Confection is Good for the Soul: An Amish Cupcake Cozy Mystery

by Ruth Hartzler

  I rubbed my chin. “You know, that hadn’t occurred to me. Have you two been questioned yet?”

  “I have, but Eleanor hasn’t,” Matilda said, just as Detective Stirling nodded to Eleanor. When he was safely out of earshot, I said to Matilda, “It looks as though Rebecca won’t be a suspect, because Judy had been poisoned over a period of three weeks, by the sounds of it.”

  “That doesn’t mean Rebecca won’t be a suspect,” Matilda said, dashing my hopes. “I mean, the fact that she doesn’t have an alibi tonight of course won’t go against her. I’m concerned that if Judy Jenkins had been poisoned over a three-week period, then the police could assume Rebecca had given her something to eat.”

  I shook my head. “She didn’t. Judy Jenkins didn’t eat a single one of those sample cupcakes on the countertop.”

  “The police only have your word and Rebecca’s word for that,” Matilda pointed out. “How long ago did Judy Jenkins first start accusing Rebecca?”

  I slapped myself on my forehead. “Oh no! It was about three weeks. This isn’t good, is it Matilda?”

  Matilda shook her head.

  Chapter 6

  It had been a most unpleasant night.

  I had tossed and turned all night worrying about Judy Jenkins’s murder. What if Rebecca was a suspect? Surely the police wouldn’t suspect an Amish woman of murder, but anything was possible. What’s more, Rebecca didn’t have an alibi for the murder. That should not be a concern, because it seemed as though someone had tried to poison Judy Jenkins three weeks earlier. Still, I couldn’t help but worry and I lay awake all night in a state of anxiety.

  I had only just gotten to sleep when Matilda knocked on my bedroom door. “Are you awake, Jane?”

  I mumbled something incoherent. Her voice came again. “Are you awake, Jane?”

  I got out of bed and then flung open the door. Matilda looked me up and down. “You need coffee. Don’t forget, you, Eleanor, and I are going to a café before you start work to discuss the suspects.”

  “What time is it?”

  “Time for you to get ready,” Matilda said, shutting the door in my face.

  Soon I was staggering out the front door, entirely caffeine deficient, with Matilda and Eleanor—and to my dismay, Mr. Crumbles on a leash. When he saw my car, he sped up, all but pulling Eleanor along the sidewalk. “He really likes cars now,” Eleanor said.

  And she was right. As soon as I opened the car door, Mr. Crumbles hopped in and put his paws against the car window, peeking out.

  I had never been to the little café Matilda selected. It was obvious she had chosen it for its outdoor seating for Mr. Crumbles’ benefit. The metal chairs looked uncomfortable and were painted in a most garish shade of bright fluorescent pink. A tall, half-dead potted plant lurched in a tall, black, concrete planter, alongside a blackboard on which the menu was written in various colors of chalk.

  Matilda and I left Eleanor outside while we went inside to order. The music in there was loud, and I had to yell my order. The décor was not to my taste, a garish mural covering one wall, and candy pink on the other walls. At least it smelled nice, although the rose-scented candles behind the counter competed somewhat with the alluring aroma of roasted coffee beans.

  I ordered a cinnamon bun with buttercream frosting while Matilda ordered sticky buns for Eleanor and herself. Of course, we all ordered coffee. It might not have been the most healthy breakfast, but at least the excess of sugar would help us think.

  Everything else was a blur until I had sipped my coffee. I let out a long sigh of contentment until I noticed Mr. Crumbles sitting in his harness at Eleanor’s feet. “He’s behaving very well,” I said, narrowing my eyes.

  “I brought some of his food.” Eleanor dropped a few pieces on the ground in front of him.

  “I’m sure that food can’t be good for him,” Matilda said.

  “This is simply his cat food, not his treats.” Eleanor looked quite put out.

  “These buns are good. How are your sticky buns?” I said to distract them.

  “They’re nice,” Matilda said. “I’m sure poor Rebecca was quite upset about the police questioning her last night.”

  I nodded. “Yes, I hope the police find out who did it soon.”

  Matilda waved one hand at me. “All right, do we have all the suspects? The husband, the IT guy, and that manager. What was her name again?”

  “Karen Francis,” I supplied.

  “Yes, that’s it,” Matilda said. “You know, Judy Jenkins falsely accused Rebecca, so she surely falsely accused other businesses as well.”

  “Other cupcake stores?” I asked.

  Matilda shrugged. “Cupcake stores, cake baking courses, and maybe anyone who has written or is about to write a book on cupcakes.”

  “She was running a course on how to write and market a cupcake cookbook,” Eleanor reminded her.

  “Yes, that’s right,” I said. “I wonder how we’ll find out who else she falsely accused?” Some people walked past and stared at Mr. Crumbles. He stared back.

  “I couldn’t sleep last night so I did a computer search,” Eleanor said, while handing some more food to Mr. Crumbles. “She didn’t say anything publicly.”

  I waited until I had finished my mouthful before speaking. “That makes sense, I suppose, but it will make it difficult for us to find out.”

  “It’s a shame we can’t get our hands on her speech.” Matilda drummed her fingers on the table.

  I set down my coffee cup. “It is a shame. Everyone she mentioned would be a suspect.”

  Matilda shook her head. “That is, if the murderer hadn’t switched her speech.”

  My head was spinning. I took another gulp of coffee. “If the murderer did switch the speech, then the murderer’s name wouldn’t be mentioned and there would be no way of finding out who they were. And even if the murderer didn’t switch the speech, we still won’t be able to investigate them because the police have that list and we have no way of finding out what was on it.”

  “Maybe the vic’s husband knows,” Eleanor said.

  “Or maybe Brian Birch knows.” Matilda went silent for a moment and then looked at me. I didn’t like it. I had a feeling she had one of her terrible ideas that involved me. Those ideas never ended well. Finally, she said, “We will invite Brian Birch over to fix something.”

  “What on earth do you mean, Matilda?” Eleanor said rather tersely.

  Matilda made a snorting sound. “He offered to fix something, didn’t he? He lives nearby. We have his contact details. Do I have to spell it out?”

  Eleanor and I did not respond. Matilda pushed on. “Jane will call Brian and asked him to drop by and fix something, maybe a faucet or maybe a light bulb.”

  “Why me?” I said. “He might think I’m interested in him. Maybe you should call him, Matilda.” I looked to Eleanor for support, but none was forthcoming.

  “It has to be you,” Matilda said. “He’s around your age, Jane, and he didn’t mention that he was married or dating anyone. I think he found you attractive and that’s all the more reason to ask him for help.”

  “But I’m not interested in him,” I protested.

  Matilda rubbed her forehead and looked skyward. “That’s all beside the point, Jane. Do you want to investigate this murder or not? Or would you rather the police question your sister again?”

  “I’m sure the police will realize my sister had nothing to do with it soon enough,” I said hopefully.

  “In for a penny, in for a pound,” Matilda said. “If a job’s worth doing, it’s worth doing well, Jane. We need to investigate this murder and we can’t leave it up to the police.”

  “Why can’t we leave it to the police…” I began, but Matilda interrupted me.

  She held up one hand in front of me, palm outward. “I know you have a thing for Detective McCloud.” When I made to protest, she held up her other hand. “I’m sure he’s a good investigator, but he’s only as good as those around him.
Unless it’s escaped your notice, we solved both previous murders before the police did.”

  “I’m sure they were about to solve the murders,” I said.

  Matilda shot me a pitying look. “Jane, these are the facts. Your sister is a suspect. There’s no getting around it. As we discussed last night, Judy Jenkins was in Rebecca’s store several times over the past three weeks. Mrs. Jenkins first met Rebecca just over three weeks ago when her symptoms started. The police already know from a previous case that Rebecca has sample cupcakes out on the countertop for anyone to take for free. They could easily think your sister planted poisoned cupcakes there for Judy Jenkins to take.”

  “But who would suspect an Amish woman?” I asked.

  “The police would,” Matilda said firmly. “The police have to suspect everyone. It’s their job. And even if they come to the conclusion that Rebecca didn’t do it, do you want her questioned time and time again? You saw how upset she was when they questioned her over Colin Greaves’s murder, even though she was doing her best not to show it.”

  I put both my elbows on the table and rubbed my forehead. “I suppose you’re right.”

  Matilda rummaged in her purse and pulled out a business card. She dropped it to the table and then tapped it. “We’re going to call Brian Birch now and ask him to drop by after work this afternoon to fix something.”

  I let out a long sigh of defeat.

  Chapter 7

  Eleanor and I were struggling to move the heavy dining table into the kitchen. After we half carried, half dragged it in there, I stood back to admire our handiwork.

  “This doesn’t look very believable,” I said after an interval. “There’s hardly any room left in the rest of the kitchen.”

  “It’s better than having him fix a faucet or something like that,” Matilda said. “It needs to be something he can feel manly about. Men like feeling manly. That’s because, they’re well, men!”

  Eleanor rolled her eyes. Before she could speak, I said, “So he wouldn’t feel manly fixing a faucet?”

  “Honestly Jane, you don’t know anything about men,” Matilda said with a chuckle. “He’ll move this table back to where it was, thinking he’s doing us a favor. We will give him coffee and cake, and then he’ll tell us everything he knows about Judy Jenkins.”

  “What if he’s the murderer?” I said.

  “Even better! Then we’ll have the opportunity to question the murderer.”

  I threw my hands in the air. Matilda had an answer for everything.

  “Now run and put on some bright red lipstick,” Matilda said. “Men like red lipstick.”

  “Only on harlots,” Eleanor muttered.

  I folded my arms in protest. “I’m not going to wear bright red lipstick. I will put on some make-up, but no bright red lipstick.” With that, I hurried to my bedroom before Matilda could insist I wear red lipstick. When I emerged from my room, Matilda sent me straight back in. “You need to wear something more becoming.”

  I headed back to my room to try to find something nicer. This time when I emerged from my bedroom, Matilda looked me up and down. Thankfully, she had no time to comment on my appearance because there was a knock on the door.

  Eleanor picked up Mr. Crumbles and clutched him to her. He had a habit of escaping and I’m sure she didn’t want to take any chances.

  Matilda waved her hand in the direction of the door. “It’s better if you answer it, Jane.”

  I pulled a face but walked down the stairs. I opened the door and did my best to look pleased to see Brian Birch. “That’s ever so kind of you to help us,” I said.

  Brian walked in with a wide smile. “Of course. I’m happy to help. After all, I offered, didn’t I? I wasn’t simply saying it to be polite. Mom lived on her own for some years and I know how hard it was for her.”

  When we reached the top of the stairs, Eleanor and Matilda hurried over to welcome Brian. They looked genuinely pleased to see him, but then again I’m sure they were looking forward to pumping him for information.

  “The dreadfully heavy table is in the kitchen. We can’t move it and it really needs to be out here,” Matilda said, pointing to its original spot.

  Brian walked over to the kitchen. “There’s hardly any room in here! How have you managed to use the kitchen?”

  Matilda grinned from ear to ear. “We’ve barely managed at all! It’s in our way. We’re ever so grateful to you, Brian.”

  Brian tested the weight of one end. “I won’t be able to move it by myself, I’m afraid.”

  Matilda hurried to reassure him. “No, that’s fine. The three of us can go on the other end and we can be of a little help, surely.”

  Brian looked doubtful but agreed. “I’ll go backward because it’s harder. Now show me exactly where you’d like it again?”

  Matilda walked over to the spot and gestured with her hands before returning to the far end of the table. Brian lifted the table and waited to see if the three of us could take the weight. We lifted the table, all of us pretending it was much heavier than it was, and slowly we all made our way back into the living room.

  “Just put it down at any time if it gets too much for you,” Brian said.

  Eleanor pretended it was too heavy when we were halfway there, but we finally manoeuvred it into place.

  “We can’t thank you enough,” Matilda gushed. “We’ve been wanting to move that table for ages, but we had no one to help us. And of course, the three of us weren’t able to manage by ourselves, with us all being such weak women and all.”

  I don’t know if it was my eyes playing tricks, but I was sure she batted her eyelids at him.

  “It was no trouble at all,” Brian said.

  “I insist you sit and have some cake with us for your troubles.” Matilda quirked one eyebrow. “You do have time, don’t you?”

  “Yes I do.” Brian seemed genuinely pleased to be asked. He sat at the end of the couch and apparently spotted Mr. Crumbles. “Here, kitty, kitty,” he said.

  Mr. Crumbles ran under the sideboard and peeked out at him.

  Eleanor fetched a packet of cat treats and shook them. Mr. Crumbles emerged from under the sideboard and ran around in circles.

  “Is something wrong with him?” Brian said.

  Matilda patted his arm. “Not at all. It’s just that we used to have a stripper’s pole in the middle of the room and Mr. Crumbles liked spinning around it. When he did, Eleanor would give him treats. We had to remove the pole, but Mr. Crumbles still likes to run in circles because Eleanor gives him treats.”

  Brian’s mouth fell open. He rubbed his ears. Maybe he thought he hadn’t heard properly.

  “I do not!” Eleanor’s tone was strident.

  “Maybe not anymore,” Matilda said through narrowed eyes, “but you used to give him treats when he went around in circles on the pole. Now Mr. Crumbles thinks that going around in circles will get him treats.”

  “How do you know what he thinks?” the usually patient Eleanor snapped.

  “How do you know what he thinks?” Matilda countered.

  I could see Brian was completely at a loss. His eyes glazed over and he clutched his head with both hands. I knew exactly how he felt.

  “How do you have your coffee, Brian?” I asked him.

  “Strong and black please,” he said.

  “Why don’t you help me, Matilda?” I said, taking her arm and half dragging her into the kitchen so she could not continue her argument with Eleanor.

  I made the coffee while Matilda popped several varieties of cupcakes on the plate—the offending Amish sour cream spice cupcakes, as well as lemon cheesecake cupcakes, pumpkin cupcakes, flat rock pudding cupcakes, and thimble cookie cupcakes. My mouth watered. I had no idea how I managed to work in a cupcake store without putting on ten pounds a week.

  I set the cups of coffee on a tray and carried them out to the living room, followed by Matilda with the large plate of cupcakes. We deposited them in front of Brian.

&n
bsp; The closest cupcakes to Brian were the Amish sour cream spice cupcakes. He ate an entire cupcake before speaking. “Oh, it’s a sour cream spice cupcake,” he said. “I must say, it’s better than Judy’s sour cream spice cupcakes, not that I like to speak ill of the dead.”

  “Well, you’re only speaking of her cupcakes,” I said.

  Brian nodded. “Her cupcakes were nice, but yours are even nicer, I must say.”

  I realized that Matilda had served those particular cupcakes to bring up the subject of Judy Jenkins. I thought it quite clever of her.

  “Thank you, Brian,” Matilda said. “Mrs. Jenkins accused Jane’s twin sister, Rebecca, on several occasions of stealing her idea for turning these into cupcakes, but Rebecca has been making these cupcakes for years.”

  I nodded. “Yes, my sister’s Amish, and she’s turned many Amish cakes and desserts into cupcakes. Apart from the ones you see here, she also does Long John roll cupcakes, Shoo-fly pie cupcakes, whoopie pie cupcakes, and several others.”

  “I see,” he said. “I must say, I’m a bit confused that you have an Amish twin sister.”

  “Yes, I left the Amish after my rumspringa.”

  Brian closely examined one of the flat rock pudding cupcakes before saying, “I’m not from these parts. I’m afraid I don’t know what that means.”

  I set down my coffee cup and did my best to explain. “Young Amish people usually around the age of sixteen or so go out into the world and live as what is known as Englischers—that means non Amish people. They then decide whether they want to stay English or whether they want to return to the Amish community and be baptized. I didn’t want to return.”

  “Oh, were you shunned?” he asked. “I’ve seen it on TV.”

  I shook my head and chuckled. “No. Someone has to be baptized before they can be shunned, and if people were shunned just for not returning to the community after rumspringa, then it would be a kind of entrapment, wouldn’t it?”

  He looked doubtful. Matilda wasted no time in bringing the subject back to hand. “So then, have the police arrested the murderer yet?”