Death by Chocolate Cake: A Bakery Detectives Cozy Mystery

by Stacey Alabaster

  Then there was Wendy. Nobody really paid much attention to her.

  "Go on, dear, tell us a little about yourself," Dawn encouraged. "What is all this stuff about murders we've been hearing so much about?"

  "I, erm..." I caught Justin's glare out of the corner of my eye. "Don't stammer," he had told me.

  "Why don't you try one of my cakes?"

  I turned around to fetch the cakes I'd prepared the day before but which the producers made to look like I'd baked that day. I knew the judges had already tasted them the day before and made up their minds, but we had to go through the motions.

  "Delicious," Wendy said, pushing her long dark hair out of her face. "Wouldn't change a thing, darling!"

  A nice, but fairly hollow—and, let's face it, useless—comment.

  I focused on Pierre, who screwed his face up as he slowly chewed the chocolate cake I had presented him with. I wondered why he had to make such a show of it when he already knew what it tasted like and already knew what he was going to say.

  He finally placed his napkin down and swallowed. Then he stared straight at me for a good ten seconds before he finally delivered his verdict.

  "That was...fine," he said. Nonplussed. No expression on his face except a dead stare. "Tell me, Rachael, why you deserve to be on Baking Warriors over the thousands of auditionee outside?"

  The nine other auditionees, I thought. But with his stare on me, I was in no state to be smart with him. Or even to defend myself.

  "I...I...um, I've been baking since I was three years old," I said rather meekly. "It's...it is my passion...."

  Pierre leaned back and shook his head. I saw his gesture for a producer, then heard him whisper, "Can we use any of the murder stuff?"

  Justin shrugged. "If she gets through." He shot me a look over his shoulder then returned to Pierre. "Though I really don't think she will. Shall I bring in the next contestant?"

  Pierre nodded. "I've had enough of this one."

  "Thank you for you time," I said softly before Justin led me swiftly out of the room and told me to return to the green room. I didn't even get to hear Dawn's verdict.

  I was red-faced and annoyed by the time Justin finally joined me for a debrief. He just shrugged. "It's dog eat dog, honey. You should have led with the murder stuff."

  I sat down on a soggy sofa. "I'd rather not get through than use any of that stuff." I was aware that I was acting sulky but it had been a long day and I just wanted to go home. "I don't know why I'm still here. I obviously didn't get in."

  Justin sighed and looked down on me in pity. "Look," he said. "Just between you and me, you've still got a shot. A good shot. Look, I do NOT say this to everyone..." He lowered his voice. "But you are going through to the next round. Just sit tight and relax. You look good on camera and the judges really liked your cakes. That's all there is to it."

  I looked up at him in shock. "But Pierre didn't seem impressed at all!"

  Justin waved his hand dismissively. "Oh, that's all just for TV, honey. Pierre's the executive producer. If he likes you, you'll go through. Just relax. Have something to drink." He fetched a bottle of wine from the cooler.

  "No, thanks. I’m afraid if I drink I'll fall asleep."

  "Come on, just a little sip! Honey, you'll have to start drinking if you get into TV."

  I reluctantly accepted half a glass.

  Just as Justin was plugging the cork back into the bottle a high-pitched squeal sounded from the direction of the judging room.

  Justin let out a loud, exaggerated sigh that said, "I don't get paid enough for this." He threw the wine bottle back in the cooler. "Probably a rejected contestant. Or a judge who hasn't got their lunch on time. Wait here while I deal with it. I won't be a minute."

  But Justin was way longer than a minute. After ten minutes had passed and Justin hadn't returned, I started to get worried.

  Then I saw the ambulance.

  "Are you okay?" I said, running towards a stricken-looking Justin with his headpiece in his hands. "What on earth has happened?"

  Justin, white as a sheet, slowly looked over his shoulder and, with a trembling voice, simply said, "Pierre's dead, Rachael. Somebody killed him."

  Chapter 3

  "I'm just asking, Pippa. It's a simple question. WHY does he lose so much hair? Where does it even come from? He wasn't even in the house today."

  Pippa put her hands up in a shrug that said 'I have no idea why Marcello molts like a llama, but gosh isn't he so cute for doing so?'

  Which, I mean...sure. If you're in love. But I wasn't in love with the guy. I was just the girl who ran around after him with a vacuum cleaner twenty-four hours a day.

  "I'm sorry, Rach. I'll vacuum more." Pippa plunked herself down and let out a deep sigh of contentment. "Isn't he just the greatest?"

  Ermmm. "Yes. The greatest."

  Pippa folded her legs underneath her so that I could squeeze onto the sofa next to her. "We're not taking up too much space, are we?"

  Well, I was currently squeezed up onto the tiny sofa that doubled as her and Marcello's bed and I couldn't move around the apartment without banging into one of them. But I forced a grin. Pippa was happy. That was all that mattered at the moment. "No. It's fine."

  "You'll let me know if it gets to be too much, won't you?"

  I was just about to reassure her that I would when we both heard another smashing sound from the kitchen. Pippa started to giggle, making another 'isn't he just so cute' expression. "He has this thing," she said, laughing so hard that she could barely get the words out. "Where he tries to place an item down on the bench—like a knife, or a cup, or a plate, you know, whatever—but he totally misjudges where the end of the bench is! So it ends up on the floor!" Now totally full of mirth, Pippa threw her head back in throes of laughter.

  I just stared at her. "Is that thing called bad eyesight?"

  Pippa just started laughing even harder. She even slapped her knee. "No, Rachael! It's just one of his cute, little, quirky things."

  Yeah, it was pretty cute and quirky that he was breaking everything I owned. I sighed myself. I had bigger things to worry about anyway.

  Marcello appeared with a bowl of chips for us and placed them down on the coffee table with an apology. "I broke the jar of salsa. I'd better go finish cleaning that up." He paused. "Unless you want me to scoop the salsa up and pick the glass out, and I can bring that in for you?"

  "No," I said quickly. "Thank you, that's fine."

  He disappeared into the kitchen again and I just shot Pippa a look of disbelief. Even she was making a face at the suggestion of eating glass-shard-filled salsa that had been scraped off the kitchen floor.

  Remind me to never offer him a job at my bakery.

  He'd apparently been job-hunting that day. I shuddered at the thought of the sorry soul who'd have to employ him.

  I picked up a chip and stared at it sadly. So this was what it had come to. Ever since I'd been diagnosed with a severe allergy to gluten, I'd basically had to switch from sweet snacks to savory. For a baker, it was almost a fate worse than death.

  Pippa seemed to read my mind. About the death thing, that is, as she crammed a chip into her mouth and started to talk with a mouth full of crunchy potato. "So what are you going to do?"

  I placed my chip back down and leaned back against the sofa. "Nothing, Pips. This isn't my circus. It's not my monkey."

  She just stared at me. "It very well IS. Rachael, you were practically cast on that show before that guy went and died! You can't tell me you're just going to sit back and do nothing! What happens if they delay filming entirely? Or worse, redo all the auditions."

  "Yes, that's the great tragedy of today, Pippa. Not the poor dead guy. The poor dead guy who was poisoned, by the way."

  "You know what I mean." Pippa sat up and grabbed my arm. "You're the PERFECT person so solve this murder, Rachael!" She held up her fingers as she listed off the reasons. "One, you were there. You probably met the killer. It's got
to be a fellow baker, right? Two, you can't let this opportunity slip through your fingers. Where else are you going to get a chance to become a reality TV star?" Then she got to the item she clearly considered the most important of the lot. "Three, you have plenty of experience in this area. I can't believe you're not already out there interviewing suspects."

  I huddled up against the back of the sofa and muttered to myself.

  "What was that?" Pippa said, leaning closer to me.

  "Jackson doesn't want me interfering anymore, okay?"

  Pippa opened her eyes wide. "Since when has that ever stopped you before?"

  Pippa had been gone for over six months, so I didn't blame her for not understanding my change in attitude regarding sticking my nose in police business. But a lot had chanced in Belldale over the last six months. With two high profile murder investigations, the entire town had changed in character. It had become more withdrawn, somehow darker and less open.

  "With Baking Warriors coming to town, I think Jackson—all of us, actually—hoped the town could be seen in a more positive light," I tried to explain.

  "Well, that hope was short lived." Pippa threw another chip into her mouth and raised her eyebrow.

  "Yes, but an amateur sleuth sticking her nose in this, one who might be about to become a minor celebrity no less, is not a good look for the police department. They are trying to revamp their image. Jackson wants them to appear more competent. To assure the town that they can keep them safe. I should just keep my distance."

  Pippa gave me a long skeptical look that made me squirm. "Rach, I keep hearing a lot of 'Jackson wants' coming out of your mouth. What do YOU want? Why do you even care what he thinks anyway? Hasn't he gone and shacked up with that skinny detective with the red hair?"

  Detective Emma Crawford. Yes.

  "I don't care about that," I said unconvincingly.

  "Sure sounds like it."

  I sat and thought for a moment. Why was I so happy to keep my nose out of the investigation? Even though my feet were kind of itching to get into the fray, and I had to keep trying to stop my mind from racing—thinking over all the events of the day, trying to figure out who had access to Pierre, who was close enough to him to poison him, and who had a motive to do such a thing.

  The truth was, I didn't want to see Jackson. So when he'd asked me—politely, mind you—to keep my nose out of cases, I hadn't really minded. I didn't mind keeping my distance from him one bit. He was happy with another woman now. And I was fine with that. Just fine. I hadn't seen him in months.

  There was another smashing sound from the kitchen.

  I leaned back against the sofa and closed my eyes while Pippa laughed hysterically. "I think we might owe you a new set of dishes by now."

  Maybe I needed to invest in some headphones.

  "What...the..."

  The entrance to the road where my bakery stood, Pillock Avenue, was totally blocked off by vans and people racing around with boom mikes and cameras.

  "What’s going on?" Pippa asked from the passenger side.

  "It looks like they are filming Baking Warriors here or something," I said, which was the only thing that made sense to me in that moment. Because that's what the swarm of people and cameras and producers wearing earpieces running around reminded me of filming on the show.

  "Well, can we get through? Should we let them know that we actually work on this street?"

  It was still early in the morning, 6:30 or so, and even though we had a hot day ahead of us, the fog and dew from overnight caused a smog to appear over the street. So it took me several minutes to realize that it wasn’t the Baking Warriors film crew at all, but was, in fact, several dozen separate film crews, all with different garish logos plastered on the side of their vans.

  "OH," I said, sucking in my breath. "Pippa, they’re news crews."

  "Oh," she said warily, leaning forward to see if there might be any space where we could fit the car through. I already knew there wasn't.

  "I guess news of Pierre's death has broken," I murmured.

  Pippa spun back to me. "Of course it has. Did you really think people wouldn't find out that a beloved celebrity has been killed? Did you not think that people would be incredibly interested to find out what happened to him?"

  I turned the ignition off and groaned a little. "I don't know. I thought the police had ways of keeping this sort of thing quiet for a little while. Or at least controlling the media presence a little."

  In the time we'd been sitting there, even more vans had pulled up to join the circus, more tents pitched, and even more vats of coffee set up.

  So much for Jackson's plan to keep the town out of the spotlight.

  So much for his plan to make the town feel safer.

  I checked the time on the dash. We were going to be late to open.

  "Let me see what I can do," Pippa said, pushing her door open. I picked up my phone and used it to quickly scroll through the day's news.

  Yep. Pierre Hamilton's death was the biggest breaking story in the entire country. It was the featured story on countless local and national news websites.

  This was not going to be a good look for Belldale.

  I glanced up to see Pippa arguing with a reporter in a blue suit who had hair that looked too grey for his fresh looking face. I rolled down my window so I could hear what was going on. He was shaking his head at her before he threw up his hands and shouted, "I don't know what to tell you! I'm not in charge of this whole thing! Us moving our van isn't going to make much of a difference."

  Pippa turned in a huff to a different reporter, a smiley looking blond woman whose smile died as soon as the news camera turned off. She scowled at Pippa and told her to get out of the way.

  "Out of your way?" Pippa exclaimed. "You're the one in our way! We actually live in this town! We work on this street. And we need to get past!"

  I almost jumped out of my skin when I heard a tapping on my window.

  "Jackson," I gasped. It was the first time I'd laid eyes on him in what had to have been three months. During that time, I had managed to not only avoid solving crimes, I'd also managed to avoid seeing him. So I was doing well.

  He looked different. Slimmer, I think it was. Or maybe his hair was longer. It seemed to sit up on his head in more of a bouffant than the last time I'd seen him. And was it my imagination or was it a little grayer than the last time I had seen him?

  "Rachael?" he asked, and I jumped again as he interrupted my thoughts.

  "Um, hi," I said, straightening up. I self-consciously reached up and touched my hair, wondering if the professional styling I'd received before filming yesterday was still holding up under the damp of the soggy morning. "How are you?" I asked stupidly, not really knowing what else to say.

  "Well," Jackson said with a raise of his eyebrows as he shoved his hands into his pockets, his badge dangling down the front of his torso. "As you can imagine, busy."

  I nodded. "We went so long without a murder too, bit of a shame." Another stupid thing to say. I was nervous. I didn't know what was escaping my mouth. I stared at the steering wheel while Jackson fidgeted back and forth on his heels.

  "I heard that you were there when it happened."

  "Nearby," I corrected him. "In a different room."

  "Hmm."

  I kept staring at the steering wheel. Another murder in Belldale happening while I was less than a hundred feet away. There had been talk for a while—from Pippa mostly, who doesn't always have her feet firmly planted in reality—that I was cursed. Silly, right?

  I wasn't so sure.

  "Do you need me to answer any questions?" I asked quietly.

  "We'll take a statement later," Jackson replied quickly. I took note of the 'we,' not an 'I.' That meant he'd be sending some uniformed officer to ask questions, not himself.

  There was that distance again.

  Jackson cleared his throat. "It's good to see you again anyway, Rachael."

  "Is it?" I asked.
/>
  He looked away. "Let me see if I can clear this road for you."

  He stomped away towards the hoards of vans and reporters like a man on a mission. Waving his badge like a sword, he was quickly able to part the sea of cars and news crews. Pippa came sprinting back to the car, breathless from arguing with people. "I almost got punched!" she exclaimed, pulling the door shut quickly. "Rach, some of these people are VICIOUS."

  I eyed them slowly as we finally managed to pull the car through the crowd. "I'm sure they are."

  "Why are they all staring at us?" Pippa whispered, slumping into her seat so that she was almost on the floor of the car.

  "Maybe because you were out there trying to fight them two minutes ago?"

  But I wasn't so sure that was the reason. They didn't seem to be staring at Pippa.

  They seemed to be staring at me.

  My new baker-come-assistant-manager Bronson had matters well in hand by the time we finally got to the bakery. I heaved a heavy sigh of relief as I pulled the door open and was hit by the sweet smell of breads and cakes baking.

  Bronson emerged from the kitchen covered in flour. "I figured you'd have issues getting here on time this morning. I rode my bike," he explained, wiping his hands on a tea towel, which he then flung over his shoulder. "Pippa!" he exclaimed as she followed in behind me. "Welcome back!"

  Pippa grinned and ran up to him with her left hand outstretched.

  "You're kidding me," he said, mouth agape as he took in the rock on her finger. "Who is the lucky man?"

  Don't ask, I thought as I walked around to the cash register to check that we had enough change for the day. The bank was at the end of the street, and I didn't like our chances of getting through that crowd unscathed again.

  Pippa continued to rattle off a list of Marcello's plethora of charms while I counted the change in the till. We didn't have enough. We had almost none in fact. And I doubted that our customers were all going to pay for five-dollar desserts with credit cards. I was about to interrupt the other two to check if either of them had any change I could use, when my phone started to flash with a call.