Batter Off Dead

by Maymee Bell

  “Good morning. I didn’t sleep much because I’m so upset about Madison being your number-one suspect.” I knew he wasn’t going to like that I’d been investigating.

  “You aren’t snooping around, are you?” he asked me. My silence was his cue to continue speaking, “Please, Sophia. Let me do my job,” he pleaded on the other side of the phone.

  As he talked about how dangerous it was for me to get involved, I watched all the construction workers file through the sliding doors of the library. With each one, I saw dollar signs that Ray Peel’s money could’ve been paying for. Now it was all debt the Rumford citizens were going to pay for.

  “I’ve got to go, but I’ll be over to pick you up at six. Got it?” he asked, seeming fairly confident that I’d listened to him.

  “Got it.” I dragged the phone from my ear and hit the red button. I hadn’t gotten a thing he said, and I wasn’t going to just sit back and let Madison go to jail.

  Chapter Ten

  “You agreed not to look into things?” Charlotte looked up from the sink, where she was cleaning the batch of peaches I was going to be chopping up to put in the Peachy Surprise Bites—my take on peach pie.

  Instead of going to see Perry Dugan after I left the library, I went back to the bakery. I knew he’d be in today to order the birthday cake for the winery for Reba Carol’s fortieth birthday. Charlotte was holding the fort down, but I needed to think, and baking was the best way to get my mind flowing with ideas.

  “I didn’t agree not to look into anything.” I sliced the peaches in half, then quartered them before I began to dice them. “He didn’t wait for me to say anything. He just said he’d pick me up at six.”

  “And now Bitsy is involved?” She grabbed a white towel out of the drawer and hand-dried each peach before she put it in front of me.

  “Operation Merlot.” I stopped chopping and looked at Charlotte, laughing. “At first, I thought she was kidding, but she wasn’t. When I asked her to snoop a little bit, she was all for it.”

  “Knowing Bitsy, she’ll find out everything you want to know.” Charlotte walked over to the industrial refrigerator and took out the chilled butter that the recipe called for.

  When you used chilled butter, it created pockets of air in the dough and when you put it in the oven, those little pockets steamed and helped the dough rise, giving the perfect airy fluffiness my Peachy Surprise Bites were known for. Otherwise, they’d be flat and boring.

  “It gives her something to do besides being in here all day asking questions.” I combined the sugar and water in the pot while she sliced the butter and started to combine it with the flour and dry ingredients. “I found some freshly planted flowers in the back of her house and a few used pots stacked up next to the back porch steps.”

  “I don’t think I’ve ever seen her participate in the exchange,” Charlotte said, looking over the top of the electric mixer. “Like ever.”

  “I wonder what made her want to do it this year?” I knew I couldn’t let her look like a fool. “Do you know when they’re having another meeting?”

  “I’ll check on my phone once I get the dough rolled into balls.” She flipped off the mixer and put her hands in, grabbing enough dough to make into small balls. I flattened the dough balls and put the chopped peaches in the middle.

  “Speaking of the phone, I need to call the newspaper and check on how that ad got in there.” I pulled out my phone and scrolled down to find the paper’s phone number. I hit the green “Dial” button. “Lizbeth Mockby, please.”

  Lizbeth and I had gone to school together. She’d gone to college and gotten her marketing degree. From what I’d heard, she’d come back right after she graduated, taken over the marketing department at the newspaper, and then moved her way up to being the number-one reporter.

  When her voicemail picked up, I said, “Hi, Lizbeth. It’s Sophia Cummings at For Goodness Cakes Bakery. Can you please give me a call?” I rattled off my number.

  The bell over the front door dinged. I put my phone back in my pocket and rubbed my hands down the front of the apron, untying it when I pushed through the swinging door.

  “Perry.” I was a little shocked to see him standing in the bakery, because I’d lost track of time and had yet to come up with a plan for questioning him. “How are you guys doing?” I asked.

  “Fine. Why?” he asked.

  “With the murder at your winery, I just figured …” I stopped and smiled. He didn’t seem to be paying much attention to me, between looking over his shoulder and checking his watch. “Anyway, I can’t wait to show you some cakes.”

  “Great. I’m excited to see what you came up with because I really enjoyed tasting your pastries at the fund-raiser the other day.” His eyes lit up as a smile curled across his face. He pulled up his sleeve and looked at the time yet again.

  “I’m glad you enjoyed it. Let me grab a notepad.” I walked over to the glass counter and pointed to one of the displays. “While you wait, I want you to try one of these macarons. Reba loves them, and I think we can incorporate those in some way.”

  I grabbed a paper napkin and took off the dome of the cake platter Charlotte had arranged, with all the bright, spring-colored macarons on display. It was that time of year when people came in for a light and fluffy dessert. The colorful, airy macaron was the right choice with a fresh cup of coffee.

  I walked back into the kitchen to grab an order pad.

  “I totally lost track of time.” It was something I shouldn’t be surprised about since baking allowed my mind to wander. “Perry Dugan is here for his appointment for that cake order for Reba,” I said with an exhausted sigh, and I picked up the dry erase marker, marking through his appointment time. I grabbed the order pad. “Do you think it’d be tacky if I asked if Reba and Ray were dating?”

  “Yes. But who cares.” Charlotte smiled. “You’re never going to know unless you ask. And we are in the throes of Operation Merlot,” she reminded me.

  On my way back out to take his order, I decided I could just make it seem like I was being nosy.

  “These are real good, Sophia.” He wadded up the napkin and threw it in the trash can at the end of the counter.

  “Thanks. Macarons are fun, and we can color them in her favorite color.” I gestured for him to sit down at one of the small café tables like I did with all my clients who made special orders. There were a couple of photo albums of cakes I’d done for clients and for the restaurants I’d worked in.

  He sat down, and I grabbed one of the albums, flipping through it until I found the cakes I’d had in mind.

  “We can make her a chocolate macaron cake that can be three tiers high or even in a pointy shape.” I indicated a couple of cakes. “If we do the tiers, I can outline each one with different colored macarons. If we do a cone shape, I can cover it with macarons like this one.”

  He leaned in and looked at the photos.

  “What’s her favorite color?” I asked.

  “I think she’d like this color.” He pointed to the light blue color that was the same color as Tiffany’s blue box that was so famous. She likes sprinkles too.”

  “Why don’t we do a three-layer chocolate macaron cake with this light blue icing. I can melt chocolate on top and let it drip down the sides. Once it’s nice and hardened, I’ll make some light and hot pink macarons to decorate the top. Around the bottom of the cake, I’ll add some sprinkles and a few more macarons for decoration.” As I spoke, I watched his eyes start to brighten in agreement with me.

  “How is Reba doing now that Ray is gone?” I asked and started to write up the ticket for the order.

  “What do you mean?” His mouth took on an unpleasant twist. “Why would Ray Peel’s death affect her?”

  “Well, I’d heard they were pretty close. Going on dates and things.” I shrugged and stood up.

  “No. They weren’t dating. My father has a strict policy against employees dating. He said it makes for a bad workplace. I don’t know
where you heard that, but I don’t think it’s true.” He stood up and adjusted the buttons on his suit jacket.

  “Hmm. Maybe I misheard. Still, how is she doing now the lease is up on the winery?” I continued to probe.

  “The lease isn’t up at this minute. I’d been working with Dad and Ray on a new lease.” His expression stilled and grew serious.

  “Ray had talked to Madison about being the agent. I have to say,” I said, busying myself behind the counter to look like I wasn’t being so nosy and focused on his answers, “I was shocked that Ray took back his donation. Said he was having money issues and wanted to sell. I thought the winery was doing great.”

  “It is. That’s the problem when you don’t own the land. The landlord sees how well the business is doing and up goes the rent.” He pulled his wallet out of the back of his dress pants.

  “Do you regret making the deal over a beer?” I asked.

  “How did you know that?” His head tilted.

  “Reba told me. She said that you and Ray were best friends.” I could see his nostrils flare slightly as he tried to keep his composure. What nerve had I struck? The one where Reba said they were best friends? Or how Reba told me about the lease?

  Without even looking at him, I could feel the tension in his muscles flex. I used the pen to circle the price of the cake and handed him the receipt. I bent down to get the calendar from underneath the counter. “You can pay for it when you pick it up. When do you need it?” I asked, standing up.

  The bell over the door dinged. Perry was rushing down the sidewalk in front of the bakery.

  “What was that about?” Charlotte asked over my shoulder.

  “I think I hit a nerve, but I’m not sure where.” My eyes lowered as I watched Perry jump in his fancy sports car and zoom down the road. “But I do know that Reba Gunther might know more than we think.”

  “Like what?” She took one of the macarons from the pile on the cake plate before she put the domed lid back on.

  “Well, he did say that Giles didn’t allow employees to date, but Ray wasn’t an employee—or was he?” I turned to face her. “When Perry was picking out her cake, he didn’t just pick out a cake like any guy would. He actually handpicked her color and told me she liked sprinkles.”

  “What does that mean?” Charlotte asked.

  “Sprinkles are an intimate detail when it comes to putting them on cakes. Special cakes. Only someone who knows you really well would say that you love sprinkles.” I smiled real big. “I think Perry is in love with Reba.”

  “Oh, shut up. She’s like twice his age.” She started to count out loud using her fingers.

  “He’s thirty. She’s turning forty. Not that ten years is a big deal, but something was strange when I asked him about Reba and Ray. Like it was news to him, what I’d heard about Ray and Reba going on a date.” There was something there; I just couldn’t put my finger on it.

  The phone rang. She grabbed it. “For Goodness Cakes, Charlotte speaking.”

  She handed me the phone.

  “Lizbeth from the paper,” she whispered.

  “Hi, Lizbeth. Thanks for calling me back.” I had to put the whole Reba thing in the back of my head for a minute.

  I quickly explained to her about the coupon.

  “No, it was the right one,” she said, as if she hadn’t made a mistake. “I printed it exactly how you told me to.”

  “I never called and put in an ad.” Had she lost her mind?

  “It was on the note you left on my desk with the payment,” she said. “I’ve got it right here.”

  “What are you talking about?” I asked her and heard paper shuffling through the receiver.

  “When I got to work the day before the ad ran, there was an envelope with a note from you and cash to pay for it.” She sighed. It read, “‘ Please put this ad in the paper exactly as I’ve written it.’ ” She began to read off the ad that offered the coupon and a free Long John.

  “I didn’t place the ad,” I said. “Can I come down and look at it?”

  “Yeah. It’s your ad,” she said.

  “I told you that I didn’t place the ad. I didn’t write out an ad, and I didn’t come to the newspaper office to deliver the ad.” It was plain and simple.

  “If you didn’t do it, who did?” she asked.

  “I don’t know, but I intend to find out. I’ll be down there to get it.” I hung up the phone.

  “Well?” Charlotte asked.

  “Someone is trying to send me a message.” I swallowed hard and squared my shoulders. “Only, I don’t know who, and I don’t know what message they are trying to send. But I’m about to find out.”

  I grabbed my bag and made sure Charlotte could finish up the Peachy Surprise Bites. Trying to figure out who killed Ray Peel was going to have to wait. It was now a priority to find out who was messing with my business and my life, and why.

  Chapter Eleven

  The Rumford Journal wasn’t too far down the street from the bakery—just a couple blocks north. They’d taken an old gray clapboard house like those owned by most of the merchants on Main Street, gutted the inside, and made it into offices for writers and editors. The actual printing was sent out by courier to a larger Kentucky city. The Rumford Journal was a biweekly paper, and I knew if I got in front of Lizbeth quickly enough, I could get a retraction for the next issue.

  “Hi, Sophia!” Lizbeth yelled over the ringing phones and chatter. “Come on in.” She waved me over.

  When I walked in, I couldn’t help but notice she was looking for something. Picking up different files, looking under stacks of papers, and crawling around on the floor.

  “I’ve lost another earring.” Her voice echoed from underneath her desk. “I give up.” She got up and dusted her pants off. “I don’t know why I wear earrings to work.” She lifted her right hand to her right ear and felt the earring she did have. “I get on the phone and rest the receiver between my shoulder and ear. The back of the earring pokes me, so I take it out, and then I lose it.”

  “Occupational hazard,” I joked.

  Lizbeth hadn’t changed much in the last ten years. She’d been the student who loved to run for all the offices and have a hand in all the groups, and who took pride in doing the announcements. When she graduated, I’d heard she still went back to the high school to help them with the paper.

  “Here’s your envelope.” She sat down at her desk and dropped the envelope on top. She shoved a pencil in her black hair, which was pulled up in a tight bun.

  “That’s not mine.” I picked it up and opened it. “I didn’t write an ad or send you money for one.”

  “Someone did you a favor. That’s a few-hundred-dollar spot.” Her dark eyes stared at me.

  “No one did me a favor. Someone wanted me to fail, but the joke was on them.” I read the ad that had been typed and then printed out. “Someone who didn’t want anyone to know their identity.”

  “Really?” She leaned in and took an interest. “This could be a story on its own.” She sat back in the chair and drummed her fingertips together. “Tell me what happened when this came out.”

  “What do you think happened?” My face contorted. “Charlotte called me and told me there was a big line at the bakery. I hurried back, and they all had this coupon. They wanted their Fords’ Long John. I don’t bake or sell Fords’ Long Johns.”

  “It was explicitly stated in the instructions it was for that specific donut.” She licked her lips. “I sure do miss those Long Johns.”

  “We all do,” I muttered, not feeling any better. “Originally, I thought Bitsy had done it because she came in and said I needed customers.”

  “Do you?” Lizbeth asked.

  “Do I what?” I questioned, a bit confused.

  “Need customers?” she asked.

  “No.” I shook my head. “Bitsy came in on a Sunday, when I’m not open.”

  “Continue.” She appeared to be taking notes.

  “I told th
e customers that you must’ve put in an ad from years ago because I didn’t place an ad.” That got her attention.

  “You put this on my shoulders?” Her brows lifted. “I don’t make mistakes with my paper.”

  “Someone did. It wasn’t me. I was out a lot of money because I had to make good and give them something free.” I lied a little. A little white lie never hurt anyone. At least telling that to myself made me feel somewhat better. “That’s not what’s important. I need to know who dropped this off.”

  “Is someone mad at you?” she asked.

  “What? No. Ridiculous.” All the one-word sentences came out of my mouth like darts.

  “Really?” She dragged her glasses off the desk and slid them up on the bridge of her nose. “I heard you found another body. A dead one, to be specific.”

  “Are you saying that someone is trying to send me a message?” It wouldn’t’ve been the first time.

  “I heard the last time you snooped around, after you found that dead body, someone tried to run you off the road.” There was a snarkiness to her voice.

  I gulped and reached down to rub my shin. I’d been out for a run when Emile’s killer veered their car toward me, sending me a very clear message to stop looking around. Veered is being polite. I was almost the next victim in that case. But all of that was in the past.

  “Listen, why don’t we put a retraction in the next issue. In order to do that, I want you to give me an interview and place a new ad because I don’t want the subscribers to think we made a huge mistake. That’s not good for business.” She was playing hardball.

  “Right now?” I looked at my watch and wondered how Charlotte was doing alone at For Goodness Cakes. It was already getting to be late in the afternoon, and it was almost time for me to go home and get ready for my date with Carter.

  “Yes. The next issue will be out in the morning, and I need to fill some space.” She grabbed a pad of paper, pulled the pencil from her bun, and started the tape recorder. Whether or not I wanted to do an interview, she was going to get it.