Speak With Confection: An Amish Cupcake Cozy Mystery

by Ruth Hartzler

  I was shocked. “I thought it was one of your goats.”

  Francis seemed to think my statement rather hilarious. “Oh no! None of my goats are as good as Liberty Hill Farm Sweetened Wine.” She chuckled. “In fact, nobody’s goat is as good as Liberty Hill Farm Sweetened Wine.” She smiled and nodded enthusiastically as she spoke.

  Matilda pulled out a notepad and pen. “It’s good of you to help us like this, Francis. I know you’re busy.”

  “I can’t believe the police suspect you. You didn’t even know Gemma!”

  “We actually met her briefly when we were leading Gigi into the exhibition building,” Matilda said, “only we didn’t know it was her. She jumped in front of us and said we had no right showing a goat that looked like Gigi.”

  Francis pulled a face. “Yes, that would be her.”

  “So, can you tell us everything you know about her?” I asked.

  Matilda butted in. “Starting with her son, Horatio Calhoun-Blye? Is that his name? And is he the only sibling?”

  Francis nodded slowly. “Yes, he’s her only child. Her husband died some years ago, and she didn’t remarry.”

  “As far as you know, is Horatio the only one who would inherit anything?” I asked her.

  Francis shrugged. “I don’t know of anybody else. I only know the local gossip and that sort of thing.”

  “Gossip?” Eleanor prompted her.

  Francis fidgeted with her coffee cup, so I added, “Anything at all you can tell us could be really helpful. Poor Eleanor and Matilda are awfully upset about being questioned for hours last night.”

  My words must have done the trick. Francis twirled her coffee cup around and then said, “I don’t know if this is true, but everyone said Gemma was having an affair with Digby Thompson. He’s another goat breeder, you see. He was also opposed to the Any Other Variety class at the show. He and Gemma were the only two who were opposed to it. Everybody else was in favor. They were both furious when the motion in favor was passed.”

  “Then when you say affair, I assume he was married, since Gemma wasn’t?”

  Francis nodded. “That’s right. His wife’s name is Paisley.” Her nose wrinkled. “She’s not a very nice woman, that one. She and Gemma were like peas in a pod.”

  I nodded and shot her a smile of encouragement. “And do you know of any other relatives or any other employees? Like who did the goat milking for her?”

  “I can’t remember the name of the guy who did her milking, but he was also her pool boy. Rumors were she was having a relationship with him too. Still, those could have just been malicious rumors because nobody liked her. Anyway, it seemed the pool boy did anything she asked. It’s not often you see a pool boy milking somebody’s goats.”

  I had to agree with that.

  “And did Gemma have any other friends? Like actual friends of the female variety?” Matilda asked.

  “Not really.” Francis bit her lip. “There was Cynthia, although they had a falling out a few months ago.”

  My ears pricked up. “They had a falling out?” I repeated. I wrote down Cynthia’s name and underlined it a few times.

  “Do you know what the falling out was about?” Matilda asked.

  Francis shook her head. “Not a clue. Cynthia wasn’t a goat breeder, but she used to go to goat shows with Gemma. They always seemed like really good friends, but suddenly Cynthia stopped going to goat shows, and people said they’d had a serious falling out. Still, Cynthia was at the goat show the other day.”

  “And you said Cynthia isn’t a goat breeder?” I asked.

  “No, she’s not a goat breeder. She hadn’t been to a goat show with Gemma for some time. Like I said, the two of them had some sort of a falling out. I have no idea what it was all about.”

  Matilda took over the conversation. “Do you happen to know if Gemma was on any sort of medication?”

  Francis looked blank. “Medication?” she repeated.

  Matilda nodded. “Did she have a heart condition? Diabetes? Or anything else that you can think of?”

  Francis shrugged. “I don’t know. You would have to ask her son, Horatio. I do know that she liked to drink. She always carried a hip flask with her. I think it was full of gin. She was always drinking from it. If you ask me, she had a drinking problem. Everybody said so.”

  I wrote down the word ‘gin’ and underlined it several times as well.

  “So did she always carry this hip flask with her?” Matilda asked.

  “I assume so. Ask any of the other goat breeders. Everybody knew about it. She was always sipping from it.” She set her coffee cup down hard. “Is that how she was murdered? They said it was poison. Did somebody slip some poison into her hip flask?”

  “Yes, it’s entirely possible,” Matilda said. “Only we have no idea of the poison, and the detective didn’t give us any clues when he questioned us last night. Would there be any sorts of poisons that could be lying around at a goat show?”

  Francis’s hand flew to her throat. “Oh no, of course not! A goat might eat it. Oh, don’t get me wrong—I know people say goats will eat anything, but that’s simply not true. Goats are, in fact, very picky eaters. They are browsers, not grazers, so they like to eat things like willow branches and trees rather than grazing in a nice field that a horse or a cow would like. In fact, goats would be less likely to eat something poisonous than any other animals, but I suppose it is possible that a goat could eat something poisonous.”

  As she continued to talk at length in a monotone about what goats would and would not eat, I zoned out. It seemed the hip flask was probably the method of poison. But was it a long-term poison or short-term? I figured the poison had been administered in a large dose just before the victim had died, because she seemed full of life when she was yelling at Matilda and Eleanor. Still, not many poisons can kill so rapidly.

  And as for suspects, we already had a few, so things were looking up. Gemma’s son, Horatio, probably stood to inherit, and as Gemma had been having an affair, both her lover and her lover’s wife were suspects. There was her friend, Cynthia, who was at the show at the time of the murder. And then there was the pool boy who also milked the goats. He maybe stood to inherit something as well. I looked up sharply when somebody said my name.

  “Sorry, I was deep in thought. I didn’t hear what you said.”

  Matilda tapped my hand. “Francis has just told us that the pool boy is multi-talented.”

  Francis interrupted her. “I don’t know whether he’s actually multi-talented. It’s just that I heard he has several part-time jobs.”

  Matilda nodded. “Yes, he milks the goats, and he’s the pool boy, but he also runs classes in town for Pet Protection animals.”

  “Oh.” I didn’t know what else to say. I had no idea where this was going.

  “But don’t you see?” Eleanor’s voice rose to a high pitch. “We have the perfect opportunity to question him.”

  I was completely at a loss. “I’m sorry, I’m really not following.”

  Eleanor clapped her hands for attention. “I’m going undercover. I’m going to enroll Mr. Crumbles in the pool boy’s Pet Protection classes.”

  Chapter 7

  “Maybe we should pretend that we’re Amish people,” Eleanor said. “Cynthia wouldn’t be suspicious of Amish people.”

  “But it would take forever to get there in a buggy,” I said.

  Thankfully, Matilda agreed with me. “Honestly Eleanor, we don’t have a week!”

  “It wouldn’t take a week,” Eleanor protested.

  Matilda put her hands on her hips. “It might as well! Let’s just call a taxi.”

  Thankfully, Eleanor agreed. Matilda and Eleanor had decided we should question Cynthia, Gemma’s best friend. When I asked what their plan was, they had told me to leave it to them, and they had advised me to go along with whatever they said. That was fine with me. I would have rather stayed at home, but it was clear I had no choice.

  I was on the front
porch waiting for the taxi, when Matilda and Eleanor walked out of the door. I gasped. They were both wearing deerstalker hats with the word ‘Press’ emblazoned across the top. “Are you both pretending to be Sherlock Holmes or something?” I asked when I had recovered from the shock.

  “Don’t be silly, Jane. We’re obviously from the press.” Matilda winked and pointed to her hat.

  “Does anybody, even journalists, actually wear hats like that?”

  Matilda did not seem concerned. “I have no idea, but I’m sure Cynthia doesn’t either.”

  “But she might not want to talk to the media about her best friend’s death.”

  “We intend to tell her that we’re from a goat magazine,” Matilda countered.

  “But Francis said Cynthia didn’t like goats.”

  “Exactly! That will make her less suspicious of us.”

  I resisted the urge to roll my eyes. The taxi had arrived, and I knew I might as well save my breath. Once Matilda and Eleanor had their minds made up, there was absolutely nothing I, or anybody else, could do about it. I resigned myself to that fact and climbed into the taxi.

  Cynthia’s house was an hour away. It would definitely have taken a few hours in a buggy. Besides, I had no wish to go in disguise as an Amish person to question a murder suspect. I had done it before and had no intention of doing it again.

  After I paid the taxi, we made our way up to the front steps of the house. The house was nowhere near as grand as Gemma’s house, but it was nice, painted in a pretty shade of yellow with a white porch.

  Matilda knocked on the door. For a moment, I wondered if maybe Cynthia wasn’t home and then I also wondered that if she was home, she might tell us to leave immediately.

  The door opened to reveal a well-dressed woman. Waves of French perfume emanated from her. “What can I do for you?” she said rather curtly.

  “I’m terribly sorry to call unannounced,” Matilda said in soothing tones, “but the magazine only gave us your address. They didn’t give us any phone numbers for you. That’s why we took it upon ourselves to risk dropping by. I hope you don’t mind.”

  Cynthia frowned deeply. “What’s this about?” She gestured to the hats. “You’re from a newspaper?”

  “We’re from one of the dairy goat magazines,” Matilda told her. “The editor wants us to do a wonderful story on dear Gemma Calhoun and have her on the cover of our magazine. The committee said you were her dearest friend, so we wanted some information about her.”

  “All right then, please come in.” Cynthia showed us into her living room. It was quite shabby chic with chalk painted furniture side by side with antiques. Items of antique Victorian glassware sat on sideboards all around the room. “You don’t have a cat,” Matilda said.

  Cynthia looked startled as though she had been accused of something. “Why no, I don’t. How did you know?”

  “Because a cat would have knocked over your some of glassware,” Matilda said.

  Cynthia relaxed a little and chuckled. “May I offer you a drink?”

  “Coffee please,” Matilda and Eleanor said in unison.

  “Any sort of herbal tea if you have some,” I said.

  Her nose wrinkled with obvious disgust. “I’m afraid I don’t. Would you prefer something alcoholic?”

  “Coffee will be fine for me then, thank you.”

  She gestured to the large grandfather clock by the staircase. “I’m afraid I can’t give you long.”

  She brought my coffee into the room along with Matilda’s and then returned with a coffee for Eleanor and what looked like some sort of alcoholic drink for herself, maybe a sherry. “I feel bad drinking alone, but Gemma’s death has been a terrible shock,” she said.

  Matilda pulled a pen and a notepad from her purse. “What can you tell us about Mrs. Calhoun? We know how much she loved her goats.”

  “Oh yes, her goats,” Cynthia said. “That was the one thing we didn’t have in common. I’m not an animal lover, you see, and Gemma did love her goats.”

  “Did she have any other pets?” I asked.

  “Oh no, definitely not.” Cynthia shot me a long look. “She didn’t like inside animals. She always said goats weren’t pets; they were livestock. Still, she did love those goats.”

  “Well, her goats were highly successful,” Matilda said. “She was the most successful Toggenburg breeder in these parts.”

  Cynthia took a big gulp of her sherry. “Yes, indeed she was. I still can’t believe she’s dead.” She wiped her hand over her forehead. “It’s all been very distressing, especially with that detective questioning me.”

  “Why did the detective question you?” I asked her.

  “Because I was there at the goat show. He told me he was questioning everybody who was there in case they saw something.”

  “Did you see something?”

  She shook her head. “No. I was watching the goat show.”

  “Yes, we were questioned too,” Matilda said.

  “Were you at the show?” Before anyone could answer, she continued, “Oh yes, of course you were at the show because you’re from the goat magazine.”

  “Yes, and…” Eleanor began, but Matilda shot her a quelling look, and she stopped speaking. I expect Eleanor had nearly admitted that they were showing a wild goat.

  “It mustn’t have been much fun watching the goat show when you don’t like goats,” I said.

  “Yes, it was rather tedious. But Gemma was obsessed with her goats. I thought I should go to support her even though we’d had a falling out a while back and had only recently become friends again.”

  “Oh, what was the falling out about?” I said in the most even tone I could muster.

  There was a long hesitation. I almost thought she was going to ignore my question, but she spoke after a lengthy interval. “Long story short, Gemma didn’t like my taste in men. So, is the story going to be about Gemma’s murder or about her goats?”

  Matilda pretended to look shocked. “Oh goodness me, it’s not about her murder, of course. We do work for a goat magazine, you understand, not a sensationalist newspaper.”

  Cynthia nodded slowly. “So, you want to know what Gemma was like as a person?”

  “Yes, as a friend.” Matilda leaned forward. “Everybody knew her as a highly successful goat exhibitor, but most of our readers did not know her as a person. Our magazine has a state-wide readership.”

  Cynthia went to the kitchen and came back with another full glass of sherry. “Gemma was a very good friend. She was a fun person. She had a lot more money than I did, and she was generous. She used to give me lovely things as gifts.”

  “Before you had the falling out,” I said.

  She narrowed her eyes. Clearly, she found my mention of the falling out suspicious, or at the very least, distasteful. “Yes,” she said. To Matilda, she said, “You can write down that Gemma was a very generous person. I’m fully aware that a lot of people didn’t like her, but they didn’t know her like I did. She might not have been nice to everybody, but she was kind and generous to her friends. She was a wonderful person.”

  Matilda scribbled away on her notepad. “That’s very helpful. Thank you for your time. We’re terribly sorry to intrude upon you like this. We won’t quote you, of course.”

  Cynthia waved one hand at us. “Feel free to quote me saying Gemma was a very generous person. I can’t believe she’s gone. I hope the police catch whoever did it.”

  “Do you have any idea who would want her dead?” I asked.

  “Nobody, of course.” She drained the rest of her sherry in one gulp.

  “Somebody obviously wanted her dead, because she was murdered,” I pointed out.

  Cynthia stood up. Her face was white and drawn. “I don’t know who it was. Gemma and I had only just gotten back in touch, so maybe she had business dealings that went bad. Perhaps she was having an affair. Don’t quote me on that, of course.”

  “No, of course not. As I said, it’s a goat magazi
ne, and we don’t intend to mention Mrs. Calhoun’s murder at all,” Matilda told her, her tone reassuring.

  “I’m sorry to bring it up,” I said. “I simply volunteered to drive Matilda and Eleanor here. They’re the ones who are interested in goats. I’m not. I watch all those crime shows on TV, and that’s why I’ve asked about her murder. I hope I haven’t upset you.”

  “No, no, you haven’t,” she said, running her hands through her hair. “I haven’t told you anything that I haven’t told the police. I told the detective I was fairly certain Gemma was having an affair.”

  “I’m the one who took the wild goat to the show and entered her in the Any Other Variety class,” Eleanor blurted out before Matilda could stop her. “She ate the judge’s beard.”

  Cynthia’s face relaxed into a smile. “I heard about that. It must’ve been quite funny.”

  “Not for the judge,” Eleanor said.

  Matilda stood up too. “Thanks for your time. I’m sorry about your friend.”

  Cynthia nodded and showed us out. I called a taxi on my cell phone while Eleanor and Matilda whispered to each other.

  “The taxi will be here in five minutes,” I said. “What do you make of that?”

  “Interesting she said Gemma was having an affair,” Matilda said. “Francis told us it was with Digby Thompson. We must follow up that lead.”

  “Not until after we take Mr. Crumbles to the Pet Protection classes,” Eleanor said. “I wonder how the trainer will teach him to bite on command?”

  Chapter 8

  It was with some trepidation that Matilda, Eleanor, and I caught a taxi to Aaron Alexander’s Pet Protection training classes. Even Mr. Crumbles looked worried. I had no idea how long the police would require my car. I hadn’t heard from Damon, but when I did, that was going to be the first question I asked him.

  The taxi driver’s expression was still shocked when we paid him and got out of the taxi. The next shocked expression I saw was worn by a rather large dog. The dog presently recovered, and his expression turned to menacing as we approached him. I didn’t recognize the breed of dog, but he was large and shaggy and somewhat resembled a bear. A low humming growl emanated from his throat as Eleanor led Mr. Crumbles along the path toward him.