Murder by Devil's Food

by Joanne Pence

  "This is my friend, Stan Bonnette," Angie said. "Stan, meet Danger."

  The two men shook hands while eying each other like two stallions guarding their turf.

  "So, you're Angie's new driver," Stan said after swallowing.

  "That's me." Danger hooked his thumbs in the belt loops of his jeans. "And I'll help her with other things if she wants."

  "Not if she's got half a brain," Kylie murmured, as she worked on frosting for the last few cupcakes.

  "Angie's a great gal," Stan said. "We've worked together on all kinds of projects. I'm sure Kylie is a great asset, too." He flashed her a big smile.

  "But for how long?" Danger asked, his glare never leaving Kylie's face.

  "I enjoy working here," she responded, avoiding eye contact with Danger. "Making these cupcakes is fun, not work. And who can complain about working in cool digs like this, with good food for lunch each day, coffee, whatever."

  "Maybe I'll come back to help again," Stan asked. "Remember the day I was here helping you, Angie?"

  "Actually, no," she answered. "Thanks, anyway, Stan, but I don't think I'll need your help."

  "You might want to rethink that," Kylie said softly, angling her head toward Danger while giving Angie a worried look.

  "Have you filled up your cookie jar, yet?" Stan asked, oblivious to the sudden tension in the room.

  "It's still empty. I only have time for cupcakes anymore," Angie replied as she tagged the boxes for Danger's deliveries.

  "Angie!" Stan wailed.

  "Help is coming your way, my good man," Kylie said. "I promised Angie I'd bake up some of my specialty—dark chocolate and coconut cookies. They're absolutely decadent. I've eaten so much of her food, I owe her a real treat, and believe me, that they'll be."

  "They sound exquisite," Stan was all but orgasmic. "I'll help. Do you want to start now?"

  "Exquisite?" Danger mouthed to Angie. She shrugged.

  "I don't have the ingredients, and they'll be my treat," Kylie said.

  "Angie, this is a woman after my own heart," Stan said.

  Angie laughed, but she noticed that Danger didn't seem to find Stan's comments the least bit amusing.

  Kylie was concentrating on blending different shades of coloring into the frosting to make the plain cupcakes even more attractive. Stan was drooling over them, and Danger was watching Kylie. Pure desire was in his eyes.

  Yes! Angie knew it. Any two people who argued as much as Kylie and Danger had to be in love, or they'd have killed each other by now.

  Now, what to do about it?

  o0o

  He walked the shadows of the Fillmore's decrepit flats in the heart of the city. He stared at the gutters, the cracks in the sidewalk, the ants and spiders crawling wherever he stepped.

  A car weaved toward him, moving slow. A man and woman were inside, and the woman's arms flailed. The car jerked to a stop and the woman jumped out, slamming the door shut behind her. It was her, the one he waited for. He'd expected her to be alone, not with a date.

  The driver, a young African-American man, also leaped from the car. He yelled something, but the woman stomped away from him, waving a backhanded middle-finger at the fellow.

  The driver cursed and pounded the car's hood with his fist, then climbed back inside, made a U-turn and sped away.

  The watcher smiled. What luck that she had abandoned her young man. Luck for him. It was clearly a sign.

  The woman pulled her jacket tighter as she headed his way. She noticed him then, standing near the doorway to her apartment building. Her dark eyes flitted from side to side. Big, lustrous eyes. Her cheekbones were high, her caramel-toned skin creamy-smooth. Long legs tottered on high heels, and her body was enough to make him weep with joy.

  He felt proud that he, with power over life and death, had chosen her to live forever at his side. To be his Queen's fifth consort, the completion of the pentagram. And then, after this deed, all that remained was for him to obtain his Queen.

  He had already chosen her, and had a good idea how to find her.

  But he shouldn't get ahead of himself. He needed this one first. He stepped out of the dark shadows. "Lady, don't be scared. Are you all right? This isn't the kind of neighborhood to be walking around in this time of night."

  "Do I know you?" she asked.

  "I couldn't help but overhear your argument with that fellow. I'm so sorry,"

  She shook her head and tried to go around him.

  He stepped in front of her, blocking her path. Her eyes widened. "My apartment is right there," she said, as if that would make any difference to him. She moved to the side.

  He sidestepped in front of her again.

  "Get the hell away from me," she cried.

  He smiled, reaching his hand toward her. She jumped back. "I know you're scared," he said softly. "But believe me, I'm here to help you."

  She took another step backwards. He slipped his hand into his pocket, fingering the syringe. He just had to grab her and hold her long enough to jab it into her.

  Her gaze dropped to his hand. "Go to hell." She glanced over her shoulder, then again at him. When he moved closer, she whirled around and ran away from him, away from her apartment. Her high heels slowed her as her pursuer gained on her, ever closer. She yelled for help, but in this neighborhood, those few who paid attention to her cries probably locked their doors.

  He grabbed her arm, and she fought him, slapping, socking, and kicking like a hellcat. She ran into a doorway, and pounded on the door. He spun her around and shoved her hard against the door, hitting her head.

  It stunned her a moment, just long enough to see her boyfriend's car slowly head down the street toward her apartment, as if he'd felt bad about the argument and was looking for her.

  She wanted to run to him, to call for help.

  But the watcher pressed his body hard against hers, his hand over her mouth. She tried to bite him, but his hand pressed so hard, she couldn't move her jaw.

  Tears filled her eyes, a look of horror coming over her at her first look at the syringe. Her fierce attempts to free herself began again, but he was too strong for her.

  He jabbed the needle into her neck, and in a little while, her struggles ended.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  Angie was beside herself. She had been called to a house to discuss baking cupcakes and other treats for a large party of over fifty guests, and yet no one was there when she arrived. This was the second time that had happened to her. Was someone playing tricks or were people really so careless as to make appointments and then not keep them?

  She really didn't have time for this. Muttering to herself about the thoughtlessness of some people, she opened the car door. A vaguely familiar, yet disquieting smell hit her. She looked inside. What looked like blood had been dumped on the passenger seat.

  OhGodOhGodOhGod! Disgusted and horrified by the sight, Angie didn't want to touch it, but the blood was ruining her car's leather upholstery. The thought that the blood might be tainted scared her.

  She called Paavo. She was going to tell him about the blood in the car, she really was, but when he told her he was at a crime scene, that another woman had been murdered and her heart removed, she decided the prudent thing to do was to say nothing about her misadventure and to let him go back to work. He had told her not to go to any strangers' homes to deliver cupcakes. Well, this wasn't a delivery. It was supposed to have been a meeting to discuss the purchase of cupcakes for a large event. But somehow, she doubted Paavo would appreciate the difference.

  She really hadn't thought she would be in any danger, and the last thing she wanted to do was to worry him any more than he already was about her safety.

  Why did everything she wanted to do turn out so complicated?

  Finally, she called Danger who was out making cupcake deliveries in her leased minivan.

  He gave her the name of an auto detailer, saying she needed to have someone work on the car seat right away before the blood seeped
through the leather. He would meet her there.

  Twenty minutes later, they met at the detailers.

  "You weren't delivering cupcakes, were you?" Danger asked as he met her in the shop's waiting room. "That's my job. You don't need to do it."

  "No. I went to meet with a customer. It sounded like a job well worth our time and effort."

  He shook his head. "It sure looks like someone is trying to sabotage your business. The question is why."

  She'd suspected that, but to hear him put the thought into words shook her. "You're right. Somebody hates me, that's all I can figure."

  "I don't think that's it, Angie." She was touched by his surprisingly caring tone. She hadn't expected kindness. "This is more than someone with a grudge."

  "I don't get it. Blood in my car? Why? Who's doing this to me? Two people swore they hadn't made appointments when I showed up at their homes, and once, a customer threw a red devil's food cupcake at me."

  Danger looked puzzled. "A devil cupcake?"

  "No devil's food—dark chocolate." She faced him, woeful. "Is it me? Is it the cupcake business? Nobody throws things at you, do they?"

  "Let's walk," he suggested.

  Just being on a sunny street filled with people looking carefree and not plagued by crazy customers and a blood-splattered car made Angie feel a little better. "Thanks for coming to help me," she said.

  "My pleasure. Anyway, you sounded pretty low, boss lady," he confessed.

  "I was. I am." They were on California Street, and the next block was a steep one. They began the climb.

  "Do you have any idea who or what is behind this?" Danger asked. "Is someone mad at you about something? A customer maybe?"

  "The only one who's mad at me is Connie." She quickly told him about the unhappy tea room episode.

  "Blonde and pretty, hmm?" Danger asked with a grin. "Think she'd be interested in going out with me?"

  Angie knew he was kidding. At one time she would have automatically said no, but she had to admit that he cleaned up very nicely. She also decided he must be a good five years older than she thought when she first saw him in his punk rock get up. Someday she might discuss with him the benefits of giving up that punk look altogether. "I don't think so," she said finally.

  "The story of my life," he lamented.

  At the top of the hill a strong wind made the air crisp and clean, and the bright blue of San Francisco Bay painted a calming picture. "Connie used to be my best friend," Angie said softly. "It's hard to imagine her doing anything like this to me."

  "I've gotten a few women mad at me in my day," he said. "They turn from sweet little things to looking just like the cupcake that the guy threw at you."

  She laughed. It felt good to stand in the sunshine and laugh. She hadn't realized how much she'd missed it.

  "Tell me," Danger said, his expression suddenly serious, "did Kylie know where you were going today?"

  "Kylie?" She glanced with surprise at him. "I mentioned it to her, but so what?"

  He nodded, but didn't reply.

  Angie didn't get it. He was interested in Kylie, yet acted suspicious of her, just as Kylie did of him. It didn't make sense. "Kylie has done nothing but help and support me."

  "You hardly know her," he pointed out.

  "I hardly know you, either," she countered.

  They walked through the Nob Hill park between the Fairmont Hotel and Grace Cathedral. A couple of elderly men walked tiny dogs and a young woman in Spandex jogged by.

  "How did you two meet?" Danger asked.

  "It was an accident, I suppose," Angie said. "We talked, and I found out she used to work as a pastry chef. She needed a job and I needed help."

  "How much do you really know about her?" His gaze was serious, much too serious to suit her.

  "Well," she lifted an eyebrow and grinned. "She's single ..."

  He grimaced.

  Enough for now, she decided. "Let's go see what the bad news is on my car."

  o0o

  While Luis Calderon and Bo Benson continued to investigate the latest murder, that of an African-American woman named Tashanda Davis, Paavo and Yosh returned to the call center where Ted, Kal, and Heather all worked. They asked to look around Ted's desk for the holy water bottle Paavo had been told about. It wasn't there, and they learned the trash was thrown away daily into an outside dumpster.

  Much as Paavo didn't want to do it, he jumped in and waded through the stuff—fortunately, it was mostly papers and office supplies, with only a few banana peels and yogurt containers, and lots of paper coffee cups. Before long, he found the bottle.

  As Yosh took it to CSI to look for prints, Paavo headed to Lobos Alley where Anna Gomez's body had been found.

  The alley had no lights, and the only doors led to the backs of buildings.

  He got out of his car. The sound of the car door closing echoed, as did his footsteps on a sidewalk glistening with mist. The alley was icy cold, so cold it was difficult to draw a deep breath.

  The sense of evil, of something terrible here, was like a physical assault.

  Next, he went to the alley where Heather Kim's body had been found. There was the same sense of a presence. Not as if he was being watched, but as if something had been in this area, something so evil the area still reeked of it.

  He'd felt this before—at the site of Ted Colton's suicide and at the Tiburon crime scene. For some reason, an old saying he once read popped into his head: You could see the evil around you if you would only open your eyes.

  His eyes felt open now.

  He wasn't a man who believed in spirits, not even in "good" and "evil." He practiced no religion, although he accompanied Angie to a Catholic mass when the situation arose. Angie claimed she was thinking about going to church much more regularly than she had been doing, especially after their marriage. Her faith was important to her despite her lackadaisical practice.

  He'd come to believe in a God of some kind. Although most of what he'd seen as a cop was pretty bad, there was good as well, and some cases were so incredible, it went beyond luck. If he were a religious man, he'd call such happenings a miracle; but he wasn't, and so the word didn't occur in his vocabulary.

  But if he could believe in a God, why was he so quick to dismiss evil? And why did he believe that Ted Colton's death was no accident or suicide. He believed it was murder, pure and simple.

  Just then, Yosh phoned. He was back in Homicide and had just been handed Ted Colton's autopsy report. The boy had thiopental sodium in his system, the same drug as had been found in the autopsies of Heather Kim and Lorraine Miller. It was a drug that, in non-lethal doses, could be used to induce a type of hypnosis that would allow a person to fall under the control of another. The autopsy told Paavo and Yosh two things: it explained how Ted was induced to climb out on a bridge between two buildings and jump, and that Ted's murderer was either the same person, or involved with the same person, that had killed those women.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  "How have you kept your friends over so many years?" Angie asked her mother as the shoe salesman disappeared into the storeroom. After getting her newly cleaned car back—the blood hadn't 'set' so the detailers were able to get it off in a little over an hour, Angie decided she could use the comfort of a visit with her mother. Unfortunately, Serefina was just leaving the house to go to a shoe sale and insisted that Angie join her.

  "My friends? How should I know?" Serefina said dismissively. "Now, when are you thinking about having a baby? You aren't getting any younger."

  "Not yet. But tell me about your friends."

  "You'd rather talk about my friends than bambini?"

  "Yes."

  Serefina frowned, but dropped her new favorite subject. "Me and my friends, we keep up with each other. That's all I can say. They find me if they want to see me. Or, I'll give one of them a call and see if we can get together. That's all there is to it. You can't make anybody like you, Angelina. Ah, my shoes."

  The salesm
an sat at a stool and raised Serefina's foot to his shin. He took off her beige pump and put on a pink one with a big bow and a squatty square heel.

  "Hmph, it looks like a boat!" she cried, and reached for the box. "What size is this? Nine! Are you crazy? I'm a six and a half. I used to be a five and a half, before I had my children."

  The salesman was dumbfounded. "But I measured—"

  "Take this gondola away, and bring my correct size. Aspetti—wait. I like my shoes loose, now that I'm getting older. A seven and a half, double A, will be fine."

  He shuffled off, scratching his head.

  She faced Angie. "What's all this friend stuff about? Connie's your good friend."

  "I don't see Connie anymore," Angie confessed. "Once your friends move out of your life, do you just forget about them?"

  "Of course not. I've got girlfriends, or lady friends I guess I should say, that I don't see or talk to for years. When we do get together, it's as if all the time in between has gone in a poof. We feel like we saw each other only yesterday, and we talk and laugh like young girls again."

  "Well, it's easy to keep friends like that."

  Serefina's eyebrows rose high and her eyes bored into Angie. "What's going on with you and Connie?"

  "She's irritated at me. I don't even know why. I always have her best interests at heart."

  "I'm sure you do."

  "Of course I do."

  The salesman came back and lifted Serefina's nylon-covered foot to a turquoise blue shoe. Her big toe went in, so did three others, but the little toe didn't. She turned the shoe, aimed all toes at the side, then tried to shove the rest of her foot into it. It didn't work.

  She put the shoe on the floor. Angie helped her to balance on one foot as she squeezed her foot into the new shoe with a shoe horn. Once she got her heel in, she was nearly crippled with pain. The salesman had to practically stand on top of her to pull it off again.