Murder Takes the Cake Text

by Gayle Trent

  “All right. After I got out of college, I had several good offers; but Dad’s health wasn’t good. He had to quit work and go on disability. I stayed in the area to be near my family…to help them in any way I could. I’m an only child, you know.” He took one last drink of his water and recapped the bottle. “Dad’s doing much better now. He’s still on disability, but overall, he’s fine.”

  “And yet you wanted to stay close.”

  “Yeah, I did. I enjoy my work here—I have a position with at least some authority, and I have enough seniority to take off whenever I want. And, as I told you, I freelance some articles to larger papers and magazines; and I might very well write a book someday.” He grinned. “Who knows? I may write a true crime novel about the murder of Yodel Watson.” He widened his eyes. “I could call it ‘The Hiss Fit.’ Get it? A take-off on ‘misfit’?” He raised his hands and curved his fingers into claws. “Or how about ‘Venomous Vengeance’?”

  “Stop it, okay? You’re completely creeping me out.”

  He laughed. “Good. Let’s go get some Chinese food. By the way, we’re playing twenty questions about your life on the drive over.”

  “I don’t think I’ve finished with my twenty questions about your life yet.”

  “Too bad, so sad. It’s my turn.”

  We were laughing when we went out and got into Ben’s Jeep.

  We had a great dinner, and a great time.

  I wish I could tell you the mood for our date remained jovial the entire evening, but it didn’t.

  When we got back to my house and stepped out of the Jeep, a message was smeared across my flagstone walkway. It appeared to have been written in blood.

  MIND YOUR OWN BUSINESS.

  I gasped, and Ben put his arms around me.

  “We have to call the police.”

  I nodded then began looking around frantically. “Sparrow? Sparrow?”

  “Who’s Sparrow?”

  “The cat . . . she’s the cat . . . somebody might’ve . . . whoever did this—”

  “It’s okay.” Ben turned me toward him and pulled me closer. “It’s all right. The cat’s hiding. She’s fine.”

  “But that looks like blood, and—”

  “If she was a tame cat, I might be concerned. But she won’t even come to you at this point, Daph. You know she wouldn’t let anyone else catch her.”

  I tried to get my breathing under control. “You’re . . . you’re probably right. She’s okay.”

  Ben was peering over top of my head. “I don’t think this is blood, either. I think it’s paint. Anyway, let’s get you inside and call the police.”

  He kept one arm around me as I handed him my key. He unlocked the door and preceded me inside.

  “I’ll check around and make sure everything is safe. You call 9-1-1.”

  “All right.”

  I made the call and was told that a unit would promptly be dispatched to my residence. I then put the kettle on for tea.

  Ben came into the kitchen. “Everything seems to be fine. How are you?”

  “I think I’ll be better after the police have come and gone. It always makes me uncomfortable to deal with the police.”

  “You talk as if you’ve dealt with them on a regular basis.”

  “Have you forgotten my past? Gun-crazy ex?”

  “I’m sorry. For a moment, I did forget.” He kissed the top of my head.

  “You helped me forget for a moment, too.”

  “I’d like to help you forget for a lot longer than a moment.”

  He hugged me, and I allowed myself to relax for a moment into his embrace.

  The tea kettle whistled.

  And the police arrived.

  I grabbed the kettle while Ben answered the door. The policemen turned down my offer of tea, so I made a cup for Ben and me. The officers confirmed that the message had been written with paint, not blood; and they asked me if I knew who might’ve left it. They already knew about my slight connection to Yodel Watson. I knew Kellen Dobbs would appreciate my minding my own business, but I didn’t want to accuse him or anyone else unjustly. I’d been there and knew how that felt.

  The police told me they’d patrol the area more frequently for the next few days and asked me to call if I thought of anything else or needed any further assistance.

  It wasn’t until everyone had left and I was alone, in bed with the light on, staring up at the ceiling, that I gave more thought to Kellen Dobbs’ attitude . . . and his venomous snakes.

  *

  Imagine my surprise when, before I’d even got up the next morning, China York was on my walkway with a can of turpentine.

  “Let me get dressed,” I told her, “and I’ll be right out.”

  “Take your time.” She pointed at the scrawled threat. “I’ll be working on this.”

  I quickly put on a track suit, pulled my hair into a ponytail and hurried back outside. “I really appreciate your doing this, Ms. York, but . . . . how did you know?”

  “Heard it come over the police scanner last night. I listen to the scanner most nights . . . like to know what’s going on.”

  I took the extra rag Ms. York had brought and dipped it into the turpentine. She was scrubbing at one end of the painted message, so I knelt at the other end and set to work. We worked in silence until we were finished.

  My legs were stiff and achy when I stood, but Ms. York seemed to have no discomfort whatsoever.

  “How about I make us some coffee and heat up some crumb cake?”

  Ms. York grinned. “Sounds like a winner to me.”

  We went inside. I washed up at the kitchen sink while Ms. York washed up in the bathroom. By the time she joined me in the kitchen, coffee was pouring into the pot and the crumb cake was in the microwave.

  She sat down at the table. “Who do you reckon you’ve ticked off, Daphne?”

  “I honestly can’t say. Mr. Dobbs seemed angry at me when I was in his store yesterday, but he pretty much always seems angry.”

  “He don’t have a pleasant disposition, but I can’t see him sneaking over here and writing on your porch at night. Generally, when Kel has something to say, he says it.”

  The microwave dinged, and I took out our cake. I set the cake on the table between us, cut two squares and put them on our dessert plates. “He didn’t mince his words at the store yesterday, so I’ll have to agree with you there.”

  The coffee was done. I poured two cups, put them on the table and then set the cream and sugar out. I sat down.

  “Can you think of anybody who would sneak over here and write on my walkway?” I asked.

  Ms. York spooned sugar into her coffee. “I can think of a few folks. Question is, who do you think did it?”

  “Like I’ve already said, I have no idea.”

  “Yeah, you do. Your subconscious knows. Your ‘here and now’ just has to catch up.”

  “How do I tell my ‘here and now’ to do that?”

  “It’ll come to you.”

  “Can you make it come to me?”

  She laughed gently. “No, child. Only you can do that.”

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  I decided to make a cake for the sleepover. That meant a trip to Save-A-Buck. After cleaning the walkway, I didn’t have time to dawdle if I was going to get the cake finished and get over to Vi’s house by five p.m. Unfortunately, Fred was bringing carts in off the parking lot and was in an uncharacteristically talkative mood.

  “Hey, Ms. Martin. How are you? I heard there was some trouble over at your house last night.”

  “How—”

  “Joanne Hayden was in here earlier.”

  “But Officer Hayden wasn’t one of the officers who came to my house.”

  “Yeah, but he heard about it anyway. Look, I can come over after work and help you get that paint cleaned up.”

  “I appreciate that, Fred, but Ms. York brought some turpentine over this morning, and we got it all off.”

  “Oh.”


  With a smile and a nod, I tried to walk on into the store.

  “Hey,” he said, “thanks again for doing Papaw’s cake.”

  “You’re welcome. Thank you for your business.”

  “No problem. People in a small town like this ought to take care of each other, don’t you think?”

  “Yes, it is good to support your town. I’d better get going. I have a cake to make for my niece and nephew.” I hurried inside the store before he launched into more conversation.

  I gathered the items I needed, noticed Juanita’s line was short and got in her checkout lane. I perused the tabloid covers while I waited and took a perverse delight in seeing some of the starlets caught without their makeup on. Some of those girls were downright plain without it.

  Fred came over to bag for Juanita. She shot me a glance I couldn’t read.

  At last, it was my turn. As Juanita scanned my items, she kept looking from Fred to me.

  “How’s everything going?” I asked.

  “It’s good,” Juanita said. “Um . . . Mrs. Hayden was shopping earlier today and was talking about what happened to you last night.” She gave me a pointed look. “Please be careful.”

  “I will. Thank you.”

  “Yeah,” Fred said, “you ought to be careful. I don’t mind coming by your house to check on you.”

  “Thanks, but the police are already doing that.”

  “Oh. Okay then.”

  I paid for my groceries and left.

  When I got home, I had a message from Ben on my answering machine: “Hi, Daphne. I came by to work on that mess on your walkway but saw that you’ve already taken care of it. Gee whiz . . . fast worker. Give me a call, all right?”

  I would call Ben, but it would have to wait until after I decorated Lucas’ and Leslie’s cake. Given all the drama of last night and this morning, I needed some normalcy to get my stress level under control. And for me, normalcy was decorating a cake.

  I put a sheet of waxed paper on the island. Then I got the bitty cake and a mixing bowl full of butter cream icing I’d sat out of the fridge before going to the store. I crumb-coated the cake and left the icing to crust while I gathered the remaining ingredients.

  I tinted a portion of my butter cream copper (for flesh tone) and a portion yellow for Violet’s and the twins’ hair. I’d melt some milk chocolate for my own hair. I also tinted some of the icing light blue for blankets and the cake’s border.

  By this time, the cake had crusted, and I was able to ice it smooth again. I used oblong, individual cream-filled sponge cakes to serve as beds. I carefully lined up sponge cakes across the top of the cake. I took four jumbo marshmallows and flattened them into pillow shapes. With a small dollop of icing, I “glued” the pillows onto the sponge cakes and then piped a circle of flesh-toned icing onto each pillow. I took the blue icing and made several small rows of scallops onto the sponge cake, to make it look like a blanket was covering each “bed.” I retrieved the bag with the flesh-toned icing and piped tiny feet sticking out from under the blankets at the end of the beds.

  I melted the milk chocolate in the microwave and used a grass tip to make myself some long, straight hair. Before the chocolate got too cool to work with, I changed to a writing tip and piped closed eyes on our faces and Z’s onto the top of the cake.

  I used another writing tip to give Violet curly yellow hair and to provide hair for her towheaded twins. A light blue top and bottom shell border completed the cake. Leslie and Lucas would be delighted. In fact, I was pleased with it, too.

  I put the rest of the sponge cakes, marshmallows, chocolate drops and other snacks I’d bought into a lidded picnic basket. Then I curled up in my favorite club chair in the living room and called Ben.

  “What’re you doing?” he asked.

  “Resting.”

  “I imagine so. You did a good job on the walkway, by the way.”

  “I can’t take all the credit. China York got started on it before I was even dressed this morning. She worked rings around me. The woman is a dynamo.”

  He chuckled. “Let me guess—she heard about it over her police scanner?”

  “You got it.”

  “Ms. York is famous for her police scanner. She always knows what’s going on.”

  “Thanks to Joanne Hayden, so does everybody else. Anyway, I’m grateful to Ms. York. It was sweet of her to help me out. She doesn’t even know me.”

  “Yeah, Ms. York is a rather odd person, but she’s a good one.”

  “Define ‘odd,’” I said.

  “Um . . . eccentric?”

  “Does she fancy herself a bit of a mystic . . . or philosopher or . . . something?”

  “I don’t know. Enlighten me as to why you ask that question, grasshopper.”

  “Ha, ha. She told me that my subconscious knows who painted the message on my walkway.”

  “I wish your subconscious would clue me in.”

  “I wish it would clue me in. Any thoughts on how I could make that happen?”

  Ben blew out a breath. “Writing always helps me. If I were in your position, I’d write down everyone in town who might want me to mind my own business—”

  “That would be everybody I’ve met.”

  “Then put everybody you’ve met on the list and why they’d want you to stay out of their affairs.”

  “I might give that a try,” I said, “tomorrow.”

  “Is that your coy way of letting me know you have plans for tonight?”

  “Maybe. I do have plans. Big plans. Major plans. Humongous plans.”

  “Humongous?”

  “You bet. I’m going to a sleepover.”

  “That is humongous. May I join you?”

  “I’m afraid not. The guy I’m sleeping over with might get jealous if I bring you along.”

  “Let me guess—Lucas.”

  “You certainly know how to spoil my fun, don’t you?”

  He laughed. “Sorry.”

  “You’d love it if you could come, though. Jason is out of town and I’ve made a sleepover cake and bought snacks and we’re renting movies and—”

  “Enough already. You’re making me jealous.”

  “It’s my turn to apologize,” I said with a giggle. “I’m sorry.”

  “Have fun tonight. But be careful, too, okay?”

  “You’re the second person today to tell me to be careful. I’m beginning to wonder if I have a ‘kick me’ sign taped to my back. Or maybe it’s a ‘warn me’ sign.”

  “Just be careful, okay?”

  “I will.”

  After hanging up the phone, I walked to the kitchen and looked out the door. Sparrow was crouched over her food bowl. I opened the door, and she fled. Whoever was here last night must’ve scared her pretty badly. She wasn’t the only one.

  *

  I was at Violet’s house at four-thirty. Hey, I couldn’t wait! We hadn’t had a sleepover in two years, and sleepovers with my sister are about the only time I can truly let my hair down and act like a kid. Sure, I can be silly when Violet’s kids spend the night at my house; but there I have to be the adult. Violet had to be the adult tonight.

  When I pulled into the driveway, I beeped my horn. On cue, Leslie and Lucas sprinted out to help me carry in my things. They were both talking at once.

  “Dad got to Chicago and called us late yesterday afternoon,” Leslie said.

  “Yeah, he’s in stupid meetings all day today, but he’s gonna try and find me a Bears’ souvenir.”

  “And me, too.”

  “You made us a cake. Cool!”

  “And you brought snacks.” Leslie peeped into the picnic basket.

  “Wait until we get inside,” I said.

  That comment sparked a stampede toward the front door. Violet was in the kitchen making dinner. The aromas of garlic and bread dough were enough to make my mouth water.

  I sat my overnight bag next to the couch and joined my sister in the kitchen. “What smells so good?”

&nbs
p; “Homemade pizzas.” She smiled. “You’re not the only cook in the family, you know.”

  Lucas brought in the cake, put it on the table and opened the lid. “Awesome! Leslie, come check this out!”

  “All right, you’re not the only cook in the family . . . just the most popular,” Violet said wryly.

  “Wait’ll you see the snacks Aunt Daphne brought,” Leslie said as she strolled into the kitchen with the picnic basket. As soon as she saw the cake, she let out a piercing squeal. “I love it! Look at our little feet!”

  Violet playfully muscled her way between the twins to look at the cake. She laughed. “That’s adorable.”

  “Thank you. I thought since it’s a special occasion, we should have a special cake.”

  “Can we cut the cake into four pieces and eat ourselves?” Lucas asked, pointing at the bed that contained a confectionary Lucas.

  “Yeah,” Leslie said, “and since we’re on the ends, we’ll get the biggest pieces!”

  Lucas gave her a thumbs-up.

  “Was it hard being in school this week after last week’s break?” I asked.

  “Ish,” Leslie said.

  “She means ‘a little,’” Lucas translated.

  “Well, before you know it, you’ll be getting out for Christmas break, and we’ll be doing all kinds of fun stuff.” I turned to Violet. “Maybe we can take them to that guitar museum.”

  “Yeah, and it’s closer than we thought. I looked it up online. It isn’t up near Roanoke after all; it’s in Bristol.”

  “Oh, that’s good.”

  “What’s the guitar museum?” Leslie asked.

  “Duh,” Lucas said. “It’s a museum for guitars.”

  Shooting her son a disapproving look, Violet said, “Actually it’s a building in the shape of a guitar. But, yes, I’m sure they do have guitar memorabilia in it.”

  “Cool,” Lucas said.

  “Plus, we’ve got Christmas cakes and cookies and candies to make,” I said.

  “Yay!” Lucas and Leslie said in unison, and Leslie came over and hugged me so hard I was afraid she’d break one of my ribs.

  “Oh, hey,” Lucas said, “that creepy guy at Save-A-Buck is crushing on you way bad, Aunt Daphne.”

  “Who?” I asked.