The voice had a hint of dry humor in it, and Claire turned around, setting down the tray of berry cupcakes. The young woman had just walked in, and was smiling warmly as she asked the question. “Don’t let her get you down,” she said.
Claire tried to suppress the anger that was still plainly visible on her face. She didn’t want to let her irritation affect how people saw the bakery. This was a good place to visit and work except for fifteen minutes once a week, when Mrs. Park arrived.
“Oh, it’s okay,” Claire lied, hoping her face matched her tone of voice. She took the cupcakes from the tray and placed them in the box for little Mary Rommel’s birthday party. Claire worked quickly, topping each with small mermaid toys and sugar pearls and then shaking glitter-colored sprinkles over them all. As soon as she was done, she closed the pink bakery box and turned to find the same wide gaze fixated on her face.
A young woman on the other side of the counter seemed to be studying Claire. She could obviously see her frustration.
“It’ll be okay,” the woman said in a friendly tone. “You can’t let someone like Gertrude Park ruin your day.”
This time Claire focused on the young woman’s face. She was younger than Claire had originally thought, perhaps just past high school. She was lovely, too, with big, dark brown eyes and dirty blonde hair that was pulled back into a sleek ponytail. Her clothes were worn, but well-cared for, and she wore a leather jacket that showed off her curves to full advantage.
“I’m all right,” Claire said, this time meaning it. “I appreciate…” Claire’s voice trailed off. It mattered that someone realized that it was Mrs. Park who had been out of line rather than Claire’s baking. It meant something for people to see Gertrude Park was a sour, old woman who spent too much time alone and too much time lashing out at random people. That the woman was too rich for anyone’s good and she wielded her money like a bludgeon was well-known. Claire took a deep breath and slapped a smile on her face before her thoughts came out of her mouth. As much as those things mattered, Claire wouldn’t reveal her feelings to a woman she didn’t know, especially in her workplace.
“Gertrude Park is a nasty old woman.”
Claire tried not to nod, and the young lady continued.
“I should know. She’s my grandmother.”
Without thinking, Claire blurted out her first reaction. “My condolences.” Instantly, she clapped her mouth shut in horror, but the young woman just laughed and then asked, “Join me for coffee?”
Claire glanced at the clock, saw it was about time for a break, and said, “That sounds lovely.”
She put two cupcakes on a plate, poured herself a large cup of coffee in her favorite mug, and went to sit with Mrs. Park’s granddaughter. Claire had been living in Brightwater Bay for a few months now, and she’d made a few friends and even a new love, but she didn’t know all that many people.
She had, however, come to know this girl’s grandmother too well. Every single Friday Mrs. Park came in for a special dessert. Every single time she ordered a new dessert for the next Friday. Something complicated with a small window of profit, and a whole lotta bad attitude.
Then, every single week, Gertrude Park enjoyed tearing her last order to pieces until finally Mrs. Applegate offered a discount off the new dessert. This week: cherry almond amaretto cake. Layered and decorated with care. Claire knew it would be amazing and next Friday, Gertrude Park would destroy it. Claire’s eye twitched as she sat across from the girl, held out her hand and said, “I’m Claire.”
“Nice to meet you. I’m Michaela Nathans,” she said as she shook Claire’s hand. “I’d apologize for my Grandma, but the truth is that’s just how she is. At least you’re not related to her.”
Claire tried not to smile. That was too true.
“What’s the dessert this time?” Michaela asked. “Look, don’t worry when she complains about whatever you made. This bakery is amazing, and I’m sure what she ordered is lovely.”
“Cherry almond cake with amaretto cream. Did she ruin every event for your whole life?” Claire slapped her mouth shut telling herself she shouldn’t be saying these things, but Michaela just laughed, even though she didn’t sound all that amused.
“Oh, heavens no,” Michaela said. “I’m a by-blow, as Grandma likes to call me. The black sheep of the family. She didn’t spend time with me growing up other than to find my mother and myself lacking.” She paused. “I don’t even get to go to her dinners these cakes are for very often, but I’ll be at this one though. I’ll make sure to eat two slices of your cake and not even be bothered when Grandma tells me how I’ll never get married because I’ll be too fat.”
Claire felt a pang for what Michaela had said, and then had to wonder just why Michaela was sharing with Claire. They weren’t friends. This conversation felt a little too much like things girlfriends would say in low-voices over coffee.
“Well,” Claire said carefully, “I think you’re lovely and I hope you enjoy both slices of cake. It’s pretty. Should taste really good if the frosting is an indicator.”
Should. There was no question that Mrs. Park would complain about it. She complained every single week. It was a wonder that she kept coming in, but Sandy had told Claire snidely that Mrs. Park complained to get her discounts. She might be rich, but the woman was cheap.
“It’ll be fine,” Michaela said brightly. “Everyone’s family tree has a few nuts, right? Mine’s just a little harder to crack than most. Dinner at her place will be just another Friday night.”
Claire grinned, grateful that her Friday night would include dinner with Scott, possibly a little dancing, and snuggles with her dog, Roscoe. After a day of tension, it sounded like a perfect way to relax, and certainly much more fun than being at any dinner party Mrs. Park may have.
Chapter 3
The next morning, Officer Darryl Portman, Brightwater’s Bay most visible police officer, walked through the swinging doors of the bakery while Claire was situating raspberry tarts on a tray. Sandy hadn’t arrived yet and the bakery wasn’t open, but she hadn’t locked the door behind herself when she’d entered. It didn’t matter, as the closed sign usually kept people out, and if someone poked their head in it wasn’t too big of a problem to tell them they needed a few minutes or only serve up the things that were already prepared.
Closed or open, Claire was happy to see her friend. Darryl had been the person who’d introduced her to Brightwater Bay and helped her to find a place to stay. He had stopped to help her when her car had broken down outside of town. Her trip to see the San Juan Islands had come to an abrupt end with the car trouble, but she considered it the kind hand of providence now. She gave him an extra-wide grin when she remembered how he’d asked her if she was going to jump after he’d found her standing too close to the o guardrail over the bluff. He didn’t grin back, but he adjusted his loaded cop belt before he put his fists on his hips and glanced around.
“Good morning, Darryl,” Claire called. “We’re not quite up and running yet, but can I get you a coffee? Maybe one of these tarts? They’re still warm, and I can drizzle a little extra chocolate on for you.” She smiled at him, but he didn’t grin back.
Claire searched his face and then paused. She’d had seen Darryl at work too many times to not realize the difference between her friend who told her stories about funny police calls and the man who was on the job. “Is everything all right? It’s not Daisy, is it?”
Darryl shook his head before he said, “Things aren’t good, Claire. But Daisy and Scott are just fine.” He took a deep breath. “I need to talk to you.”
Claire paused again, worry flooding her. She was grateful he’d taken a moment to include Scott before telling her that things were not okay. Claire put a tart on a plate, covered it with too much chocolate and then poured him a cup of coffee. She added one for herself and took a seat across from him in their empty dining area. “Are you all right? What can I do to help?”
He fiddled with the tart, n
ot seeming to see it before he took a drink of his coffee. With a sigh, she pushed the creamer and sugar closer. He didn’t drink his coffee black very often, and she hoped he wasn’t now because of whatever was happening. It worried her to see him off-balance like this.
He rubbed his big hand over his face, as if trying to keep awake, then saw Mrs. Applegate poke her head out of the backroom, spatula in hand. “Mrs. Applegate, would you join us?” he asked.
The surprise on Mrs. Applegate’s face smoothed into a sweet nod, but the two bakers met gazes. Something was off, and it must include the bakery. Mrs. Applegate joined them with her coffee in hand and sat next to Claire, across from Darryl.
“What’s going on?” Claire said when he continued to hesitate. “Is it Sandy?”
Darryl shook his head to answer their worried gazes and then sighed. His voice was apologetic when he asked, “Can you tell me who baked the almond cake yesterday? The one Gertrude Park purchased?”
Claire cleared her throat and then said, “We both did. Mrs. Applegate made the cake, I made the filling and put it together.”
“Why?” Mrs. Applegate asked, her voice flat with worry.
Claire didn’t blame her boss one bit. Not with a police officer—even if he was their friend—coming into see who made a cake. That felt a bit too much like being a suspect. Perhaps Mrs. Park had gotten sick to her stomach and made a claim against them? She was an awful old woman who would do just that. Maybe that was why the baker over at Kiah Cakes had refused to do business with Mrs. Park anymore? Maybe she’d gotten bad shellfish or something and then blamed it on their cake? It wouldn’t surprise Claire one bit if that were the case.
Darryl sidestepped Mrs. Applegate’s question and asked, “Did you make only one of those cakes?”
She paused and then shook her head. “We made two, and we made cupcakes as well on Thursday. The cupcakes were all gone by the end of Thursday. Yesterday, Mrs. Park picked up her cake, and a tourist bought the second one. “
“Any chance you know the tourist’s name?”
Mrs. Applegate shook her head again.
“Any chance they paid by card?”
Mrs. Applegate paused and then said, “Well, yes. It’s very likely. Most people do, you know.”
Darryl nodded and took another drink of his coffee. Claire did the same to hold back the tide of her questions.
“Did you use the same…is it dough? For all the cakes and cupcakes?”
Mrs. Applegate paused at that again and then said, “Yes, we did. We often double or triple special orders and make one large batch of batter that we use for multiple things like cakes and cupcakes. To get the most value out of our work.”
He nodded. His face was solemn, and Claire noticed how his fingers were white against the mug. He was clutching it too hard for a case of food poisoning. He was being too careful with his questions and information for something that could be so easily dismissed.
“Darryl,” Claire said slowly, waiting until his gaze met hers, “Mrs. Park is okay, isn’t she?”
He froze for too long and then slowly shook his head. Finally, he followed that up with, “No. No, she’s not okay at all. She’s dead.”
The words resounded in Claire’s ears for a split second, while her shocked brain tried to process what Darryl had just said.
“Oh heavens,” Mrs. Applegate exclaimed. Her fingers shook as she pressed them to her lips.
“And you think our cake killed Mrs. Park?” Claire’s voice was soft.
“Well, it’s a possibility,” Darryl said. “Preliminary investigation doesn’t make it look good, ladies. The rest of the food has been cleared, and she died rather soon after she ate some of your cake.”
“But…” Claire pushed against her brow where a sudden headache was forming and said, “But, this was at the family dinner, right? Everyone else lived? Mrs. Park couldn’t have eaten that cake by herself.”
Darryl looked sick as he said, “She ate alone that night. At least dessert. Her maid found her dead, face-first down in the cake. Mrs. Park and her pet rat, Francis. The rat ate some of the cake after Mrs. Park was incapacitated. It died, too.”
Claire had to hold her stomach at the image that presented and then hold back her demands for more information. It just….it just didn’t make sense.
“But I met someone yesterday who said she would be there. She had guests, her family,” Claire said, her voice tinged with a note of pleading.
Darryl nodded once and then said, “There was a ruckus. Mrs. Park told everyone to leave before dessert. She kicked them out and it turns out it was a good thing she did. Otherwise, it might have been a massacre.”
Claire grabbed Mrs. Applegate’s hand, holding tight, and rubbed her thumb over the back of her boss’s hand. It was all too terrible.
“I tried the cupcakes myself, so it’s not possible that the cake killed her. Ate one at the bakery that day and took the last one home to share with Mr. Applegate,” Mrs. Applegate croaked. “They were fine. I’m fine. That cake for Mrs. Park was lovely. It must have been something else. I was even thinking we’d add the cake to our regular rotation.” Her voice trailed off. “Well, I suppose that’s not a good idea now, is it?”
Claire’s mind was spinning with questions, all looking for answers. She was still trying to understand how her cake had killed someone and their poor pet. She wasn’t wild about pet rats, but she had a soft spot in her heart for animals. It almost seemed like a dream.
Darryl pulled out a notebook and asked Mrs. Applegate a string of direct questions. He asked her to detail the process the bakery used with the ingredients. By the end, Mrs. Applegate was practically stammering, and Claire felt a surge of relief when Darryl finally flipped his notebook shut and asked to see the backroom. Claire showed him their storage area, the kitchens, the cupboards, all of it. He was looking for something specific, she knew, but he couldn’t tell them what, and there was a part of her that didn’t want to know. That was the Arizona Claire. The new, Washington Claire had gotten involved in two murder investigations since she’d moved to town, but this one was too close to home.
“What are you looking for?” She saw him wince a bit. It wasn’t because he was afraid of her, of course, it wasn’t. It was because they were friends, and he couldn’t tell her.
“Claire…”
Mrs. Applegate had her arms folded across her chest as Claire showed Darryl where they kept their cleaning supplies. It was in a separate cabinet, far from the food, but he glanced it over and then asked a little too casually, “Y’all ever have rodents?”
Claire shook her head but Mrs. Applegate gasped in shock, then set her jaw obstinately. “Absolutely not. I keep this place spic and span.”
Something about the question made Claire pause, and it took her a few minutes to remember why. And more minutes to remember that rat poison sometimes contained cyanide. And that cyanide was said to smell like almonds. If Mrs. Park had been murdered using cyanide—they were looking for a murder weapon.
In their back room. In her workplace.
And the police were thinking they were possible suspects in a murder.
“Oh my,” Claire said, “If we’re under suspicion, what’s our motive? That Mrs. Park was mean? That she publicly belittled us and our work once a week, then made us carry her purchases to her car? Really, Darryl?”
Darryl looked to the side but the slight twist to his lips told Claire that he didn’t buy that reason. It wasn’t a motive.
“Are you ruling us out?” she asked, pressing him. She could feel anger rising within her. Friend or not, she was going to fight any baseless accusations.
The tips of Darryl’s ears turned red and he coughed, sniffed, and then cleared his throat. “Whatever I think about you both and the bakery, I still need to do my job thoroughly, okay? I’m sure you understand.”
Claire’s phone pinged with an incoming text alert.
Scott: Are you okay? I…heard some things.
Claire
smiled. Scott was a good man, and it was just like him to have heard the rumors about what had happened and to check on her right away. She just hadn’t expected the gossip chain to have taken off so fast. Brightwater Bay was a very small town. Once you removed the tourists, it was a place that took care of its own. Mrs. Park might have been terrible, but she had been theirs, and people would care that she’d died. Claire cared, even though the woman had been awful.
Claire: Everything is fine. Darryl is here and looking after us. Talk soon.
Darryl finished his examination of the bakery and left. Mrs. Applegate’s face was flushed and her eyes were flashing as Claire’s phone buzzed again.
“Scott?” Mrs. Applegate smiled at the phone and back at Claire. “There’s no need to worry, of course, but maybe you should take the day off and reassure him.”
“He’s got work today,” Claire said, “A run out to Orcas, and my baking here isn’t done.”
“Scott is a good man,” Mrs. Applegate said.
Claire nodded. Her boss wouldn’t be getting any arguments from Claire about that.
“And you should go let him know you’re okay,” Mrs. Applegate continued. “Even if he has to go to work soon, he’ll feel better knowing you’re okay because he saw it with his own eyes.”
Claire laughed. She wasn’t going to say no. It wasn’t like she didn’t want to see Scott before work, and she was a little shaken up by what happened. She had changed since she’d come to Brightwater, and learned that she had an inner strength that she’d long forgotten.
Time for some blueberry pancakes and to sit across from a smiling man with jade-green eyes. She bet she could persuade Scott to meet her at the Dogwood Café for breakfast before he had to get on the ferries for work. Giving Mrs. Applegate a kiss on the cheek, Claire pulled off her apron and went to get her little dog.
Chapter 4
“How about we go for a walk before breakfast?” Scott suggested, twining his warm fingers through Claire’s. “We’ll walk through the art gallery and get the daily breakfast special at the Dogwood. Maybe think about a double scoop waffle cone.”
A Sweet Spoonful of Cyanide Page 2