Pippa handed me the bowl of brownie batter. "Dig in," she commanded me. "And tell me all about it."
"It's true though, Pippa," I whispered. We were sitting on the sofa now, the brownies baked and cooling. My mouth was watering at the scent. I couldn't wait to dig in. "My mind had really not been on the job. I was practically falling asleep that day, plus there had been the paint fumes."
A terrible feeling started to play in my stomach. I'd been practically delirious from the paint fumes that day when I'd been baking. What if, instead of sugar, or baking powder, I'd accidentally mixed something else into the batter?
"I could have done it, Pippa...and not even known it." I buried my head in my hands. "If that's true, then I deserve to go out of business. I deserve to be locked up, Pippa."
Pippa left to fetch the brownies. I took the biggest one off the tray and shoved it into my mouth. "You're a better baker than I am, Pippa. You've never poisoned anyone. Maybe you should take over, try to save the business while I'm in prison."
Pippa shook her head. "You can't think this way. Rachael, you seriously cannot blame yourself for this. Jackson is just trying to get inside your head."
I scoffed. "Yeah, well, it's certainly working."
"Then don't let it." She sat down firmly besides me and bit into a of brownie. She immediately made a face and pulled the brownie away, eying it skeptically as she sat it back down on the tray.
"What's wrong?" I asked.
She shook her head lightly. "I dunno, does that brownie taste weird to you?"
I'd been inhaling it so quickly I'd barely had a chance to register how it actually tasted. I took another bite and savored it this time. Nope. It was delicious. Moist, perfectly chocolaty—very heavy on the chocolate fudge actually. Just the way I liked it. "Tastes amazing," I said, taking another bite. "I think your taste buds are broken, Pippa.”
"Maybe. Suddenly the thought of eating it is turning my stomach." She pushed the tray away and we both grew silent.
I couldn't keep eating forever, however much I wanted to. Eventually, I had to return to the topic of my predicament.
"You know you really haven't done anything wrong," Pippa finally said. "Even though I can see from the look on your face, you’re blaming yourself."
"Why do these things keep happening to me?" I whispered. "Honestly, Pippa, explain that then. All these murders, all these crimes. What is the one common denominator in all these cases? It's me."
She let out a nervous little laugh. "Remember when we thought you were cursed?"
I didn't laugh in return. The idea of me being cursed hadn't been very funny at the time and it seemed even less so now.
"What if I really am cursed?" I whispered. "Sometimes I feel like that's the only explanation for everything."
Then she let out a suggestion that I did not want to hear. "Why don't you go and pay Tegan a visit? You know that she can help you with all of this stuff."
She was talking about Tegan, a local paranormal expert—I use the word ‘expert’ loosely—who was the leader of the Belldale Paranormal Society. Pippa had once been an active member of the society, and at one stage had become far too invested in it, as far as I was concerned, anyway. At one stage, she'd managed to let Tegan convince her—and me—that I was cursed because I'd bought a shop that contained a haunted painting. It seemed crazy to me now that I'd ever even considered the possibility, albeit briefly. I'd moved into the shop, expanded my bakery, and everything had been fine.
Well, it had been fine. Until a woman had dropped dead inside my bakery.
"What stuff can she help me with?" I asked, clearing my throat. "Nothing paranormal has happened, Pippa. It was a poisoning. There were no ghosts involved, no witches." None of the things that were Tegan's area of 'expertise.'
"I'm not talking about help with the case," Pippa said. "I'm taking about help for you. Personally."
I rolled my eyes. "Tegan can't help me. Unless she for some reason has insight into this case."
Even though Pippa was looking a little green again, she did burst out into laughter. "I doubt it. Tegan doesn't believe in politics. Nor material possessions. Both things your victim and all your suspects are heavily involved with. This case wouldn't exactly be in her wheelhouse." She stopped laughing and gave me a serious look. "But I do think that Tegan will be able to help you, Rach."
I stood up. "Thanks for the suggestion, but I'm not that desperate. I think I'll be able to handle this without the help of a paranormal expert."
I assumed Pippa would take hint and actually drop the subject. Tegan and everything she was involved with creeped me out. I didn't want either of us getting involved with it again. I knew that if I took her advice, it wouldn't be long until Pippa started hanging out with the group again. I knew she was lonely since Marcello had gone overseas and she was vulnerable to their influence again.
I hoped the matter was dropped. But when I awoke the next morning, Pippa was at the breakfast table waiting for me.
"I made you an appointment with Tegan. You can keep it or cancel it. It's up to you."
I knew that Jackson had told me not to go anywhere near my bakery while it was a crime scene, I wasn't even supposed to go in the back to the kitchen or the office, but I couldn't help myself.
I wanted to see it with my own eyes. Wanted to put this idea of the curse out of my mind. What if, all those months ago when I'd purchased the second shop, I really had cursed myself?
I wasn't sure what I expected to find. I just wanted to look at it.
I cruised my car very slowly down the dark street. There wasn't even any moonlight, so I was perfectly hidden just in case the cops were snooping around again.
My car headlights caught the yellow police tape from the other end of the street so I quickly turned them off, even though it was dangerous to drive that way. I didn't want to take any chances. I already looked guilty enough without looking like I was returning to the scene of the crime, again.
But when I finally arrived at the empty shop, I didn't see anything spooky, nothing paranormal about it. And I didn't feel freaked out or scared. I just felt sad to see my bakery like that—lifeless, a shell of its former self. It hadn't been open for almost a week now and it was dying without any life in it, without any customers, without any mixers being turned on, batter prepared, cakes baked and bread rising.
It was just...nothing.
I pulled the car to a stop and just sat there, staring at it. I'd worked so hard to get it up and running. I'd dropped out of college and taken a huge loan when I was just twenty-two, put everything on the line in the hopes of making my dreams come true—opening my own boutique bakery. Nothing about it had been easy. There'd been trouble from Bakermatic for one thing, from almost the word go. I'd only managed to get my first bank loan because there was no other real competition in Belldale, but within six months of opening, the yellow monolith that was Bakermatic had opened up four hundred feet down the street. I'd had to compete with their cut-rate prices and brand recognition ever since.
But I'd managed to stay afloat, managed to make my loan payments every month.
Until now.
This would be the first month in five years that I wouldn't be able to make a payment. I had no idea what I was going to do. And I had no idea what staring into my empty bakery was supposed to do, besides make the growing pit in my stomach even deeper.
What am I doing? I thought. I should be working on a solution, not wallowing here in pity.
I was just about to start the engine back up when I saw movement in the front of the bakery. My heart stopped for a second. It was definitely human. I leaned forward a bit, trying to make out the figure in the black cloak of the night. It was definitely a human man. With his face pressed up against the glass. Could that be possible, though?
I blinked a few times, wondering if I was seeing correctly. The man had definitely crossed the police tape. It looked like I wasn't the only one trespassing on a crime scene.
But what was he doing? Why was he trying so hard to see into the bakery?
Screw it, I thought. I had to turn the lights on, had to risk it. Otherwise, there was no way of possibly making out who the man actually was.
I flipped the headlights on before I could second-guess myself. The figure jumped and stared at me, blinking furiously as he held up his arm to defend his eyes against the bright lights.
I gasped.
It was Braxton Madison.
Chapter 9
"Pippa!" I said, shaking her awake. "You're never ever going to believe what I just saw."
She yawned and stretched and I noticed the bucket back beside the sofa. Geez, that brownie really hadn't agreed with her, had it?
I quickly explained everything to her and she sat up excitedly when I got to the end of my story.
"Returning to the scene of the crime," Pippa said sagely. "You're right. He definitely did it."
I shook my head. "But he's saying he wasn't even at the bakery, and the others are confirming his fake alibi for some reason," I said, frustrated. "We need to find out more about him, Pippa. Can you help me?"
She raised an eyebrow. "You mean take my job back from Chloe?" she asked. "Yeah, I can do that."
I shook my head and laughed gently. At least pitching her against Chloe was a good way of raising her spirits, and getting her back on my side.
Pippa was already back in detective mode. "We need to get close to Braxton Madison...need to find out what he's trying to hide. Besides the obvious."
"And I have an idea for just how to do that," I mused. "But we might have to do a little snooping. We might have to create some fake aliases. Are you up that?" I asked her.
"Hey, if Chloe can do it, I can too," Pippa said firmly. "Just tell me the plan, Rach, and I'll be there."
"It's just good to be out of the house, interacting with people," Pippa said with a grin as she grabbed another bite of hor d’oeuvres from the tray she was holding. "And it's good to be eating again. Even better when the food is free."
"All right, all right," I said, shooting a grin back at her. "Just remember why we're here. It's not just for the free food. Which we shouldn't be eating, remember? We're supposed to be handing it out." And it wasn't just for the socializing. It was to find something on Braxton Madison so we could tie him to Olive's murder.
"So, this is how the other half of Belldale lives," I said. The mansion that the fundraiser was taking place in was Braxton's own, apparently. It wasn't as tall as Olive Styles’ was, only three stories, but it was wider and the inside was so full of polished marble that it was almost blinding.
"I don't know why he even needs this political fundraiser, seeing as he's got no real competition now," Pippa whispered as a guest grabbed some food from her tray and she struggled to keep it balanced on her palm. He shot her a strange look and shook his head, muttering, "Where did they find these people?" Pippa and I had, for a while, expanded the business to include catering on the weekend, but we were a little out of practice. And this was not an official job. This was just us turning up and walking into the kitchen pretending we'd been hired as waitresses.
"I suppose he can always do with more money, even if the campaign is pretty much in the bag now," I commented, searching the room desperately for Braxton Madison. Wasn't much point sneaking in and getting this far if we didn't actually get to see him. "There he is!" I whispered, grabbing Pippa's arm and sending her tray toppling over.
"Shoot," she said, scrambling to clean up the mess. When she finally stood up, she was red-faced and flustered. I knew the feeling. I tried to stay calm and turned my back as Braxton moved towards us, in case he recognized me. I wondered if he was going to tell us off for our subpar catering skills. Maybe he was even going to fire us and send us home. Too bad we weren't actually being paid or he might have actually been able to.
"He's stopped," Pippa whispered. "Someone else has grabbed his attention."
I let out a sigh of relief. "Okay, good. But one of us still needs to talk to him."
"I should go," Pippa said. "He might recognize you."
"Good plan," I said, having never actually intended to speak to Braxton myself. I wasn't one hundred percent sure he would recognize me from that brief meeting in the bakery the day Olive had died, but I didn't want to risk it.
"Okay," Pippa said. "So what should I..."
My phone started ringing loudly and I made a face, frantically trying to fetch it out of the pockets of my black pants while the guests shot us dirty looks. Great. What a good way to avoid attention as well as charm the Belldale elite.
I saw Chloe's name and photo pop up onto the screen and quickly ended the call. I placed the phone on silent.
I was about to put the phone back in my pocket when it started ringing again. I tried to hide it from Pippa, but she was leaning forward and being nosy.
"What is it?" Pippa demanded to know. I felt like I was cheating on her with an ex as I tried to hide my phone screen from her.
"It's nothing...it's no one," I said quickly.
"Is this nothing and no one named Chloe?" she asked with her eyebrows raised.
I could feel the phone buzzing in my hand. I had to look at it. There were now seven missed calls from her.
"I'm sorry, Pippa. I'll be right back," I said. "It might be important."
Pippa just shook her head. "It's Chloe, isn't it?" she asked.
I didn't answer, just tried to find a quiet corner in which to call Chloe back. But that proved difficult when a jazz band started up and the music seemed to bounce off every inch of marble.
"Chloe?" I asked, pressing the phone right up to my ear while I tried to block the other one.
"Rachael, I have something to tell you."
I could barely hear her over the party and the loud music. "You'll have to speak up, Chloe," I shouted. "I'm having trouble hearing you."
"Where are you?" she asked.
"I'm at..." I stopped, wondering if I should tell her the truth. Shoot, she'd probably find out anyway. Better to not lie. "I'm at Braxton Madison's fundraiser," I said. "At his mansion up in Belldale Heights."
She didn't answer for thirty seconds and I thought she hadn't heard me. I was about to check if she was still there when she finally spoke up.
"You didn't invite me?" Her voice was full of hurt. "Who are you there with? Are you there alone?"
I wasn't sure how to answer. Again, I just had to go with the truth. "Pippa is helping me out."
"I see," she said. Her tone was short and clipped, and I could tell she wanted to say a lot more than that.
"Chloe, it's just... Pippa has been feeling really unwell, and she's finally better, so I thought it would be a treat for her." I felt like a dirty politician trying to juggle a wife and a mistress, desperate to keep them both happy so that my affair wouldn't blow up in my face.
"I totally get it," Chloe said, in a way that suggested that she didn't get it at all. "Enjoy yourself then."
She hung up without even telling me what she had called me for. Well, goodbye to you as well then, I thought. It was proving impossible to keep everyone happy. How did cheating politicians do it?
Still a little shaken up from the phone call, I went back to find Pippa, hoping that she wasn't going to give me the cold shoulder as well. I was grateful to find her waiting by the spiral staircase with a friendly grin on her face. "How'd it go?" she asked, referring to the phone call I'd just suffered through.
"I think she's a little offended that she wasn't invited," I said.
"Oh well, let her be offended," Pippa said, without the slightest sympathy towards Chloe. "We shouldn't let that stop us from enjoying ourselves."
"We're enjoying ourselves?" I asked.
"Well, I am," Pippa said, still grinning. "I had a quick chat with Braxton while I was serving him hor d’oeuvres," she said. "And he mentioned that soon the party will be moving outside so us catering girls should get prepared."
"Oh," I said, looking down a
t my uniform. "Well then, what are you doing standing at the staircase? We should be moving outside."
She just stared at me like I was an idiot. "We're not actually caterers, Rachael."
"Right," I said, shaking my head. "Whoops."
"But," she said, lowering her voice, "the party moving outside will give us the perfect opportunity." She tapped her hand on the staircase. "The perfect opportunity to snoop around." She nodded upstairs. "See what he's hiding up there. All we’ve got to do is wait until they all spill outside, then take our chance."
We both kept our heads down and tried to remain inconspicuous while the partygoers gradually drifted outside. We didn't follow them though, even though someone called out at Pippa asking her to grab another tray of champagne. "I'll be right on it!" she lied. I laughed a little at the thought of Pippa carrying a tray of flutes. They'd be smashed on the floor before she even left the kitchen.
Finally, they were gone.
We waited a few minutes, just to make sure that the coast really was clear. I was more cautious than Pippa was. After all, she wasn't the one currently up on trespassing charges.
"So we need evidence that he killed Olive, right?" Pippa asked as she looked up the staircase.
I checked around to make sure that no one was watching us. "Well, yes and no. We already know he's guilty. We need evidence that proves he was at the scene of the crime..."
"And how are we going to find that then?" Pippa asked. "You think he's keeping surveillance camera footage of the day stashed in his bedroom?"
She had a good point. "No," I had to concede. "But we've got to try and look for SOMETHING. We're here for a reason, Pippa, and it's not just the free food, I'm afraid."
There was a rope at the bottom of the staircase, cordoning it off from the rest of the house with a sign asking guests and staff to please not go upstairs.
Well, we weren't guests. And we certainly weren't staff, in spite of our tight black uniforms.
We waited until the last guest had gone out to the back garden before we each stepped over the rope and dashed upstairs. I heard footsteps coming back into the house and ran so fast I almost tripped, almost taking down Pippa as I grabbed her for support.
The Mud Pie Murderess: A Bakery Detectives Cozy Mystery Page 6