Honey Buns and Homicide_A Funny Culinary Cozy Mystery

by Christy Murphy

  “Yeah,” I said, thinking of how I never felt like I was good enough to be with him and how untrue that was.

  Mom gave Honey the box of tissues so she could dry her tears. I felt really awkward about the whole situation. It was nice to bond with Honey over Robert being a total jerk, but I was probably going to be arrested for attempting to kill her pretty soon.

  “I’m really sorry to hear about Robert, but actually you’re better off without him. Christy’s life is so much better now that she’s gotten rid of him. You’re still young. You found out who he was before you got married,” Mom said.

  “That’s true. It’s not like you spent ten years being poor with him like Christy,” Wenling said.

  That made Honey feel better, but I’m not sure it did much for my feelings. We made small talk, and then Mom broached the subject of the case.

  “Do you have any idea who wanted to kill Robert?” Mom asked.

  “You mean except me?” Honey joked.

  “And me,” I said and then regretted it. I really did look guilty for this crime.

  “When Robert was talking to the police, he said that he and you were probably going to go out after the party,” Honey said.

  “He asked me to go, I told him no, but he didn’t listen,” I said.

  “He never listens,” she said.

  “Madison was here and she confirmed that you two made plans,” Honey said. “She didn’t look that happy about it though.”

  “So Madison knew that you were going to be driving your car home alone,” Mom said. “Or at least believed that you would drive your car home alone.”

  “Or,” I said, “if she’s having an affair with Robert, she might have always planned that he’d go home with her.”

  “Yeah, she drove him home a lot,” Honey said. “Do you think Madison is the one who tried to kill me?”

  “She’s definitely on the list of suspects,” Mom said, “but don’t tip her off. We’re not sure.”

  Honey gave us the address to Madison’s office.

  “Did the police give you any indications that they may suspect someone other than Christy?” Mom asked just before we were set to leave.

  Honey shook her head no. “When Robert was talking to them, it seemed like he really thought Christy tried to kill me. The fight I picked with you at the club only made the police more suspicious. I’m so sorry.”

  “Where to?” I asked Mom as I unlocked the passenger door to the van.

  Mom motioned for Wenling to get in.

  “It’s your turn to sit on the hump,” Wenling said.

  “The kid will need my help to navigate,” Mom said. “We’ve never been to Beverly Hills in the catering van before.”

  “I’ll do the navigation,” Wenling said.

  “You keep closing your eyes when she drives. You can’t be navigator with your eyes closed.”

  “Fine,” she said. “Then we need to stop for dinner after we catch the killer,” Wenling said. And then she turned to me. “And it can’t be Mr. Toodles. Fast food roast beef weirds me out.”

  “So we’re going to Beverly Hills,” I said, looking at my watch. It was only a quarter past five. Rush hour in LA started at four in the afternoon and went clear through seven at night.

  As much as I wanted to clear myself of the murder charges, heading from the Valley to Beverly Hills at this hour would be a nightmare. It would almost be worth it to go to jail just to avoid it, but we decided to go and hoped Madison was working late.

  My instinct was to avoid the 405 freeway, but since time was of the essence, I decided at the last minute to turn right onto the on-ramp.

  “Did you see that?” Mom said.

  “I didn’t mean to wait that long to merge,” I said. “I was debating whether or not I should get on the 405.”

  “I figured that,” Mom said. “It’s just that when you made a sudden turn onto the on ramp, the car behind us did the same thing.

  “Do you think we’re being followed?” Wenling asked, her voice filled with excitement.

  “Maybe,” Mom said.

  “Kid, merge into the next lane over,” Mom said.

  “Mom, it’s really hard merging lanes in this giant van.”

  “Do it,” Wenling said. Her voice was filled with urgency that made me merge without thinking.

  A loud honk escaped from a blue Toyota in the next lane. “Don’t do that,” I said to Wenling.

  “You need to adjust your mirrors,” Wenling said.

  “See,” Mom said.

  Except I couldn’t see what she was talking about. I was too busy driving our rickety van at seventy miles per hour in Los Angeles traffic.

  “The other car didn’t come up next to us.” Mom said.

  “They don’t want us to see who they are,” Wenling said.

  “Or they just got cut off by another car or something,” I said.

  “Slow down,” Mom said.

  I slowed down. More cars honked. “Mom, we’re making all of the other cars mad.”

  “They don’t care if you get sent to jail for murder,” Wenling said, “but we do.”

  “Okay now speed up,” Mom said.

  I followed the directions as best I could, but I was sure that we were all going to die. “Mom, I can’t do this anymore,” I said. “We have to get into the far right lane now so that we can exit the freeway.”

  “Okay, go ahead,” Mom said.

  Thinking the go-ahead was because the lane was clear for me to go, I merged right.

  Another round of honks.

  “We are going to die, and my daughter will turn my restaurant into some kind of robot funhouse,” Wenling said, putting her hands over her eyes.

  “Mom, you’re supposed to say ‘go ahead’ when the lane is clear. You’re the navigator,” I said.

  “Sorry, kid. You can go ahead now,” Mom said.

  I managed to exit the freeway without any further honks.

  Wenling removed her hands from her eyes. “Did the car follow us?”

  “No,” Mom said. “I guess we lost them.”

  Wenling looked disappointed.

  “Isn’t it better that if someone were following us that they don’t know where we were going?” I asked.

  “I guess so,” Wenling said.

  “I would’ve rather figured out who they were,” Mom said.

  There’s nothing like being in Beverly Hills driving an old van while wearing sweatpants to make you feel like you’re just less than. But I’d been so low since the fight with DC, I decided nothing mattered. Madison’s office was in a nice building on Wilshire. It seemed like Robert kept getting more and more successful women. I was the low rung on the totem pole. We found a spot at a meter, paid it with my credit card, and headed to Madison’s office hoping she was still at work.

  We got to the front desk, and I was surprised the receptionist was still there. It was quarter after six. It looked almost like the entire office was working late. “We’re here to see Madison Van Hare.”

  Madison came to the lobby to meet us, instead of us going to her office. I knew this couldn’t be good.

  “I see you’re making the rounds,” Madison said.

  Mom didn’t say anything in response. I wondered what Madison meant by that.

  “Robert told me that you were at the hospital earlier today,” Madison said. “It’s a shame you hadn’t come earlier. I would have had photographers take a picture of security throwing you out.”

  Madison’s hostile tone took me aback. I decided that Mom would be the one to do the talking, because Madison was darn intimidating.

  “I thought you liked the idea of Christy and Robert looking like there were no hard feelings,” Mom said.

  “I would’ve let them take a picture of him trying to shield her,” Madison said. “But the truth is downloads are up, and your daughter going to jail might help us sell even more.”

  “She’s innocent,” Wenling said.

  Madison smirked. “I don’t care
if she is or isn’t. My job is to get publicity for the band and her going into the clink is great publicity. Just her being a suspect shot us into the Top 40 on iTunes.”

  Madison was cold.

  “Don’t you care that somebody might want to kill Robert?” Mom asked.

  “The death threats have stopped, and for all I know, Christy is the one who wanted to kill Honey,” Madison said. “I told the police that I heard her and Robert making plans for after the show that night. Robert told the police the same thing. She could’ve easily gone out to the parking lot, interfered with the brakes, and let nature take its course.”

  “If she’d gone underneath the car and tampered with the brakes, there would be some sort of physical evidence,” Mom said.

  “Who knows? Maybe she did and it was all hidden underneath that bee costume,” Madison said. “I’ll let the police build their case. But it’s not looking good for your daughter, and I’m fine with that.”

  “How do we know that you didn’t do it for publicity?” Wenling asked.

  Madison laughed. “I understand you three think that you can solve this crime. But the truth of the matter is, I don’t care. And if you don’t leave this moment, I’ll go ahead and call security, but I’ll make sure to take tons of pictures as you are getting thrown out so that everyone knows you’re trying to desperately improve your guilty image.”

  Madison turned around and spoke to the receptionist. “Can you call security to this floor?”

  “There’s no need for that,” Mom said. Mom peered over Madison’s shoulder. “You probably have someone waiting in your office.”

  Madison ignored us and dialed her cell phone. “Roger, can you come to the lobby and bring your camera? Hurry! I don’t want to have to use my phone for this.”

  “I’ll get the elevator,” Wenling said and dashed out of the lobby and down the hall.

  I looked over to Mom and she held her hand out as if to say this way. What a relief! I didn’t think Madison was bluffing. I hurried out of the lobby. I turned back and Mom walked calmly out of the lobby and into the hall.

  Wenling had already made it to the elevator and had pushed the button to get it to come. “Hurry!” she said. “I don’t want to have my picture in the paper for being thrown out of someplace.”

  “She’s not going to do that,” Mom said.

  The elevator door dinged open, and two security guards came out and headed straight for Madison’s office.

  Mom and I waited for security to pass and then sprinted to the elevator where Wenling was holding the door.

  We dashed onto the elevator, and Wenling hit the close door button repeatedly. The elevator descended to the ground floor, and I felt we were safe. When the doors opened, Wenling shot through the lobby and to the sidewalk. We rushed after her, but she didn’t stop when she got out of the building. For a short, older woman, Wenling was fast. She ran all the way back to the van and hid behind it while she waited for us to catch up to her.

  “Hurry up,” she said.

  “We’re on a public street,” Mom said.

  “They can still take our picture. They might be trying to take a picture from the window or something,” Wenling said.

  I unlocked the passenger door for Wenling, and this time she didn’t argue to have a window seat. She jumped straight in and sat on the hump. “Now you buy me dinner,” she said.

  “Not in Beverly Hills,” Mom said, staring at someone on the street before getting into the van. I jumped into the driver’s side while Mom kept talking. “It’s too expensive here. Christy doesn’t have that big of a credit card limit.”

  I pulled away from the curb and headed out of Beverly Hills. Our interrogation of Madison had gotten us nowhere, and I had no idea where to drive for dinner. We were back to square one.

  Catastrophes and Confessions

  The four of us sat at our booth in the back of the Lucky Dragon. Dar-Dar had worked the early shift and had come to help us “do research.”

  “Can you make me another one of those mochas on the fancy machine?” Wenling asked.

  “Now you’re too good for the half-caf,” Mom said.

  “Who else wants one?” Dar-Dar asked.

  “I’ll stick with my diet soda,” I said, not wanting a repeat of what happened yesterday. That hallway still might not be safe for people to walk in.

  “I’m fine with coffee,” Mom said.

  “I can’t believe we can’t find that Fiona girl tagged in any of these photos,” Wenling said. “Why are we looking for her?”

  “I have a theory that I need to double check,” Mom said. “She’s the only one we haven’t really talked to.”

  We’d found everyone tagged in some kind of picture, even relatives of the band that I’d never known existed. Dragon had adorable, elderly twin aunts, and I’d known Nick for six years, and I didn’t even know he had an older brother. It struck me just how much Robert kept me isolated from the rest of the band. My mind drifted to yesterday with Madison.

  “Madison was pretty cold to us yesterday. I wouldn’t put murder past her at all,” I said.

  Mom nodded. “Robert also doesn’t seem that concerned with you getting arrested for murder.”

  “It’s all about the downloads and his career,” I said. “It’s like he’s some kind of narcissist.”

  “Not as if,” Wenling said. “Is.”

  I sighed and tried not to dwell on how I’d been so stupid with men. Then I remembered I still hadn’t heard from DC.

  Dar-Dar returned to the table with Wenling’s mocha.

  “Is this half-caf or the real deal?” Wenling asked.

  “The real deal,” Dar said. “I figured since Christy wasn’t having any that you want the full effect.” He went back to looking through photos.

  “Do you think Robert would just give us her phone number?” Wenling asked.

  “I left a message, but he hasn’t returned my call. He’s not big on returning calls,” I said.

  “Narcissist,” Wenling said.

  I couldn’t even be offended. A big part of me thought she was right. But did that mean that he could be a killer? A part of me didn’t think I could’ve ever been married to someone who would attempt to kill his ex-girlfriend. Maybe he did it in cahoots with Madison.

  “Look at this,” Mom said. She turned the iPad that she borrowed from Wenling around so that we could all see Wiley Jenner’s new column.

  “Selena is so over Justin Bieber,” Dar said. “Wiley is the worst. Just let the girl move on.”

  “Not about The Biebs,” Wenling said, pointing at the smaller article. “About Robert.”

  The headline read: Robert Conway Dumps Bedridden Girlfriend

  “News gets out fast,” I said.

  “If you read the article,” Mom said, “it talks about Robert breaking up with Honey at the hospital yesterday. This post went up early this morning.”

  “Do you think someone in the band tipped her off?” I asked.

  “That’s possible,” Mom said. “Wenling, do you have the LA Times saved?”

  Wenling nodded and moved to get up.

  “I’ve got it on my phone,” Dar said, calling it up.

  “Why did you guys save it?” I asked.

  “You might want it for your scrapbook,” Dar said. Wenling nodded in agreement.

  I looked at them both as if they were insane. “You never know,” Dar said. “It’s too fresh right now for you to decide.”

  “Look at the photos for these articles. They’re different. The photos in the LA Times ended up everywhere, but if you look at Wiley’s photos, hers are from a different angle. She even put her WJ on the bottom. That means she bought the rights to this pics or Wiley Jenner was at the party that night.”

  “I wonder which one she was,” I said, thinking of the crowd. When I closed my eyes I could see every person.

  “She’s doing the memory thing,” Wenling said.

  “Oh look,” Dar said. “I think I found a photo of
Fiona.”

  My eyes popped open.

  “Where?” Mom asked.

  “Here,” Dar said. “But I’m not sure if it’s her. She’s not tagged, and her curly hair is sort of tucked into a hat.”

  Hat! My mind flashed to the woman in the hallway that turned around when I was watching Dragon and Nick leave. She hadn’t turned away from the smell. She turned away so I wouldn’t see her.

  Mom looked at me.

  “She was at the hospital,” I said.

  “She followed us to Madison’s office in her silver Honda,” Mom said.

  “Who?” Dar asked. “Wiley or Fiona?”

  Wenling’s eyes got big. “I see now.”

  “See what?” Dar asked, getting impatient.

  “Fiona is Wylie Jenner,” Wenling said. “Right, Jo?”

  “I think so, but I hoped she’d be tagged in a photo so we could get in touch with her,” Mom said.

  “Do you think she’s the killer?” Dar asked.

  “Nobody died,” Wenling said.

  “You know what I mean,” Dar said.

  “She might be,” Mom said. “But if she isn’t, she’s sure been sneaking around a lot. She might be able to give us a few clues.”

  “Can we look up who owns the website?” Wenling asked.

  “Let me check BetterWhoIs to see if the owner of the site is listed,” Dar said, grabbing his phone. He sighed. “She has a privacy block.”

  “There’s a form here on her website,” Mom said. “It’s for gossip tips.”

  “What do we say?” Wenling asked.

  “We need to draw her out,” Mom said. “What gossip do we have?”

  “We think Fiona is Wiley Jenner?” Wenling said.

  Mom gave Wenling a look, and her best friend shrugged her shoulders back.

  “The thing about gossip,” Dar-Dar said, “is that it doesn’t have to be true. We could just make something up that she thinks is true.”

  Wenling rubbed her hands together and started to giggle. “This is so fun. Who are we going to make a rumor about?”