Banana Muffins & Mayhem

by Janel Gradowski

  Amy smiled. "Helping clean up this morning wasn't a problem. I had so much fun last night, it's the least I could do. You hosted a great party."

  "I wonder if it would've been as much fun if Phoebe had been present. Her entourage was in this morning, and they still have no idea where she is."

  Interesting. One—Amy didn't realize Phoebe was a big enough star to have an entourage. Two—what had happened to cause her to ditch them along with her guest appearance duties? "Wow. That's crazy and kind of scary. Do they think something is wrong?"

  Sophie rolled her eyes. "No. I guess she's notorious for walking away from things that don't go her way. They figure she probably went to the casino in Detroit to party because she was bored with little old Kellerton."

  "If only we could all do things like that in unpleasant situations." Amy batted her eyelashes and faked a pout. "I don't like waiting in long lines at the grocery store. I think I'll just go to a fancy hotel and order room service instead of bothering to shop and cook."

  "From all of the things I've heard about her over the last day and a half, I'd say that is exactly how she would act."

  Amy and Sophie chatted a few more minutes while Amy's orange mocha was being made by one of the café's skilled baristas. Once the warm beverage was ready, she bid good-bye to the baker. Alex hadn't called to say he was done working yet, so she would just join him in his office. The Quantum Media building was only a block away from the café.

  The sun was shining as Amy walked along the service road, which ran behind the businesses along the last block of the downtown district. Quantum's three-story building stood at the corner of the next block. As she walked, she sipped the sweet, chocolatey coffee and pondered what she had learned about Phoebe Plymouth. Watching a spring tablescape demonstration that the TV show hostess had done with Charlotte, the owner of Unique Decor, had been Amy's first glimpse at the star's tactlessness. The ill-mannered woman had declared that she did not like any of the items the local interior decorator used and suggested what she would replace everything with instead. Phoebe answered questions from the audience after the demo, but the tone of her responses made it sound as though she thought the inquiries were stupid. Had the minor television celebrity finally realized how rude she had been to the residents of Kellerton and fled like her friends figured she had?

  Since it was Sunday, Quantum was closed. She would need to use the employee door Alex had promised to leave unlocked for her. The entrance was in the back of the structure, facing the parking lot. Amy rounded the back corner of the building and headed toward the door. In the far corner of the lot, the door of the wooden fence enclosure, which hid the Dumpster, slowly swung open. Someone had forgotten to latch it. If the wind picked up, the hinges could be damaged from the door swinging wildly. She walked past the entrance door of the building. There was no sense in leaving the enclosure to break so that Alex would have something else to worry about.

  A large gray garbage bag was wedged between the Dumpster and wooden fencing. Someone had apparently missed the trash container as they were tossing in bags. She decided to deposit it into the Dumpster so that it wouldn't get left behind when the waste management truck did its rounds. Amy bent over, grabbed the end of the bag, and pulled. It wouldn't budge. What was in it—cement blocks? No wonder it didn't make it into the Dumpster. She grabbed the heavy-gauge plastic with both hands and tugged again. Instead of moving, the bag ripped open. A silver, strappy sandal fell out…attached to a woman's foot.

  CHAPTER TWO

  "So that's where she went."

  Every person, from the coroner to several curious bystanders who had gathered on the nearby sidewalk, turned to look at Amy after her declaration. Okay…so she could've phrased that better. The trash bag had just been opened completely to reveal that the sandal and attached leg belonged to the very obviously dead Phoebe Plymouth. She swallowed and added, "I mean, nobody knew where she went last night. Unfortunately, this explains why she didn't show up at the wrap-up party."

  Detective Bruce Shepler, the husband of Amy's best friend, took a step closer to Phoebe's body. His shadow fell over the garbage bag, which had been extricated from the Dumpster enclosure and now lay in the middle of a nearby parking space. When the coroner sliced open the bag there was no doubt who was inside. The TV star's signature white-blonde hair was drenched with blood. She stayed frozen in a fetal position even though she had been freed from the confines of the plastic tomb.

  Amy turned away before she added vomit to the crime scene. She had seen dead bodies before, but that didn't mean her stomach enjoyed the experience. The more she gawked at the blood-covered star, the queasier she became. She wasn't a fan of horror stories—in books, on the movie screen, and especially not in real life.

  Shepler pointed to the landing in front of Quantum Media's back door. "Why don't we go over there and chat."

  A tall woman with limp dark-blonde hair tagged along as he, Amy, and Alex made their way to the cement pad. "This is Detective Lauren Foster," Shepler said as he nodded at the woman. "Since the victim was found here, I have a conflict of interest being friends with you two. Detective Foster will be taking care of this case." He gestured at Amy. "This is Amy Ridley, who found the body, and her husband, Alex. He owns Quantum Media."

  The corner of the female detective's mouth twitched. Her eyes were ice-blue and just as cold. "So you know the victim?" she asked Amy.

  "Well…I don't know her. I know who she is. That's Phoebe Plymouth, the host of the public broadcasting show Old House/New Style. She was a guest at the Cabin Fever Cure downtown yesterday—doing several presentations with local business owners and judging the recipe contest where I won one of the categories. So I did chat with her briefly while our pictures were being taken by a photographer."

  Detective Foster looked at Shepler as though he could translate the strange language Amy was speaking. Fine. She understood that all people didn't have the same interests as she did, so she could elaborate. "Main Street was blocked off yesterday for the event. There were tents set up to host craft, cooking, and home decorating demonstrations. Also, there were sidewalk sales and a cooking contest where all of the dishes had to be made in muffin tins." Amy sucked in a breath when Shepler shot her a cease and desist glare. "But maybe you know all of that."

  "I saw coverage of it on the news last night." The detective's low ponytail flipped over her shoulder as she turned to look at Alex. "Did you know the victim?"

  He shrugged. "I have never seen her television show…or her until now."

  "She isn't from around here," Amy volunteered. "She lives in Traverse City, and that is also where the show is filmed."

  The detective frowned. She used a stylus to write notes on a tablet computer. "So when was the last time you saw the victim alive, Mrs. Ridley?"

  "Around 4:00 p.m., during the trophy presentation for the recipe contest. She just sat at the judge's table playing on her phone instead of showing any interest in what was happening around her. It was very strange behavior, but she had been like that all day. I saw her do a demonstration where she had no filter—saying whatever popped into her head with no apparent thought about how inappropriate or offensive she was being. Her actions were upsetting since so many people were looking forward to seeing her in person."

  The two detectives exchanged stone-faced glances. Shepler shook his head slightly and said, "That's just the way she is."

  Apparently, there was some kind of law enforcement silent communication language. What body language-posed question was Shepler verbally answering? Amy pulled her shoulders back so that she stood a fraction of an inch taller. Both of the police officers and Alex still towered over her—she was always the short tulip in the bouquet of life. She had gotten used to that. Neither her height nor her personality were going to change, so she may as well own up to the latter with pride. High-heeled shoes didn't even help with the other situation. They only made her feet hurt, which then made her cranky…and still shorter than the av
erage thirteen-year-old.

  "Do you know of any other people who thought Ms. Plymouth was rude or unpleasant?" Detective Foster asked Amy.

  "She was one of the main topics of conversation at the party last night, both because of how she acted throughout the day and because she wasn't there. Nobody was impressed with her behavior, but nobody was anywhere near upset enough to murder her."

  "In your opinion," the female detective added to Amy's sentence.

  The conversation paused as they all turned to watch Phoebe's body being lifted onto a stretcher. A man wearing a vest with CSI printed on it took pictures of the area where the trash bag had been wedged. The coroner zipped up the black body bag, driving home the fact that Phoebe Plymouth was dead. And her body had been found at Alex's business.

  Detective Foster cleared her throat. She stared at the alley that ran between the other buildings on the block and connected to Quantum's parking lot. "There are a lot of Dumpsters in that alley. I wonder why the body was dumped next to this one." She glanced at Shepler before heading toward the enclosure. Apparently she didn't care to have her audible questions answered.

  Shepler very studiously avoided making eye contact with Amy as he addressed Alex. "I'm confident Lauren will be able to solve this case quickly. She has good instincts."

  Amy tilted her head to the side so that she could see around Shepler and watch his female counterpart as she squatted down in front of the green trash bin. That was an odd comment. Why did he feel the need to say he was confident in her murder solving skills?

  "I just remembered I need to make a quick phone call," Amy said as she pulled her phone out of her purse. Before either of the men could respond, she turned and hightailed it to the main sidewalk. Once she was safely on the other side of the building, she dialed Carla.

  Her best friend answered on the sixth ring. She sounded out of breath. A quick conversation revealed that Amy had interrupted baby Macy's lunch. And Carla's husband's unsolicited endorsement of the other detective's skills was because it would be her first case as the lead investigator after transferring from the narcotics division.

  When Amy returned to Alex's side and told him about the newbie detective, he shook his head. "I hope Shepler's confidence isn't misplaced. The Dumpster could've been just the most convenient place to dump the body, but by default, my company is going to be dragged into the investigation. I don't like it."

  * * *

  The morning had been a whirlwind, beginning with a pleasant visit with Sophie, followed up with a gruesome chaser—finding Phoebe's body. Even though Amy wasn't hungry, thanks to the image of the bloodied television star pasted into her memory, Alex was famished. His exercise routine turned his body into a calorie-burning foundry, forging muscle out of food. There were very few times Amy didn't enjoy cooking, but immediately after finding a dead person was one of those times. So they were at McReedy's Burgers & Beer, the newest addition to the Kellerton dining scene. The restaurant served gourmet burgers made with everything from ground prime rib to lentils, satisfying burger cravings for everybody from carnivores to vegans. Even though the restaurant had only been open for a few months, it had established a cult following in town. Amy suspected that her husband frequented the hamburger joint quite often during his lunch hour since he barely glanced at the extensive menu before ordering his meal.

  As she picked at the cinnamon sugar-dusted sweet potato fries, which Alex had ordered for her, Amy looked around the restaurant. The decor was industrial with visible ductwork overhead and a riveted metal panel wall that made it seem as if they were sitting in the belly of a ship. Very likely a nod to Michigan's Great Lakes maritime tradition. Her friend, Bridget Mahoney, had done a great job with the newest restaurant in her business empire. The silver-haired real estate mogul seemed to own half of Kellerton, but she was a fair and generous landlord who had worked hard to build her fortune. It was as though thinking of Bridget was all that was needed to make her appear. The business owner walked out of the swinging kitchen door. As Bridget scanned the dining area, her gaze locked onto Amy. She waved and began making her way through the maze of tables and customers.

  "I just heard what happened," Bridget said quietly when she reached their table. She looked at Alex. "Phoebe was found outside your business?"

  Alex set down his bacon and egg double cheeseburger. "Unfortunately. Her body was dumped in our trash enclosure. Most of the Dumpsters downtown are in plain sight in the alleys, but Quantum's has a fence around it. Hopefully that is the extent of my company's involvement—the enclosure just happened to be the most convenient hiding place for the killer. I have a great group of employees. I can't imagine any of them being involved in a murder."

  Bridget frowned. "You just never know what could be happening in your employees' lives once they leave the office. I hope whoever killed her is found quickly. Phoebe's parents are old friends."

  "You knew her?" Amy asked.

  "When she was a child. I haven't seen Phoebe or her family for years, but I used to own a summer house next door to the family's winery. I was rather surprised to hear about her bratty behavior yesterday. Her parents were such lovely, gracious people back then. It doesn't surprise me that Robert bought the house for her to remodel on the show. He used to let her paint his fingernails pink when she was little—anything to please his baby girl. What does surprise me is the elitist attitude from her. I know she wasn't raised to act that way."

  Sometimes even rod-straight saplings ended up gnarly and twisted after too many storms. What had happened to change the sweet little girl into a surly diva? "Other than being former neighbors with you, do you know if the Plymouth family has any other connections to Kellerton?" Amy pushed a drift of cinnamon sugar around her plate with a fry. "Do you know if she knew anybody here?"

  Bridget shook her head. Her shoulder-length hair sparkled as though it was made of polished silver. "I chatted with her for a few minutes yesterday afternoon to see how her parents were doing. She told me she couldn't wait to get out of Kellerton because she didn't know anybody here."

  CHAPTER THREE

  "I so regret eating spicy beef with broccoli last night," Carla said as she steered the stroller around the corner. "Poor Macy's stomach is gurgling so much that I could hear it when I changed her diaper."

  "I don't get it. Your dinner last night made Macy cranky this morning?"

  "Yes." Carla wrinkled her nose. "I don't know the exact science behind it, but she basically ends up eating whatever I do through my breast milk. Chile peppers and cruciferous vegetables were not a good idea."

  That was something Amy had no clue could happen. It seemed as though every time she talked to Carla she learned a new fact that further demonstrated her immense lack of knowledge on pregnancy and child-rearing. The mysterious road of parenthood wasn't a route Amy had any desire to explore. She had convinced herself it would be a trip into the haunted forest of bad parenting doom. But that wasn't the most frightening thing in her life at the moment. She had been studying the stores on the other side of the street, whose Dumpsters were in the same alley that ended in Quantum Media's parking lot. Why had Alex's business been the unlucky "winner" of a gruesome dead body? But Carla's odd comment about Chinese food snapped her straying thoughts back on track to the conversation with her best friend. "That's interesting…challenging, I'd think, to figure out what is safe to eat that won't upset Macy's tummy."

  "Yes, it is. I feel like I'm on some sort of strange fad diet invented by sadists." Carla sighed. She nodded at Quantum's building. "How are you doing after finding another dead body?"

  "Okay." Amy involuntarily shivered. Her mouth said she was fine, but her body was conveying how she really felt. Creeped out. Phoebe had looked like an actress in a zombie movie. Ick. "Worried about the detective who is handling the case. Has your hubby said anything about her? I got some bad vibes from her yesterday. She didn't seem very personable."

  Carla stopped walking to cover Macy's legs back up with a plush pin
k blanket. The stop in motion led to an immediate cry of indignation. She slipped a pacifier into the baby's mouth. "You do realize homicide detectives aren't supposed to give you warm, fuzzy feelings. From what I've heard from him, Lauren is very professional and analytical. Before she was even assigned to this case, he told me he thinks she'll do well, that she has good instincts."

  "I hope so. I know Alex isn't involved, but it's scary that a body was found on his business's property." She looked over her shoulder, up at the second floor where Alex's office was located. "I'm sure everybody is on edge there this morning. Not an environment conducive to creativity if the employees are all wondering if they work with a homicidal maniac."

  Alex had built his company up from a small sign-making shop to the area's premier advertising design agency. They expertly produced everything from trade expo displays to car wraps and billboards. A dead television star in the trash was not the type of publicity the business wanted or needed.

  "There were a lot of people downtown over the weekend that have nothing to do with Alex's company. My guess, based on my experience as the wife of a homicide detective, is that the killer was banking on her body not being found for a while or even never. If you hadn't accidentally ripped the bag open, it may have ended up at the landfill covered in tons of other garbage."

  They turned the corner and began trekking toward Main Street again. The planned shopping trip had turned into fly-by window shopping as they made laps around downtown. Every time the pace of the stroller slowed, Macy began fussing. That made browsing at clothing stores or gift shops tricky. So around and around the blocks they went. It had been about a week since Amy and Carla had last seen each other. An absence in their friendship that was unheard of before Macy was born. But spontaneous shopping trips or impromptu coffee breaks weren't possible anymore when Carla had to get herself and the baby ready. Let alone the feeding and nap schedules that she had to work around. Amy was so proud of her friend for taking motherhood in stride, but she missed the camaraderie. There was nothing like being jealous of a baby to make a person feel low.