio on his shoulder. “Dispatch this is
Officer Emry. I want to confirm the DB here on Main Street. Send backup and call the
county ME and CSU.”
I swallowed hard and stared at the dead man. Had he died while I was in the bakery
working? Had I been a mere few feet away when the murder took place? Or had it been
a tragic drunk accident? Could I have saved him if I had seen him tumble into the
trough?
“You need to step back, miss.” Officer Emry put his arm in front of me. “As first
responder, it’s my duty
the door instead of hanging around watching the cops haul away a drunk.
Both women smiled and went inside as the patrol cruiser screeched to a halt in front
of the bakery.
“You can hang up now,” Sarah said. “But don’t let John forget the turnovers.”
I pressed End on my phone and watched Barney Fife step out of the patrol car. I swear,
the officer looked like the character on the old Andy Griffith show my mother used
to love. He was a thin man in a blue uniform who sniffed and hitched up his heavy
gun belt and walked over to me.
“What exactly is the problem here?” he asked, his voice cracking.
I tried to place him, to see if I knew him from school, but I couldn’t get the Barney
Fife thoughts out of my head. “Hi, I’m Toni Holmes. This is my bakery and that”—I
pointed toward the arms and legs sticking out of the brass trough—“seems to be a drunk
guy who was attempting to vandalize my shop.”
I made an exaggerated motion toward the spray can on the ground and then the red paint
on the brick front of my store.
“I see.” The officer hitched up his pants and stared at the drunk. Not that I blamed
him. The guy appeared to be twice the size of the officer.
“Maybe you should call for backup?” I asked.
He shot me a look of disgust. “I’m a trained officer of the law. I can handle this.”
Then he hitched his gun belt again and took three steps toward the drunk. “All right,”
he said, “fun’s over. Get out of the trough.”
The wind blew and rustled the guy’s coat, but the drunk didn’t move.
Officer Fife, as I thought of him, had red creeping up his thin pale neck. His giant
Adam’s apple bobbed in his skinny neck. “I said, show’s over, pal. Get out of the
trough.” He took out his nightstick and poked the drunk on the back. The guy didn’t
stir.
I pursed my lips. I could feel the customers behind me staring out the window. “Maybe
if you removed his Stetson? Sun shining in his eyes might help.”
Barney gave me another evil look, but he did what I said. He reached down and took
the hat and we both gasped. The drunk was facedown in about an inch of water and the
back of his head was covered in blood.
“That can’t be good,” I muttered. I dialed 911 again because Officer Fife stood frozen
and stared at the guy.
“Nine-one-one dispatch, how can I help you?”
“Hello, Sarah, this is Toni again, down at the bakery. I think you need to send a
second squad car and possibly an ambulance. I think the drunk guy might be dead.”
CHAPTER 6
I stepped closer as the officer reached down and felt the drunk guy’s neck for a pulse.
He was a lot braver than me because I wasn’t touching a possible dead body. I guess
that’s why they paid this guy the big bucks.
“Is there a pulse?” I asked. “Should we turn him faceup and start CPR or something?”
“No.” The officer straightened. He was a couple inches shorter than me, and his face
had gone white. His eyes were big and dark in his face. “There’s nothing to revive.
The man’s colder than a witch’s tit.”
“Cold as in has been dead for a while?” The thought creeped me out. Had there been
a dead body outside my bakery the whole time I was working this morning? I took an
involuntary step back. “How long do you think he’s been dead?”
The officer ignored me and hit the two-way radio on his shoulder. “Dispatch this is
Officer Emry. I want to confirm the DB here on Main Street. Send backup and call the
county ME and CSU.”
I swallowed hard and stared at the dead man. Had he died while I was in the bakery
working? Had I been a mere few feet away when the murder took place? Or had it been
a tragic drunk accident? Could I have saved him if I had seen him tumble into the
trough?
“You need to step back, miss.” Officer Emry put his arm in front of me. “As first
responder, it’s my duty
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