Dead Velvet Cake

by James, Emily

  I did not need to panic.

  He sank down onto the bench and patted the spot next to him as if there was somewhere else for me to sit, and I might not realize I should sit next to him.

  “I talked to the organizers of the competition, and they told me your truck was parked directly across from the plot where the body was found. Is that correct?”

  My mouth suddenly felt tight, like I’d sucked directly on a lemon. Why did this feel more like he was leading me into a trap than merely interviewing me as a witness?

  But there wasn’t anything I could say other than the truth. “That’s right. I was serving customers when the body was found, but I saw them start digging.”

  Detective Strobel nodded his head. “What time did you arrive that morning?”

  “I was there the whole night, baking in preparation.” I could hear the hesitancy in my own voice. I knew I should control my tone, but his approach made me think the truth was somehow going to stab me in the back. “I was given a spot last minute, and I didn’t have enough cupcakes ready for the expected crowds.”

  He nodded as if everything I said matched with what he already knew.

  My body wanted to relax, but Fear screamed that he was lulling me into a false sense of security. I tried to turn my back on the voice. I’d decided not to let Fear control me anymore. Besides, what could I do? I had been there baking all night.

  “Did you see or hear anything? Anything at all while you were there?”

  That sounded like he thought I should have.

  I shook my head. “It was deserted until the organizers showed up about an hour before the competition was supposed to start.”

  “And you were there the whole time?”

  I’d just said as much. The muscles in my arms tensed. Jarrod used to like to describe the techniques he used when interrogating a suspect or a criminal. Repeating the same question in different ways to see if he could trip them up was one of them.

  “I was there the whole time.”

  He hmm’ed. “So that presents me with a problem, Ms. Addington. Time of death shows that you would have been there at the time when the victim died, and our medical examiner says that it’s unlikely the body was moved postmortem. The murder happened on site or very close by.”

  The air suddenly felt too thick to fit down my throat. He was saying that the murder happened right in front of me. Or, at the very least, that the body would have had to be buried there while I was baking in my truck.

  I should have heard something. Despite the heat of the oven, I’d had my flap down to keep out mosquitos. That wouldn’t have blocked out the sound of a murder, though. I hadn’t been playing music. Why hadn’t I heard anything?

  Oh. No.

  The police were asking the same thing I was. I didn’t have an answer for them. But I knew the answer they suspected. They thought I had either witnessed something and was too afraid to speak or that I was somehow involved in the murder.

  “I fell asleep for about fifteen or twenty minutes right before the organizers arrived. The noise they made woke me up.” Even after all my years with Jarrod, I didn’t know how best to modulate my voice with this much blood pumping through my veins. Too calm and they wouldn’t believe me. Too shaky and they wouldn’t believe me. My voice came out somewhere in the middle, reedy and thin.

  Detective Strobel hmm’d again deep in his throat. I could almost see the disbelief floating around him in a cloud. If the organizers had woken me up, surely a murder and someone digging a man-sized hole would have. Assuming that fifteen or twenty minutes was even enough to kill someone, dig their grave, and bury them back up.

  “Do you know anyone by the name of Anthony Rigman?” he asked, his voice mild, as if this were a formality.

  I hadn’t expected the body to belong to someone I knew—I knew very few people in Lakeshore—but it was still a relief. I felt like I’d heard the name Rigman before, though. If I couldn’t place it, I couldn’t have heard it in more than a passing context. I certainly didn’t have a personal connection.

  “No,” I said, my voice calm for the first time since he showed up, “I don’t know an Anthony Rigman.”

  He tilted his head to one side as if examining a strange piece of modern art and trying to figure out what it was supposed to represent. “Are you sure? Because I have witnesses who said they saw you arguing with him a couple weeks ago.”

  Arguing with him?

  I gave myself a mental shake. Repeating back to myself the things Detective Strobel asked wasn’t helpful. But I hadn’t had an argument with anyone other than Eve’s male companion.

  My hands went cold like I’d stuck them in a bucket of ice. Eve had been carrying a sign that said Rigman & Associates at the sandcastle competition. “Do you have a picture of the victim?”

  I didn’t even bother trying to control my voice this time. If my suspicions were right and Anthony Rigman was Eve’s boyfriend, I’d be in real trouble. Many people saw me shove myself into their argument.

  On top of that, I’d practically run from the scene once the body was found. Leaving quickly had been a practical choice. I’d had a fridge full of cupcakes, more than I could normally sell in three days. To recover any of my costs, I’d needed to move quickly to try to sell them.

  To the police, fleeing when a body is found looks an awful lot like guilt.

  Detective Strobel patted his suit pocket and came up with a photo. He handed it over to me.

  I glanced at it and flinched. Not only had the image clearly been taken of the dead body while it lay in the morgue, but it was also the man Eve had been arguing with.

  I was screwed.

  I handed the photo back to Detective Strobel. “I didn’t know his name, but I recognize his face. I only met him once. He was with one of my regular customers.”

  Detective Strobel tucked the picture away. “And what was the argument about?”

  “It wasn’t so much an argument as…” As what? As what, Isabel? I wanted to shake myself for being so stupid. By downplaying the interaction, I sounded even more guilty. “I heard a man and a woman arguing, and I was concerned for the woman’s safety. So I intervened.”

  “You were concerned for the safety of a woman out in daylight on a public street?” The skepticism in his voice was so thick it was amazing he could get the words out.

  A tiny spark flared up inside me. Women were accosted on public transit in daylight all the time. They were harassed in their offices. They were abducted from grocery store parking lots in broad daylight.

  And attitudes like Strobel’s were part of what stood in the way of making our world one where a woman could feel as safe as a man.

  I lifted my chin slightly. “Yes. I was worried about her. I went to make sure she was okay, and Mr. Rigman wasn’t happy that I interfered in their conversation.”

  “I thought you said you didn’t know his name.”

  My breath stumbled over my words so that neither worked properly. He thought I was lying about how I’d met Anthony Rigman. Nothing I could say today was probably going to change that. But if I wasn’t careful, he could ask me to come down to the police station and give my fingerprints and a DNA sample.

  Whatever else happened, I couldn’t allow that to take place. Not only would the revelation that Isabel Addington wasn’t my real name make me look more guilty, but putting myself into the system would put a flashing GPS signal on me for Jarrod to find me. The last case I’d been accidentally involved in, where my fingerprints ended up in the system, proved that. I’d only been able to avoid Jarrod that time because Dan lied to him and told him that he thought Amy Miller had left town.

  I swallowed down the bubble of panic that tried to shoot up my throat. “I didn’t know his name at the time. You gave it to me now.”

  Detective Strobel mmm’d again, and I had the desire to ask him if he needed a throat lozenge. “And what were they arguing about?”

  If the police were looking at me, they were likely loo
king at Eve too. Telling the police that I didn’t actually know what their argument was about was going to make me sound more guilty, as if I were covering for her or as if we’d killed him together.

  Unfortunately, there wasn’t anything else I could say but the truth. I certainly wasn’t going to sacrifice her by making something up only to save myself. Besides, if she had killed him, any lie I might make up could mislead the police and prevent an arrest.

  All I’d wanted to do was protect someone who might have been in trouble. No good deed, it seemed, went unpunished.

  “I couldn’t hear the whole argument. I mostly heard raised voices. All I know is that she wanted him to stop or to let her go.”

  “I see.” Detective Strobel dropped his sunglasses down over his eyes. “I’ll have more questions for you in the future, Ms. Addington. You’re a surprisingly hard woman to find considering you run a business. I’d appreciate it if you gave me your phone number and home address.”

  I nodded so slowly it probably looked like my neck was stiff. I couldn’t give him a home address.

  I listed my phone number off one number at a time, making sure he’d written it down before giving him the next one. Then I had him read it back to me.

  “And your address,” he said.

  I was out of time to think of something. Chances were good that he wouldn’t show up at whatever address I gave him. Even if he did, I could always pretend he got it wrong. Or, at least, I could if I gave him an address next to one where I could pretend to live if it came to that.

  I rattled off the neighbor next door to Claire’s house.

  Hopefully he wouldn’t ever check. The last thing I wanted was Claire and Dan finding out that I lived in my truck.

  “Have a nice day, Ms. Addington.” He doffed an imaginary hat and strolled away.

  Something about the way he did it made me think of Humphrey Bogart and that signature hat he wore. My dad loved the black-and-white Humphrey Bogart movies like Casablanca. He’d always said modern movies depended too much on special effects at the expense of characters.

  I blinked back the press of tears. Memories of my dad always seemed to hit me at the least suitable times. Though, perhaps, it was that I thought of him whenever I needed advice.

  Fear was shouting at me to run again.

  I climbed back into my truck and leaned against the counter where I had a good view of the women collecting up the gaggle of children. They were all around Janie’s age. Janie whose wholehearted joy, enthusiasm, and love gave me something to look forward to.

  I’d lost so much. I didn’t want to lose Janie. Or Dan. Or even Claire, despite the fact that I couldn’t tell if she liked me or not.

  I didn’t want to start over again. Dan and Claire knew my name wasn’t really Isabel Addington, and they were willing to protect me by keeping my secret.

  So I wouldn’t leave this time.

  I whispered the words out loud to myself to help them stick. I was staying.

  At least, I was staying for now. If it got to the point where the police were going to arrest me for a murder I didn’t commit, I might not have any choice other than to run.

  5

  “I’ll buy the rest of what you’ve made for today if you’ll close up and talk to me.”

  I jerked upright from the position I’d been in with my head stuck into my truck’s small fridge and smashed the crown of my skull on the shelf above. I yelp and pressed a hand to the radiating pain.

  “Are you okay?” the same woman’s voice asked. “I didn’t mean to scare you.”

  I turned around, my vision still a bit spotty at the edges. Eve peered at me over the counter of my food truck.

  With her boyfriend dead, I’d gone back to my usual lunch spot. He wouldn’t care now. But I felt a little guilty benefitting from his death. Still, what good would staying away have done. It’d have been a bad business move, especially considering that I hadn’t been able to sell all the cupcakes I’d made for the sandcastle competition. Not even close. Not even as day-olds. I’d ended up taking a bunch to Dan and Janie and then another batch over to Claire. Dan had tried to pay me, and I’d been so desperate that I let him.

  “May I come inside?” Eve glanced back over her shoulder. “Before any other customers show up. Or we could take a walk.”

  Her speech was coming too quickly for my bumped brain to sort through. “I have dozens of cupcakes left.”

  “That’s okay.” Eve pulled out a wad of cash that would more than cover what my remaining cupcakes would cost. “I don’t mind, and this can’t wait. I’ve been watching for you every day.”

  Coming from almost anyone else, that might have sounded ominous. Coming from Eve, I couldn’t hear it that way. Her sunglasses were back on top of her head, holding back her hair, and her petite height meant she could barely see over the counter.

  With her sunglasses up, I could clearly see her eyes. They looked tight the way people tended to tense the muscles at the corners of their eyes when they were focusing hard on something. Or when every muscle in their body was also tense.

  Her eyes weren’t red-rimmed or puffy. She didn’t look like she’d been crying at all despite Anthony Rigman’s death.

  If I noticed it, the police would have too. That didn’t bode well for her.

  But aside from all that, I saw the woman who could have written me off when I put barbecue sauce on her cherries jubilee cupcake and hadn’t.

  I pushed the money back toward her even though I could have used it. “I’ll lock up.”

  I shut everything down and stepped out to join her on the sidewalk. I dropped the flap into place and locked it as well.

  Eve led the way down the side street, away from the main road and toward a small park. Lakeshore was full of them. This one had a few benches under trees and a memorial to the men from Lakeshore who’d fought and died in the World Wars.

  Eve fiddled with her sunglasses, sliding them up and down on her face as if she couldn’t decide whether to wear them or use them to keep her hair from blowing into her face. “So, the thing is, I was hoping you wouldn’t say anything about that argument you interrupted a couple weeks ago, between Anthony and me. If anyone asks.”

  Strike two for Eve’s innocence. Not that it was any of my business. I wasn’t the police or a jury. I had no right to judge what had or hadn’t happened.

  “The police already talked to me.” I felt like a traitor even though I hadn’t done anything wrong. “They had other witnesses who saw the argument too.”

  Eve gave a quick bob of her head. “I wondered if they would. A lot of my co-workers walked by while it was happening.”

  My brain rolled that over and couldn’t think of anything to say. Eve seemed like a nice person. She’d been kind to me anyway. Yet her co-workers walked by. They didn’t stop to help her or make sure she was okay.

  That couldn’t be typical. To have no allies at all among your co-workers.

  Normally, I wouldn’t have pried, but I was a suspect. If Eve was guilty, I’d like to know. Even if she wouldn’t say as much directly, if I could settle it in my own mind, I’d know whether I needed to avoid her or not. With the police already looking at me, being seen with the real murderer wouldn’t exactly clear my name—or my pseudonym as the case might be.

  “Why didn’t any of your co-workers stop?” I flinched. As soon as the words were out, I could hear how rude it sounded. Rude and suspicious.

  Eve looked like a little girl whose friends avoided eye contact while a bully teased her on the playground. “Anthony’s…Anthony was our boss.”

  So they’d chosen to protect themselves rather than protect Eve. My analogy about the bully on the playground wasn’t that far off. Evil people stayed in power through that fear and desire to protect ourselves above someone else.

  Eve took off her sunglasses and shifted them from hand to hand. “The police think I killed him because I wasn’t suspicious when he didn’t call me from the conference he was supposed to b
e at. I thought he was still angry from the argument you interrupted, and I was enjoying my time to myself. What girlfriend wouldn’t miss her boyfriend, the police asked me? I didn’t have an answer.”

  Her words flooded out fast but not defensive. More like she desperately wanted to tell them to someone who might actually believe her.

  Like she thought I would believe her because I’d stepped in to stop Anthony that day on the street.

  I wasn’t a hero. I certainly wasn’t brave. I lived with my fear every single day while I hid from my abuser.

  And I knew that living with that over a long period of time could push a person to do things they otherwise wouldn’t have done. I’d sometimes daydreamed about getting to Jarrod’s gun quick enough when he hit me to shoot him. Maybe that made me a bad person. It certainly meant I wouldn’t judge Eve if she’d killed Anthony. I wouldn’t help her lie to the police or dodge prosecution, but I wouldn’t judge her. Whether it was right or wrong, I wouldn’t tell the police what she told me either. If they wanted to charge a woman for murdering an abusive partner, they’d have to figure it out on their own.

  Since she seemed to think I was the closest thing she’d get to an ally, she might tell me everything if I approached slowly so as not to spook her. At least then I’d know how worried I needed to be about the police investigating me. “Did he hit you?”

  Eve’s mouth dropped open in a way that would have been comical under any other circumstances. “No!” Her gaze slipped to the side, and she rolled her lips together. “He liked to tell me that I would deserve it if he did, though. He said if he wasn’t such a good man, he’d have beaten some sense into me.” Her voice was soft and vulnerable. “But I didn’t kill him. I can’t even empty my own mouse traps.”

  If I were wrong, God would need to forgive my foolishness because I believed her. I probably shouldn’t have. I knew better than almost anyone that people weren’t always what they appeared to be.

  Eve just sounded like she’d believed him when he told her those things. She didn’t sound like someone who’d reached the end of their ability to cope with the abuse. She hadn’t taken the out I provided that day I interrupted their argument.