Victim in the Valley: The Vangie Vale Mysteries, #4

By R.L. Syme

I never thought Edward would come back... 

 

When the court case against my ex was finished, I thought we were finished, too. But it turns out, it was only the beginning. Things are starting to fall apart in Saint Agnes and right in the middle of it is another body. Who would have known?

SECOND EDITION: This book was first released as Vangie Vale and the Larcenous Lava Cake

 

RECIPE INCLUDED: The Larcenous Lava Cake

• Language: English
• Publisher: R.L. Syme
• Release date: Jun 16, 2020
• ISBN: 9781393056904

R.L. Syme

R.L. Syme writes hot Highlanders and sexy Chefs, and not always in that order. She lives in Montana with her cat who drinks wine and does not answer back when she talks to him.

Book preview

CHAPTER ONE

Saint Agnes, Montana

Tourist season had barely died off before our little mountain town felt abandoned. By day, Saint Agnes was still stunning, with its frosted peaks, its carpet of evergreens, its quaint alpine architecture. But by night, it was shadows and ghosts and a dark so black, it had its own zip code.

That dark had been my constant friend, for the three years I’d been in Saint Agnes. Nearly every morning, I’d pull my giant tank of a green Hummer off the narrow two-lane highway at the edge of town, into the Matchbakery parking lot. My headlights would cut across the building, illuminating the same swath I saw every morning.

Until one morning in early December, when they landed on something unfamiliar.

A figure. Standing near the mural. By my door.

I couldn’t tell immediately if it was a man or a woman. Not tall, not short. A little stocky. A frizzy dusting of shoulder-length hair peeking out of a poncho.

My headlights stayed fixed on the person as I parked. A little wormy dread crawling up the back of my throat. Usually, around Saint Agnes, surprises were bad.

Very bad.

Can I help you? I asked, hanging out the window into the cold mountain air.

Are you Vangie Vale? A deep, throaty voice came from the colorful poncho like a campy Darth Vader.

Uh… Objectively, the man seemed harmless, but I hadn’t shifted to park yet. I ventured a quavery, Y-yeees.

And you’re the pastor at Saint Agnes Community Church?

Yeah.

He nodded, letting the hood down. His face was familiar, though I couldn’t place a name. Thick-fingered hands drew two envelopes out of his front poncho pocket.

That’s what I thought. I have a letter for you. He kept one and shoved the other back into the jacket. As he stepped away from the building with the envelope outstretched, I tried to keep my serial killer radar on hold. If he wanted to hurt me, he wouldn’t be trying to pass off my mail.

And you are? I asked, like his name would make him less dangerous.

Kenneth. He waved the envelope at me. You would have met my wife when you rented from us.

Riiiiiiight… I shifted the Tank into park, turned it off, and climbed out. How can I help you?

Y’know, there are eighteen rectrices on a turkey’s underlayer. Kenneth pointed at the mural on my big plate-glass window. Yours only has three.

I had to stifle a laugh as I pulled my purse onto my shoulder and looked at the mural to decipher what he meant. Rectrices must mean feathers on some planet, since there were three of those, and this guy seemed the type to take turkey’s backsides pretty seriously.

I don’t paint the murals, I said with a forced smile, pointing at the door to the attached agate store. That’s Emma’s territory. She’s got some theory about matching pictures being a magnet for passing cars.

Emma Brent?

Yup. Emma and Josh. I finally got close enough to take the envelope out of his hand.

Well, I’ll tell her about the rectrices, then, he said, absently.

You do that. I opened the enclosed paper to find the blocky logo of my landlord’s management company. The letter was short and hand-signed, and said I had thirty days to make an offer on the building, or it would be sold.

Sold.

That word had me counting to ten in every language I’d ever learned. Including Hebrew. Hebrew, y’all.

I’ve still got to find Mr. & Mrs. Brent, he said like he hadn’t just dropped a bomb on my life.

They won’t be in for about five more hours. I almost offered to take the letter, but I didn’t want to be the bearer of bad news for my best friend. Poor Emma. This would wreck her.

Neither of us had the money to buy our building.

Five hours? he asked, screwing up his face like doing math was hard today.

They open somewhere around nine or ten.

Great. He spun around and waddled toward his car like an Oompa Loompa on his way to rescue a child from the chocolate milk lake.

Done and done? Was it just that easy for him?

I leaned on the Tank for support. What would I do?

Kenneth had parked around the corner, along the side of Emma’s agate store, and as he pulled out, his headlights swung across me and the mural and the Tank and everything I would be leaving behind to go back home.

I still wasn’t ready. In the back of my mind, the list of morning baking was pressing on me. I was already late, justifying it by the fact that we rarely had a packed house anymore. But I still needed to get to work.

Couldn’t stand in the parking lot all day wishing I hadn’t just been handed the equivalent of an eviction notice. I couldn’t even process the moment. If I couldn’t rent from the new buyer at the same price, I couldn’t stay open.

Tears prickled at the insides of my nose. I loved Saint Agnes. I was nearly finished with my probation—or, as we were now calling it, my interim at the church—but it wasn’t enough money to keep me here. I didn’t want to leave.

I threw the letter on the desk in the back office and started gathering ingredients for baking. I put Bonhoeffer on my iPhone and pushed through my morning routine, keeping my head down and my thoughts away from the bombshell remnants.

With a strange desire for comfort food, I put together the ingredients for a batch of lava cakes. Somehow, when I needed to feel like the world was right, I always made them.

Maybe I could sell these as a winter treat. Or a trial for Christmas. I’d have a bunch of taste testers ready for new menu items, pretty much any time of year.

Christmas Lava Cakes could be just the thing.

I finished the rest of the morning prep before I gathered the ingredients to make the lava cakes and buttered the ramekins. I stuck them in the refrigerator to chill while I made the batter. I’d forgotten how easy it was.

Half an hour later, I pulled the fragrant chocolate cakes from the oven, after making good notes on Sunday’s sermon. I’d almost forgotten about Turkey Guy when the coffee ladies showed up. They weren’t in a lava cake mood, but they almost cleaned me out of the fresh donuts.

When the breakfast rush passed and I had finished cleaning off the tables, I finally pulled out my phone to check messages for the first time. In case Derek had called, I wanted an ETA so I could adequately prepare myself.

I’d have to tell him about the letter.

I touched the power button and saw a notification for a 919 missed call. Raleigh. More than an hour ago. I hadn’t gotten 919 calls since the trial.

Ignore. Ignore. Ignore.

I swiped the screen and called Derek. When he didn’t answer, I left him a message to text when he would be coming over.

In case he didn’t catch the voicemail, I texted him the same thing. I typed no rush, at the end, because if I called and texted, sometimes he dropped everything and ran over, only to find me elbows-deep in cookie dough and not needing to break-or-enter anything.

He was a good guy, but sometimes too quick on the trigger finger.

No customers today? said a familiar voice that wasn’t as perky as usual. Emma Brent had stuck her head through the push-glass door between her gift shop and my bakery. Her blonde curls bounced when she looked around the empty room, as though underlining her point.

I tried to gauge her mood, from her not-as-upbeat-but-not-devastated tone. Had Turkey Guy been over there already?

I had a few earlier, I said, testing the waters. What are you up to?

Is Derek here?

He’s at work, but guess whaaaat? I walked out from behind the bake case like a very messy Vanna White. I made lava cakes. You want one?

Emma pulled her head back—like she’d multiple-choiced internally—then plastered on a load-bearing smile. Actually, can you help me for just a sec?

Sure. I scooted through the little round tables and into her dark gift shop. Didn’t open yet?

No.

I wondered if you would be closed all day. You’re usually open before ten.

Just… She went behind the cash register, gaze fixed on the ground. Can you help me with this?

I rounded the edge of the sales counter and was hit with stale alcohol and sweat and Joshua Brent curled up with one of their mountain-scene body pillows.

Crikey Moses, Em.

I know, I know, she said. Not quite a cold shoulder, but maybe a frosty elbow.

Em—

If I’m gonna open, I’ve got to get him into the office and air this place out.

Did you try waking him up?

If I had, do you think I would have come to find your boyfriend?

At ten in the—

Don’t, Vangie. Her tone was so soft and so pliant, it melted my resolve. I didn’t want to upset Emma, but her husband was a lazy mooch, and if I could have snapped my fingers and sent him to Timbuktu, I would have.

I bent down and grabbed one of his arms. Emma caught the other, and we half-dragged-half-carried him through the back of the store and into the office. He didn’t even wake up.

He was at a bachelor party last night. Emma threw out the words like a bag of beer bottles she hoped the truck would pick up before I did.

I released his arm and he fell onto the couch in the narrow office, but the pause wasn’t enough to stop the proverbial blurt. Blackout drunk on a Tuesday night?

Don’t do that, Vangie.

What?

Judge him.

I held up innocent hands. I’m not judging. Just asking.

I was such a liar. Totally judging. Someone had to.

Emma pushed past me, heading back into the store. Usually, she was chipper and bright, even when her husband was douchey and dumb. Today, she seemed… defeated.

Like something had changed.

Like she’d read the letter, maybe, and didn’t want to talk about it.

Crap on a cracker.

She called out, asking me to open the back door—circulate some air. I stepped over the deadbeat husband and unlocked the deadbolt, pushing open the exterior door. The cold autumn air gave me a shiver and, to escape the chill, I went back onto the shop floor.

That’s better. Emma came out from behind a big rack of coffee mugs.

We faced each other for the first time all morning, and she had that same slump to her shoulders she’d always had after dealing with Joshua. I couldn’t shoot the elephant in the room, but I wanted her to talk.

Girl, you look beat. You’re not getting that bird-flu-thing that’s going around, are you?

No.

A pause while I searched for a new topic. You’re gonna change the Thanksgiving mural to Christmas soon?

One of these days.

One more chance. I made lava cakes. Want to be my taste tester?

Maybe.

Great. Come over anytime. My secret hope was, if I kept her hopped up on a sugar high, she’d forget about the letter she must have gotten from Turkey Guy. Lava cakes would cheer anyone up.

Unless I have too many customers… She tried to land a goodbye smile, and as her friend, I gave her a ten, but it would have gotten a five from the German judge.

That was the shortest conversation we’d had in months. Giving her the space she obviously needed, I pushed through the swing door and headed for the lava cakes.

Now who needed cheering up?

I re-warmed and un-plated one of the little domes, cutting it open and watching the gooey center stream out onto the white porcelain. A memory tugged at my subconscious, so visceral, I had to catch my breath. White plate, thick dark river of deliciousness. A hazy face hovering in front of me with a fork full of chocolate.

So many years ago, I’d forgotten.

Lava cakes had been Edward’s favorite. It hadn’t even crossed my mind when I had the craving, but now… memories were swimming back.

No. I was past all that. The trial had been over for almost two years. Edward was in prison. It was just a Christmas treat. Lava cakes were a normal Christmas treat, and it was almost Christmas…

Shaking off the memory, I forked a bit of the tender cake into my mouth. It was exactly what I remembered making for Edward when he’d first given me his mother’s recipe. With the swirl of earthy chocolate and the sweet spike of cinnamon, the past surged through me like a backdraft.

The bakery bell dinged and I turned around, mouth full of lava cake, expecting to see my big, broad-shouldered biker of a boyfriend, greased up and dirty from the mechanic’s shop.

Instead, my gaze slow-panned up the dark-washed skinny jeans, the thick-rimmed throwback glasses, and the long sweep of hipster hair I’d been trying to forget since that first bite of cake.

Evangeline Vale. He dripped out each syllable like they belonged to him and only he could decide who used them.

Edward.

I didn’t say his name, the last shudder of resistance before the gravity of Edward Archer sucked me out of orbit and into the pitch black past.

CHAPTER TWO

The lava cake formed a lump in my throat when I tried to swallow. I coughed and the plate clattered out of my hands, landing on the counter and barely saving a crash to the ground. I ran for the relief of the sink.

Once I’d gotten the cake to go down, I finally looked back at Edward. I managed to choke out a hurried, What are you doing here?

You haven’t been answering my phone calls.

I swallowed. The 919 calls. Two years ago, they’d been coming with a vengeance. Then Edward had gone to prison and they had stopped.

He went to prison, I reminded myself.

Why wasn’t he in prison now?

Trying to regain my composure, I turned on the sink and splashed water on my face. I reached for a paper towel to dry off, and I felt him come closer.

Evangeline. You couldn’t just pick up the phone?

I didn’t recognize the number.

You have a lot of people calling you from the Research Triangle these days? Edward crooked up one brow—though it wasn’t carefully manicured, the way it had been when I’d known him… they say prison changes people.

I clenched my fists. What are you doing here?

He took a step toward me. I needed to see you.

As he edged closer, my whole body tightened. My tongue felt leaden and coated in metal. I couldn’t move. I wanted to scream, but I couldn’t catch my breath.

Settle down, he said. I’m not here to hurt you.

It bothered me so much that he could tell how flustered I was. I didn’t want him in my bakery. I didn’t want to look at his face. At the same time, I couldn’t take my eyes off it.

I hadn’t seen him since a glimpse on the courthouse steps, two years ago. I’d gone all the way to Raleigh to testify at the trial, and it had been settled just as I arrived to take the stand. For one brief moment, I had seen him walking into the courthouse with his lawyer, and then my own lawyer had pulled me aside to say I wouldn’t have to take the stand.

He pled guilty. They sentenced him. He went to prison.

Why. Are. You. Here? I forced the words out, still tight like a clenched fist. My body just wouldn’t relax. I started to pray, and I could feel a little bit of peace wash over me, but I couldn’t take my eyes off Edward. Something about him was different. A self-consciousness. Like he was looking over his shoulder, proverbially. Instead, though, he was staring at me.

I had to see you.

You shouldn’t be here.

Come on. He reached a hand toward me and, in slow motion, I watched it extend, almost like it was disembodied from him, and just… coming for me… I’m trying to make amends, Evangeline.

Stop. I kept staring at the hand. Finally, I caught my wits and backed up. The counter pressed into my back. You’re supposed to be in prison.

They paroled me.

I swallowed. Parole? It had only been two years. That wasn’t possible. I tried to say as much, but before I could get words out, the bell over my door dinged and I heard a familiar voice call my name.

Vangie? came the deep timbre of Malcolm Dean, Twin Valley County Sheriff. What’s going on here?

Edward’s head turned and he stiffened.

Vangie? Malcolm repeated.

I found my breath. Nothing. It’s okay.

You don’t look okay. He walked to the sales counter, like a customer. I mean, I suppose he was a customer. But beyond that, he was my friend.

This is… a friend… from back home.

Edward Archer. Edward extended his hand toward Malcolm, who wore his Sheriff’s uniform. There was no hesitation now. So either he was telling the truth, and he really was on parole, or he was lying and really good at it.

Either option was viable, knowing him.

Malcolm rounded a brow as he accepted the handshake. He looked at me and I gave a tiny nod. Yes, this was him. The reason I was in Saint Agnes.

Why aren’t you in jail? Malcolm asked, his voice hard.

Parole, Edward said.

Your PO knows you’re here?

He does.

I’ll make a call on that one. Malcolm looked at me again. He’d become much closer of a friend over the last two years, as I’d watched his little boy grow up from next door, and he did still look out for me. He cocked his head to one side, like he was checking on me.

I’m fine, Malcolm, I said as convincingly as I could. I didn’t want him to worry about me. What can I get you this morning? Coffee?

I actually came in to get a dozen of the lava cakes you texted me about. Irma sent me for the whole office.

Lava cakes? Edward asked. Those are my favorite.

Malcolm’s brows pulled together and I felt the disapproval in my bones. I half expected him to rescind his order, but he just pressed his hands into the white counter.

Let me get those for you, I said, turning my back so I could take a breath. This was all too close for comfort. I grabbed one of the white to-go boxes from under the counter and folded it up. Pushing past Edward, I went all the way into the kitchen to get some of the cakes off the counter.

For just a second, I didn’t want to look at Malcolm.

It didn’t cross my mind that I’d left the two of them alone until I got back out front and heard the Sheriff’s gruff tone return.

You’d better leave her alone, Archer, he said. I’ll keep my eye on you.

Malcolm pretended I hadn’t been listening and put a fifty dollar bill on the counter. He took the box from my outstretched hands without a word and turned his back.

Edward let out a long whistle. That guy’s intense, huh?

His accent threw me all the way back to the days when we were working together. That echo of Brooklyn.

For half a second, I was back, five years ago, in our office in Durham. Books all around me, stacks of letters being sorted, organ music playing over a speaker somewhere. The memory was so visceral, it was like I could still smell the old building, with the memory of a thousand people in its brick walls.

You need to leave, I finally managed, pushing the memory away.

I never should have made those lava cakes.

I just needed to see you, he said. I flew into Madison Falls last night and I’m leaving tomorrow. I’m only here to make amends. I promise.

There was enough sincerity in his tone, I almost believed him. But I knew Edward Archer too well. I’d watched him fundraise in some of the wealthiest homes in North Carolina. I’d seen him tell one truth to one rich guy, and another truth to another rich lady. Even though I hadn’t seen his betrayal coming, I had definitely seen him in his lying element.

Massaging the truth, he’d called it.

But he’d lied. To them. To me. To everyone.

I don’t need your amends, I said, turning back to the kitchen.

He grabbed my arm and my whole body locked up. He hadn’t touched me in more than four years. Before I could wrench away, he let me go.

That made me pause. It was strange for him to be so… self-aware. Or maybe, so Vangie-aware.

He’d changed. Or he was more afraid than he’d been.

I turned around and saw the look on his frozen face. The crinkled brow. The half-open mouth. Sadness.

Why was Edward Archer sad?

Crossing my arms and hugging myself a bit, I stepped back. I don’t want you touching me.

I know. He stepped back, toward the tables in the dining area of the restaurant. I know I have no right to ask. I just need to talk.

Fine. I took a breath. Talk.

Edward swallowed and I was a little stunned at how sincere he seemed. He was genuinely affected by this. That was an odd thing to consider.

After years of larceny, had Edward Archer grown a conscience? Was it prison?

Was it…? No. Can’t go there, Vangie. This is not about you.

You know I stole the money, he said abruptly, and he had my full attention. You know I asked you to lie for me.

"You and your wife."

He shook his head, and the swath of hipster hair fell over his eyes. But before it did, I thought I had glimpsed a moment of pain there.

It was wrong, Evangeline. And I know it was wrong.

Why did you do it?

You didn’t read the papers? His brows shot up quickly and I noticed both the few stray hairs between them, and also the shadow of whiskers popping up on his jaw. Had prison somehow made him less vain?

I read enough. But I’d like to hear it from you.

I’d rather not talk about Melissa. His gaze dropped fast, and he looked around at the other people in the dining room. Not here, anyway.

You couldn’t have warned me you were coming? I could have had someone here to cover the register.

I tried to call you.

And left no messages?

What did you want me to say on the message? He put his hand up next to his ear with his thumb and pinky out like he was talking on a phone. "Hi, Vange… I’m gonna stop by and make amends later. Don’t lock your doors?"

Yeah, come to think of it. I couldn’t help smiling just a bit as the words hit. That would have been great.

He laughed as well. For a moment, we were back in that office again, laughing and being ourselves like no time had passed.

I hated that I still kinda wanted him not to leave, because a part of me missed him. Ugh. Not fair, bad part.

But a bigger part of me knew he should get right the heck out of there. Post hasty.

The bell over the door dinged and a family strolled in, the parents giving loud directions to the children about using the bathroom. Edward looked from the family to me and sighed.

When can I see you alone? he asked, quietly.

I shook my head. I needed to get him out of there before Derek showed up. Him and Malcolm was one thing. Him and Derek would be a whole other thing. I’m here on my own until my help gets here, and then not until close.

Edward scratched his stubble, which was uneven. And it looked like he was wearing makeup. Maybe he was more vain than I thought.

Can we have dinner after work, then? Somewhere more private than this?

Everything in my body told me not to. It actually felt like an internal rebellion. But no matter what my brain thought, I couldn't will my heart to say no. I needed to see if he had changed. He wanted to make amends. Who was I to say no?

CHAPTER THREE

When Derek finally arrived at the bakery, later that morning, I’d firmly decided not to tell him Edward was in town. It was Wednesday and Derek had a weekly poker game with his buddies from work. I could slip out after work, meet my ex-whatever-he-was, and no one would be any wiser.

We sold out of lava cakes just as he arrived, and he headed into the office, looking for the recipe to make more, before I realized what else was in the office.

He walked into the kitchen with the letter in his hands, sweeping his long, blond ponytail over his shoulder, and giving me the what for look.

When were you going to tell me about this? he asked.

I stood in the door of the kitchen, wishing the morning had gone differently. Wishing I hadn’t seen Edward and gotten flustered and forgotten all of my relationship etiquette.

Not now, obviously, I said, dragging my toe across the barrier between the carpet of the dining area and the rubber tiled kitchen. It’s not like I was hiding it… I just… forgot.

Which was the truth, to be fair.

It had been a busy morning.

Vange. He shifted his weight. This is a big deal.

I know.

Did Emma get this, too?

Yeah.

What are we going to do about it? Should we call that parishioner of yours who’s a realtor? What’s her name?

The use of the word we stopped me cold. I hadn’t considered that it was a we thing to fix. It was my business. Derek and I weren’t married. We’d been together for two and a half years, sure. But this was my problem.

I hadn’t really thought about it yet. I just got it this morning and I haven’t even talked to Emma.

You haven’t?

I shook my head.

How do you know she got one, then?

Because I met the guy handing them out and he was going to come back and deliver it to her in person.

This was a big blow. If I couldn’t find the money to make this happen, I would lose the bakery, and that would mean having to leave Saint Agnes. I couldn’t survive on what the church paid me. The bakery was my lifeline.

Acknowledging all that out loud to Derek felt dangerous, like I would be asking him to fix it for me or take care of me. He didn’t have the means to do either of those things. This was not an easy-fix-solution.

I have to go back to work, Derek finally said, putting the letter down on the prep counter and walking toward me. Can we talk about this tonight?

Don’t you have poker?

I’ll come by after. He dropped a kiss on my forehead, like he couldn’t even bear to kiss my lips like a normal couple. This hurt him more than I realized, and it made me feel awful as I watched him walk out of the bakery, wordlessly.

I’d hidden many things from Derek over the years. Not because I didn’t trust him, but because there were some things a girl just has to handle on her own. Most of the time, I couldn’t handle too much input into my brain or it would shut down, and boyo, did Derek like to talk about things. Marathon talking, as they say.

The lunch rush was over and I finally checked my cell phone again. Two more 919 calls, and this time, one voicemail popped up. I read the transcription and saw that Edward wanted to meet me at the Madison Steak House.

Of course he did.

Somewhere public so you will feel safe, read the transcription. I didn’t even want to listen to his words.

I’ll meet you at six and I’ll stay until close. Please meet me.

Clicking the phone closed, I went back to move the letter off my prep table so I could re-sanitize, and my eyes scanned across the bad news again.

Sold.

They were going to sell my building, and that would mean either new leases or maybe higher rent—given the fast growth in the area lately—and at the very least, a completely new rental agreement.