Honey Buns and Homicide_A Funny Culinary Cozy Mystery

by Christy Murphy

  I should’ve known better than to take this case. In a way, we’d been sort of tricked into taking it. And now not only did the police suspect me of trying to murder my ex-husband’s girlfriend, I was also in danger of ruining my new relationship. But in order to understand all of this we needed to—as they used to say on those old cartoons—step into the wayback machine. Well, not so far back. Just until a couple of weeks ago.

  Hey DJ! Kick out some of that dreamy flashback music right here...

  Half Caff and Humperdinck

  The flight from the Philippines to LAX had been long, but the three of us had gotten lucky and sailed through immigration. Dar-Dar, our housemate, was waiting for us when we came out. He wore pink hot pants, a white button-down shirt with the collar up, and red-black stilettos. He held a sign that said, “Nancy Drew Crew.”

  “Over here!” he called out to us as if he were hard to spot. “Do you like my sign?”

  “Hi Dar!” Mom called back. “It’s great.”

  “It’s for all of us. I’ve decided we’re the Nancy Drew Crew. There have been so many emails since you’ve been gone,” he said.

  Wenling was quiet. She hadn’t been able to sleep much on the plane. I knew that, because I hadn’t either. Every time I attempted to fall asleep, my self-consciousness about my loud snoring woke me up. Mom slept fine.

  A handsome man with salt-and-pepper hair rushed over to Darwin and then looked over at me. It took me a moment to realize that it was DC. I hadn’t expected him to meet me at the airport. We’d only been dating for a short period of time before I left for the Philippines. I’d been away for four months, and we’d only decided that we were officially “boyfriend and girlfriend” over video chat. Maybe it was because I was jetlagged or maybe it was because this was the first time I was seeing him in person since we made it “official,” but I felt way awkward.

  “Welcome home!” he said, holding out his arms.

  It took me a moment to realize I should go over and hug him. I felt so stupid, but once his arms wrapped around me, all my weirdness melted away. He was a good hugger, and he didn’t even seem to notice my awkwardness. How could I be so lucky? Our hug ended, and he gave me a quick kiss on the lips. It felt so couple-like that my stomach did a little flip.

  “Great to see you,” Mom said. “What a surprise!”

  “I had the day off,” he said, smiling at me. “Where do we pick up your luggage?”

  “Number 3,” Wenling said. “Mine is blue.”

  Wenling’s luggage was like a mini Titanic. When I tried to pull it off the luggage conveyor belt in the Philippines the darn thing actually dragged me with it. Luckily a baggage handler helped us retrieve it that time. I was grateful Dar-Dar and DC were here to get it this time.

  We all headed to the luggage carousel, and I realized how tired I was. If I’d known that DC was coming to meet me at the airport, I would have slept on the plane and not cared about waking everybody up with my bear-like snoring.

  I excused myself from our group and headed to the bathroom. Mom and Wenling had gone right after we exited the plane. I’d gone then too, but hadn’t given my hair or breath a second thought at the time. My hair didn’t look nearly as bad as I imagined, but my face was dry from the airplane air and from what I could tell my breath would make a dragon flinch. All I had in my purse was a hotel hand moisturizer, but it would have to do. I tried to moisturize the flakes from my skin and gargled with some water from the sink. I thought about putting makeup on, but I realized it was in the carry-on bag that I shared with Mom. Sheesh. I sighed and joined the party at the baggage carousel.

  Naturally our luggage was last, but we all passed the time laughing about our trip.

  “Excuse me,” a man said as he tapped me on the shoulder. I stood aside to allow him to approach the conveyor belt for the luggage. I’d assumed that he needed to grab his bags. But instead he asked me a question. “Did I see you on the news?”

  “Yes!” Mom said. “All of us!”

  “You’re the bakers who do the investigations,” he said.

  “We prefer catering crime solvers,” Wenling said.

  “That’s very clever,” the man said. “I’m a freelance writer. I’d love to talk to you when you have chance. Are you working on a case right now?”

  “We just got back from solving a case in the Philippines,” Mom said.

  “Interesting,” the man said, smiling at me. “Let me give you my card. We should talk, especially if you get another case that’s local to SoCal. That’s more my beat.”

  He handed me the card, and I handed it to Mom. “Call me,” the man said.

  “We will,” Mom said.

  The man walked away, and I noticed DC’s jaw was clenched. “What’s wrong?” I asked.

  “I don’t like the way that guy was looking at you.”

  “He seemed nice,” I said.

  “Too nice,” DC said.

  “Do you think he’s a con artist?” Wenling asked, but then she was distracted when she spotted her big, blue whale of a bag. She pointed it out to Dar-Dar. He grabbed it in one easy swoop without even a slight wobble on his stilettos. If gymnastics had a high-heels event, Dar would stick the landing every time.

  I turned back to DC and noticed his eyes were fixed on the guy as he walked away.

  The man turned and waved at me. I waved back, which didn’t seem to make DC any happier.

  “He’s no con artist,” Mom said.

  “He was hitting on you,” DC said to me.

  I laughed and so did Mom, which eased the tension until Mom said, “That happens to the kid all the time.”

  Wenling turned from her and Dar’s luggage search-and-rescue mission and added, “Used to happen to me a lot when I was younger.”

  DC’s jaw tightened again. I hadn’t realized my boyfriend was the jealous type.

  It took almost half a week for me to get my sleep straight. For a while I was on a vampire schedule due to the time difference. It was great to be home in Fletcher Canyon, but we’d been in the Philippines for so long that it almost felt like home as well. I sort of missed living in the hotel right on the water. But now I had my own room again, and I wasn’t separated from DC.

  On the day he came to pick us up at the airport, traffic was so bad it took two and a half hours to come home. I fell asleep thirty minutes into the ride. We all had pizza at the house, and I’d conked out on the couch. Not exactly the most romantic homecoming.

  But today I was up at the early hour of 10 a.m. because Mom said we had a meeting with a possible new client. We took all our meetings at the Lucky Dragon restaurant that Wenling owned. Her daughter had been running it while we were in the Philippines.

  It would be nice to go back to the restaurant. I was surprised at how much I missed hanging out there most afternoons while Mom and Wenling folded wontons. Mom baked desserts for Wenling and in exchange we got to use her commercial kitchen for our catering business.

  I forced myself out of bed and staggered to the kitchen have some half-caf with Mom.

  “If we decide to take this case, we can call that writer we met at the airport,” Mom said.

  My mind flashed back to DC at the airport. “You don’t think it would bother DC, do you?”

  Mom smiled. “It’ll bother him a little, but he needs to get used to that. He’s got to get over his jealousy. You can’t have a jealous husband.”

  I thought Mom was jumping the gun with husband talk, and I wasn’t sure that I liked the idea of working through his jealousy at this early stage in our relationship.

  “This case could be a good one,” Mom said. “Dar-Dar’s going to meet us at the restaurant. He says he wants to be part of ‘the crew,’” Mom said, signaling quotation marks with her fingers.

  “Maybe he can take over van-driving duties,” I said. I’d never quite gotten the handle on driving our catering van—its size and lack of an automatic transmission being the main reasons.

  Moriarty, our tuxedo ca
t, entered the kitchen and hissed at me like I was a stranger.

  “Moriarty,” Mom said, laughing. “That’s Christy, your sister. Be nice.”

  Moriarty stopped hissing and pranced by me without looking in my direction. Some brother.

  I drank my coffee, got dressed, and we got into the van. I hadn’t driven in almost six months. It showed. I stalled our catering van twice parking it behind the Lucky Dragon. Once when I turned into the little alley off of Main Street and the other when I put the van in park. Luckily, we’d left in plenty of time and still were a half hour early to meet our prospective “client.”

  Mom texted Dar-Dar that we’d arrived so he could take his break from The Mocha Muse, Fletcher Canyon’s coffeehouse. The Mocha Muse was farther down Main Street, closer to the mountain.

  “He’s going to help us strategize and prepare for our meeting,” Mom said.

  “Cool,” I said. Although, I didn’t know what it meant to prepare for our meeting.

  I’d been busy sleeping and talking to DC on the phone that I hadn’t heard much about the case. DC and I had tentative plans for a date if he could wrap up his work in time. Mom always told me not to let guys “get too comfortable” and “take me for granted,” but I was trying to be understandable and flexible. I figured that would be a concession I’d have to make dating a police detective.

  On the other hand, my relationship with my ex-husband proved that my judgment lacked wisdom.

  Mom and I hopped out of the van and entered the Lucky Dragon through the back door off the kitchen. The familiar smell of simmering meat, fried rice, and dumplings made me feel at home.

  I grabbed a glass off the rack and headed to the soda fountain to get myself a Diet Coke. That’s when I noticed the machine looked really clean, maybe even new. I glanced around the kitchen. Chef Li shifted from the grill to the prep table with his usual grace as he got ready for the lunch rush. The side-by-side refrigerator and our baking oven looked the same. But the whole place shined as if it had been deep-cleaned and upgraded.

  “What’s this?” Mom said, staring at a fancy new espresso machine. “Where’s the coffee maker?”

  Wenling popped into the kitchen through the swinging door. “Jennifer changed my whole kitchen. Spent a fortune.”

  “It looks nice,” I said.

  “She’s supposed to wait until I die to make changes, not go on vacation,” Wenling said with her arms folded.

  Jennifer entered the kitchen behind her mom. “People kept leaving the restaurant to go and have a fancy coffee at the Mocha Muse so I figured I’d get us an espresso maker. You liked those mochas, remember?”

  Wenling’s expression changed from sour to one of interest. I could tell she was holding back her excitement. “Can we make mochas with that?” Wenling had gotten a taste for mochas when the Mocha Muse gave out freebies the night of their grand opening.

  “Well, no. We don’t have the chocolate, but we can make lattes and cappuccinos,” Jennifer said.

  Wenling reverted to not being impressed.

  “How do we make a pot of half-caf with it?” Mom asked.

  “Can’t do it,” Wenling said, giving her daughter a pointed stare.

  Jennifer sighed, marched to the office at the edge of the kitchen, and emerged with the old coffee pot.

  “You said you threw it away!” Wenling said.

  “You can set it up here,” Jennifer said, putting it on the far edge of the counter. “You won’t have to walk as far to get refills when you discuss cases.”

  “It was closer to the sink for water before,” Wenling grumbled, but I could tell from her expression that she’d been appeased.

  Mom started making the half-caf. I was tempted to try the new espresso maker, but the machine looked complicated, and Mom and Wenling switched to half-decaf coffee because of me.

  About six years ago, after I turned thirty, I found that regular caffeinated coffee gave me the shakes. It didn’t help that I drank about nine cups a day in addition to diet soda. Mom and Wenling both drank tons of coffee, and it never bothered them. They’d switched in solidarity with me, and so we could all drink from the same pot.

  “Ai-oh!” Dar-Dar called from just outside the kitchen. It’s the Filipino version of saying “yoo-hoo.” He popped his head through the swinging door. “Nancy Drew Crew, let’s get to work. I only have an hour lunch.”

  “Just starting up the coffee,” Mom said.

  “I’m surrounded by coffee all day,” Dar said.

  “I’ll get you the special,” Wenling said.

  “No, I’ll take that to go after. I don’t want to smell like food or be caught eating when our big client gets here. I did research,” he said holding up the folder. “He’ll be here in twenty minutes.”

  “He’s coming from LA,” Mom said to me. She knew I was probably getting anxious. “They never seem to understand just how far away we are and the traffic. He won’t be here for at least forty minutes.”

  We all headed to our usual booth at the back of the closed section of the Lucky Dragon restaurant.

  Our booth looked the same, but the rest of the closed half of the restaurant looked completely different. Nicer but different.

  “The kitchen wasn’t all she did,” Wenling said.

  “It looks nice,” Mom said. “Modern.”

  Wenling didn’t say anything. Her expression indicated she wasn’t happy with the change. I decided a subject shift was in order.

  “So what did you find out about our client?” I asked Dar as I sat down at the table. He scooted in next to me. Mom and Wenling took their usual place across from us. They liked to face the glass windows of the restaurant so they could look out at Main Street.

  “He’s a big music manager,” Dar said. “If you go to the Facebook page for his company and check his photos, there’s a picture of him with everybody famous. Jay-Z, Beyoncé, even Engelbert Humperdinck.”

  “Impressive,” Mom said.

  Engelbert Humperdinck was still popular in the Philippines. He did concerts in Manila and Cebu and always sold out.

  “He represents Englebird Humperdinck?” Wenling asked.

  “It’s Engelbert,” Mom corrected.

  “That’s what I said.”

  Mom shook her head no. “Bert, like Ernie and Bert. No bird.”

  Wenling shrugged. “Can he get us to meet the Bert and Ernie guy?” Wenling asked Dar.

  “He doesn’t represent those big stars. He just took pictures with them,” Dar answered.

  I opened up my Facebook account. I hadn’t checked it since we got back from the airport. My notifications for my personal page indicated I had a lot of comments. Most of the social media interactions I had were with people on our catering page.

  After Robert left me in the middle of the night to take up with his new girlfriend, I pretty much lost most of my friends. It’s not like they all deliberately sided with Robert. I’d drifted off on my own. I never felt like I belonged in that rock ‘n’ roll/indie music world.

  I was excited to see that some of my old friends had reached out to me. Maybe they’d seen a few pictures that I posted while we were in the Philippines.

  “He represents that girl band Lulu’s Lemons, some alternative band called Trashing Tonkas,” Dar said, “and also some guy named Robert Conway.”

  That name snagged my attention. My head shot up from my Facebook page. “Did you say Robert Conway?” I asked.

  “Why, have you heard of him?” Dar asked.

  “That’s my ex-husband,” I said getting an awful feeling about this case. “I’d never taken Robert’s last name as my own. He’d said it wasn’t necessary, and I’d figured why do the paperwork. But now I knew it just made it easier for him to pretend like we were never married.

  “That’s how the manager knew to ask our crew!” Dar said with excitement. “Your ex must be the one that’s been getting the death threats.”

  Death threats!

  “He doesn’t deserve our help,�
�� Mom said.

  “I liked it better when I thought he died,” Wenling said, referencing a rumor that had swept through town that I was a young widow.

  Mom cracked a smile. Guess who started the rumor?

  Dar-Dar typed into his phone. I suspected he was Googling my ex. “He’s handsome, but those pants!”

  He turned his phone around for the three of us to see. Leather pants.

  “Leather!” Mom laughed.

  “No. It’s pleather,” Dar said. “You can tell by the shine and the fit.”

  “Unsa pleather?” Wenling asked Dar, slipping in a little Visayan—the local dialect from Mom and Dar-Dar’s hometown. Wenling had picked up a few words while on our trip.

  “Plastic made to look like leather,” he answered.

  She rolled her eyes.

  “What website is that?” Mom asked, her facial expression serious.

  “Wiley Jenner’s blog, even though blogs are so 2005.”

  “Pleather is so 1983,” I said.

  “But the eighties are back,” Dar said, giving the pants a second look.

  “Unsa Wiley Jenner?” Wenling asked.

  I thought the word “unsa” meant “what,” which made sense. Except part of me wondered if Wenling was using it correctly.

  Dar-Dar explained about Wiley Jenner being a take on Kylie Jenner like some other famous gossip blogger had done with another famous reality show star.

  “I thought it was like Wile E. Coyote from the Road Runner cartoons,” Mom said.

  Wenling laughed.

  “Go back to the top so I can read the story,” Mom said.

  She leaned in to read, her face turning more and more serious the longer she read.

  “What’s it say?” Wenling asked, reverting back to full English with her impatience.

  “Some people close to Conway believe Robert’s embittered ex is the one making the death threats.”

  Everyone turned to me.

  “When did that column come out?” I asked.

  “It’s today’s post,” Dar said.