Speak With Confection: An Amish Cupcake Cozy Mystery

by Ruth Hartzler

  “That’s what I want!” I protested, a little too loudly. “I had no idea Matilda and Eleanor did this.” And wait until I give them a piece of my mind! I added silently.

  Still, I couldn’t help thinking about Horatio. He was here alone. His mother had been about to cut him out of her will over her disapproval of his relationship with the mystery woman. Now that Gemma was dead, there was no reason for Horatio not to appear in public with his girlfriend—that is, unless they were joint murderers and thought a public appearance would tip off the police.

  I thought about it some more, and figured Horatio wouldn’t want his girlfriend’s identity to be public knowledge anyway. Before I left the restaurant, I would have to ask somebody if Horatio had been seen here with a woman on a regular basis. Maybe I would be able to get a description.

  My opportunity came moments later. Damon’s phone rang. He spoke into it briefly, looked at me, said, “Sorry, Jane. This is urgent,” before taking the phone outside.

  I beckoned to the waiter. “Are those private dining rooms through there?” I nodded my head in the direction I had seen Horatio.

  The waiter nodded. I pushed on.

  “I thought I saw the son of a friend of mine go in there, but I don’t want to disturb him. Horatio Calhoun-Blye?”

  The waiter nodded. “Mr. Calhoun-Blye comes here all the time.”

  “With his girlfriend?”

  The waiter nodded again.

  “I forget her name.”

  The waiter simply looked at me.

  “I forget her name,” I said, more loudly this time. “What does she look like?”

  The waiter frowned. “A woman of middle age.”

  “Blonde or brown hair?”

  “I’m sorry, madam, I haven’t really taken any notice. Light brown, I think.” With that, he afforded me a small nod before hurrying away.

  That didn’t help. Francis’s hair was light brown, whereas Cheryl’s hair was dark blonde. They were both about the same height and build. Or maybe it was somebody else. Paisley? Her hair was light blonde. Yet if Horatio and his mystery girlfriend were planning to murder somebody, surely his girlfriend would wear a wig out in public, even if dining in a private room.

  Damon’s face was downcast when he returned to our table. “I’m afraid there’s been a development in my case. Despite what I said about not wanting to bring my work to dinner, I have to go.”

  I was certain disappointment was stamped all over my face. Damon led me outside, where he helped me put on my coat. “I’ll take you home.”

  I protested, but Damon wouldn’t take no for an answer. He sat in the back of the taxi with me, and we giggled as if we were a pair of naughty school children. The driver did his best to ignore us, but he needed up putting on the radio and singing off-key.

  “Thank you for, um, the attempt at dinner,” I said as Damon walked me to the door. His car sat in the driveway, waiting to spirit him away. “It was lovely.”

  “Liar,” he said, and we both started giggling again.

  Suddenly, he stepped forward and brushed a lock of hair out of my eyes. “Jane…”

  “Yes?”

  He leaned forward, his lips hovering above mine. He smelled warm, and he smelled soft, like fresh laundry. I knew he was about to kiss me. I tried to steady the thudding of my heart, but it was no use. My legs were spaghetti now, even my arms felt limp. We were so close—so close!—but then Eleanor burst from the house.

  “Quick! It’s Matilda! There’s been a terrible emergency.”

  Damon and I darted into the house. And there she was, Matilda, standing there, clutching her head.

  “What happened?” I asked.

  She turned around. The hair on the back of her head was missing. Had Eleanor decided to try her hand at hair styling? It was all too confusing.

  “Gigi,” Matilda said angrily when she saw our shocked faces. “Gigi ate my hair in the car.”

  I caught my breath. “It doesn’t look like a mullet at all,” I said.

  “Who said it looked like a mullet?” Matilda’s mouth dropped open.

  Oops. I almost turned to Damon and asked if I could flee in his car with him, but the dastardly man said goodbye and strode from the house, leaving me with Eleanor, Matilda, and Matilda’s mullet.

  “I mean, it worked for Billy Ray Cyrus,” I said desperately, searching for a way to soothe the situation.

  “Go away!” Matilda sputtered.

  She didn’t have to tell me twice. I hurried out of the room, wondering if I should have said Mel Gibson instead.

  Chapter 20

  The newspaper office exterior was unassuming, just a glass door in a brick wall. The entrance was equally unimpressive, a small room with a flight of stairs directly ahead. To the left appeared to be an empty room, and to the right was a frosted glass door with ‘Office’ stamped across it in tiny black lettering. Matilda slid it across and we walked in.

  A young woman approached us. “Are you here about advertising?”

  “No,” Matilda said. “We’re here to see Horatio Calhoun-Blye.”

  The young woman frowned. “He left about fifteen minutes or so ago.” Of course, we knew this as Eleanor had called the newspaper’s editor and insisted Horatio meet her out of town under the pretense she would show him several clear photographs of a UFO sighting. She had told the editor she refused to speak with anyone but Horatio.

  “That’s most distressing,” Matilda said. “I was a good friend of his mother’s. Horatio said we could meet for lunch today. Maybe he got an assignment and left the building in a hurry.”

  “Would you like to leave him a message?”

  Matilda waved one hand at her. “That’s okay. I’ll text him. He never picks up when I call. I suppose there’s no point waiting for him?”

  The woman shook her head. “I’m afraid not. He could be gone for hours.”

  “He told me your paper wasn’t investigating his mother’s murder,” Matilda said.

  “No, it isn’t that type of a newspaper here,” the woman said with a chuckle. She lowered her voice and added, “It’s more of a sensationalist newspaper, if you get my meaning.”

  We all nodded. Matilda pushed on. “But the day his mother died, Horatio was covering rather a serious story, wasn’t he. I thought that was a rather unusual type of story for your paper.”

  The woman readily agreed. “Horatio insisted on covering it.”

  Matilda looked back over her shoulder and shot us a glance. To the woman, she said, “Did he say why? I did ask him, but he never makes much sense. The young people of today!”

  “He said he wanted to do something serious for once. He insisted. The editor wasn’t too thrilled about it, but Horatio has been here for so long that he gave him some leeway, I expect. It’s such a small newspaper that we have to double up with jobs. I sell advertising, both classifieds and feature advertising, and I also do admin. Sometimes, they even make me write some stories—minor ones, of course,” she added. “It’s not a very big newspaper.”

  “Still, it’s a very interesting one,” Matilda offered with a wide smile.

  “Yes, it is.”

  “Well, I was hoping to catch up with Horatio while I was in town, but I don’t think I have time to wait for him. I was hoping to cheer him up.”

  “Cheer him up? Oh yes, after his mother’s death. It’s so terrible.”

  “Yes it is, and poor Horatio has been upset for a few months now ever since his mother made him give up his girlfriend.”

  “That’s what she thought.” The woman chuckled.

  Eleanor stepped forward. “What do you mean?”

  “I’m certain Horatio didn’t give up his girlfriend. He was always making private calls.”

  “Maybe he got himself a new girlfriend,” Matilda said.

  She shook her head. “No, nothing ever changed with Horatio. His mother actually came in here once and demanded to know if we’d seen his girlfriend lately.”

  “Ha
d you ever met his girlfriend?” I asked her.

  She shook her head. “No. He never brought her here.”

  “So you don’t know her name?”

  “No, I wouldn’t have a clue. Look, I’ve probably said too much.”

  “Well then, I won’t tell Horatio I’ve even spoken to you,” Matilda said. “Maybe I should simply call him and say I’m running late and that I’ll arrange a meeting at another time.”

  We all smiled and left the building. “I need coffee and cake after that big disclosure,” I said. “Look, there’s a little café there.”

  The café had a narrow shop front, but when we walked inside, I saw the building continued a considerable distance. We took seats down the back, away from other patrons.

  “My money is on Horatio,” Matilda said. “I was so shocked when she said he insisted on that assignment. Obviously, he put a lot of work into his alibi.”

  I opened my mouth to agree with her, but a waitress walked up. We all ordered coffee but spent more time figuring out the food we wanted. Eleanor couldn’t decide between a Bacon and Egg Bagel or a Triple Berry Cake, and Matilda couldn’t decide between a Ham and Brie Panini or a Banana Chocolate Chip Buttercream cake. In the end, they opted for both. I wasn’t so fussy. I simply craved fat and sugar, so I selected the Grilled French Toast with maple syrup and stuffed with sweet cream cheese.

  When the waitress left, I said, “So then, it seems as though Horatio was the murderer, and he was in it with his girlfriend. Obviously, he didn’t break up with his girlfriend months ago like his mother thought he did at the time. The question is, who is his girlfriend?”

  “Let’s examine what we know about the girlfriend,” Matilda said. “Firstly, Gemma deemed her unsuitable. Secondly, she was at the goat show and was obviously doing shots with Gemma, so Gemma must have thought the girlfriend’s relationship with Horatio was well and truly over.”

  I disagreed. “Why then would Gemma have made the appointment with her lawyer to change the will?”

  Both Matilda and Eleanor frowned.

  “You know, I can think of two people who might be the girlfriend,” I said. “Cynthia was at the goat show and had the opportunity. The same can be said for Francis. I don’t know where Cynthia was at the time Gemma was murdered, but Francis wasn’t around the goat ring or near her goat. She said she had to go to the bathroom, and the bathroom was near Gemma’s office. She could have easily slipped in and pretended she was doing shots with Gemma.”

  Eleanor leaned across the table. “And both Francis and Cynthia are much older than Horatio. In fact, they are both about Gemma’s age, so she would definitely have been opposed to him dating a much older woman.”

  “Yes, it could be either of them,” Matilda said. “However, we don’t know for certain that Horatio was involved in Gemma’s murder. It could have been Digby or Paisley.”

  “That fact that Gemma threatened to cut Horatio out of the will doesn’t mean he’s the murderer,” I pointed out.

  Matilda wagged her finger at me. “Trust me, only guilty people have alibis.”

  Eleanor nodded knowingly. “That’s right. It’s highly suspicious that Horatio insisted upon that assignment which had him out of town at the very time his mother was murdered. It’s all too convenient, if you ask me. What if he was having an affair with Paisley? His mother would certainly have disapproved of that.”

  “Or maybe it was simply a woman his own age, and Gemma didn’t like her for some other reason,” I said. “Everybody said Gemma was a thoroughly unpleasant person. Maybe she was just one of those mothers who didn’t like her son’s girlfriends, period.”

  Matilda and Eleanor agreed.

  “One thing we haven’t looked into is where to get coolant,” Eleanor said.

  “Obviously, because it’s freely available anywhere,” Matilda said. “It comes in a variety of colors and strengths. Some of them have safety levels of ethylene, so the murderer obviously didn’t select one of those. Most of them have bittering agents to avoid poisoning by accident. Anybody can go and buy coolant.”

  Eleanor looked quite put out.

  “I think we have come to a dead end here,” I admitted. “Detective Stirling probably has the same information we do. He hasn’t managed to solve the case, and he’s a professional.”

  “So am I,” Eleanor said.

  I fixed her with a steely look. “Excuse me?”

  “Yes, explain yourself,” Matilda said through gritted teeth. She folded her arms.

  “I mean, we are just as clever as he is.” Eleanor pretended to fumble through her purse.

  I knew there was something strange about their pasts, and I wondered if I would ever find out what it was.

  Chapter 21

  We all piled into my car. “I’ll take you two home, and then I’ll go back go to the shop.” I checked my watch. “I feel bad leaving Rebecca on her own, especially with Aaron around.” I knew Damon didn’t think he was the murderer. That afforded me some small comfort, but I wasn’t going to take any chances.

  “No, take us to the shop and we will help Rebecca,” Matilda insisted. “You go home and have a good sleep. You’ve been working too hard lately, Jane.”

  I protested, but it seemed Matilda’s mind was made up, and for once, Eleanor agreed with her.

  I left them at the shop after thanking them and drove away, intending to head home. I hadn’t gone far when I thought I should take a detour to Sarah Beiler’s house and ask her about coolant. After all, it was the last piece of the puzzle. While in the café I had googled it. The website said most coolant varieties did have an added bittering agent, and it didn’t make sense to me that Gemma would drink something bitter. Sarah had a wealth of knowledge about all things medical, not just herbs.

  When I arrived, there was no sign of anybody, so I walked up the porch and knocked on the door. Sarah opened it. She looked surprised to see me but quickly recovered. “Wunderbar! It’s gut to see you, Jane.” “Wie gehts?”

  “I’m well, thank you.”

  Sarah ushered me inside. “Come in, come in. This is good timing. I’ve just made a batch of chocolate whoopie pies with vanilla buttercream, and I’ve just brewed some meadow tea.”

  “That sounds good.” I followed her into the kitchen. Just as I did, there was a loud clap of thunder directly above us. I jumped. “That came out of nowhere,” I said. “I did see the dark clouds gathering, but I could still see blue skies.”

  Sarah looked out the kitchen window. “The skies won’t be blue for long.” She crossed to the gas lamp in the middle of the room, opened the wooden cupboard door and turned it on. Light flooded the room. At least the Amish don’t have to worry about thunderstorms causing power outages, I thought with amusement.

  Sarah poured me a cup of tea and urged me to eat some whoopie pies. I didn’t need any encouragement. When I had eaten two, she said, “You’re here to get my advice about the murder.”

  I had almost forgotten how quickly new spreads in the Amish community. “That’s right,” I said. “One thing in particular puzzles me. The poison was ethylene glycol.”

  “Coolant,” she said.

  I nodded. “It was found in a hip flask which also contained brandy but appeared to be full. There were also shot glasses lined up in the office the victim had been using. She was a committee member of the goat show.”

  Sarah nodded. I pushed on. “It was green. Maybe she mistook it for something else. I mean, obviously she did or she wouldn’t be dead.”

  “And what puzzles you?” Sarah asked me.

  “The taste,” I said. “I’ve read that ethylene glycol is a sweet tasting liquid and that it can actually taste quite nice. However, I’ve read that a bittering agent is added to it so people and animals won’t drink by mistake and die.”

  “The battering agent was only added in recent years, if I understand correctly,” Sarah said. “I think it was in 2012, but you had better check.”

  That surprised me. “So if som
ebody had a bottle of coolant lying around from before that time, it would taste sweet.”

  Sarah nodded. “Exactly. Any bottles made prior to that date would taste sweet, and nobody would be any the wiser. If anything, they might simply think their drink was a little sweeter than it should be.”

  “I haven’t been able to find out how much the victim consumed,” I said, “but would one shot glass be enough to kill her?”

  “How big is a shot glass?” Sarah asked me.

  “One and a half fluid ounces, I believe. Actually, I was told that one ounce of ethylene glycol is fatal in humans.”

  Sarah was eating a chocolate whoopie pie. When she finished it, she said, “Ethylene glycol is actually quite deadly. It only takes a small amount to kill a full-grown human. Even a single mouthful would require hospitalization for the victim.”

  “Would it take a nurse or somebody with specific medical knowledge to know that?” I asked her.

  She laughed. “You’re an Englischer; you should know that anybody could simply find poisons on the Internet. I’m sure you’ll find there have been many several notable poisoning cases where ethylene glycol has been used.”

  My meadow tea was quite hot. I sipped it gingerly before saying, “Yes, I did find several cases of deliberate poisoning by ethylene glycol. An English woman put antifreeze in her husband’s cherry Lambrini—Lambrini is pear cider. He spent several days in a coma and needed rehabilitation for one year. Closer to home, a woman murdered her first husband and then her subsequent husband, by putting antifreeze in their food. I found numerous other cases.”

  Sarah nodded. “Is there anything else you wanted to know?”

  I shook my head. “No. Thanks, Sarah, you’ve been a big help.”

  Sarah chuckled. “I don’t think I told you anything you didn’t already know.”

  I corrected her. “Actually, you have been a big help because you told me the bittering agent was added only in 2012.”