The Baker's Wife by Erin Healy Page A

the counters, and crossed the room. Geoff followed her.
    Diane’s eyes shifted as if seeking the definition of each word in Audrey’s question. “I don’t have a phone. Those clothes are really too big for you.”
    â€œThey’re exactly what I needed. You’re kind to let me use them.”
    â€œAre you sure you don’t have a phone?” Geoff asked.
    Diane blinked. “No, what would I—oh.” She bent over the pack and unzipped the outside pocket. “I found one on the way here. In the gutter.” She fished it out and handed it to Audrey. “I wouldn’t even know how to answer it.”
    Audrey pushed the button and swept her finger over the display. Five missed calls. She quickly found the log. The bakery number appeared twice, and beneath it, the name Jack , three times within a half hour of the accident.
    â€œWhere did you find it?” Audrey asked.
    â€œA couple blocks that way.” Diane pointed down Main Street. “It fell off someone’s scooter.”
    Geoff put both hands on his head and exhaled audibly.
    â€œDoes this have something to do with what’s going on out there?” Diane asked.
    The phone felt heavy in Audrey’s hands. She found her eyes darting to the windows, looking for Jack. Without weighing the pros or cons of what she was doing, Audrey quickly deleted the calls from the bakery in the log. She placed the phone in the middle of the round table.
    â€œAll that blood . . .” Diane murmured.
    The three of them stared at the device.
    Geoff said, “I think it would be best for everyone if you give this to the detective yourself, Diane. Would you mind?”
    â€œThe detective?” Diane’s mystified tone sank into resignation. She lowered herself back onto the chair. “Why should I mind? I guess death just follows some people around.”

CHAPTER 6
    When the administrator at Mazy High called Jack to see if he knew where Julie was, Jack left the accident scene. He returned to their modest ranch-style home and scanned the low-maintenance yard in the front: a lawn shaped like a kidney bean, juniper bushes under the windows, several old oaks dropping leaves onto the tar-shingle roof, redbrick walls that never needed painting. Behind the windows that faced the street, the curtains were drawn, as always.
    The jack-o’-lanterns that Julie’s students had carved and presented to her last month, before she took a short medical leave, were sitting on the porch, wrinkled and collapsing in on themselves, toothless old hags. Jack pulled the police cruiser he had borrowed into the driveway and made a mental note to throw them out before they liquefied. Usually his wife took care of such things, but a lot had changed since Miralee left.
    The fog had thinned to a mist and floated beneath the trees.
    He parked outside the closed garage, exited the car, and punched the security code into the exterior door opener. The familiar whirring hefted the panel and revealed the empty spot where Jack’s Jeep would have been if it wasn’t still in the shop. Next to this, on the left, the bay for Julie’s sedan was also empty.
    He sighed, no longer expecting to find her here.
    Jack walked to the rear of the garage, which led to the backyard, and began to speculate: Someone breaks into the shed, steals the scooter parked there. Julie observes from the master bedroom window, decides to follow . The theory had holes. Julie would have called the precinct. She wasn’t at the scene of the scooter disaster.
    At the back of the garage, a crooked flagstone path led to the shed, which looked like an old single-car garage with barn doors padlocked shut. No forced entry. Padlock secure.
    The phone inside the house was ringing. After the fourth ring the caller was sent to voice mail. Jack stepped onto the flagstones.
    A quiet break-in. Julie wouldn’t have heard. She gets up, goes to work none the wiser .
    She