Doughnuts & Deadly Schemes (Culinary Competition Mysteries Book 3)

by Janel Gradowski

  Amy fit her key into the lock of the heavy, metal security door. She yanked on the handle. It wouldn't budge. She twisted the key again and gave a hearty tug. The door opened so easily she almost fell backward on her butt. Why had it been unlocked when she arrived? She and Sophie always locked it behind themselves when they were working alone.

  Amy stepped inside. The windowless door thumped shut behind her. She blinked as her eyes adjusted to the bright lights reflecting off the stainless steel work surfaces and appliances. Sophie wasn't at her usual spot in front of the humongous floor mixer preparing bread dough. In fact, she wasn't anywhere in the kitchen.

  Something was wrong. A coil of fear wrapped around her chest. Amy quietly set her purse on a nearby counter and grabbed a large butcher knife from the magnetic strip on the wall behind the sandwich prep area. She patted her jeans pocket to make sure her phone was there. Her mind was in full-tilt bad scenario invention mode. Luke's killer could be in the building with Sophie or the café's owner could be in one of the other rooms of the restaurant checking on something before starting the food preparation. Amy hoped for the innocent, danger-free situation, but she didn't want to holler out a greeting to reveal her presence if there was someone keeping Sophie away from the kitchen.

  She tiptoed across the room and peeked into the dark office. Dense shadows loomed like ghosts in the corners, but there was nobody in the tiny space that held a desk and a couple of file cabinets. Amy took a deep breath and moved to the swinging metal doors that led to the dining room. The round windows weren't positioned low enough for petite people to look through, so she would have to use a more conspicuous method of seeing what was happening in the next room.

  Slowly she pushed the door open. The Victorian-style street lights outside, located along the sidewalk, dimly illuminated the front part of the room. Through the doorway leading to the coffee shop area, she could see brighter light coming from the back of that space. There weren't any streetlights along the side of the building.

  Amy sprinted across the dining room. She flattened herself against the wall beside the doorway and took a deep breath. One. Two. Three. She leaned around the corner. One of the lamps in the seating area in front of the fireplace was on. Amy spun back into the dining room and leaned her head against the wall. She hadn't seen anybody, but there were plenty of shadow-cloaked tables to hide under. Not to mention there was a short hallway to the left of the fireplace that led to the bathrooms and an emergency exit.

  She adjusted her grip on the knife then ducked down. The order counter where the espresso machine hissed away all day provided a bit of cover as Amy crept toward the back of the room. When she was past the counter, she straightened. There was no use staying in the muscle-torqueing stance when there was nothing to hide behind. But maybe an intruder was crouched down on the other side of the counter. She whirled around. No burglars. Just the mini-fridge and stacks of paper bags for to-go pastries in racks on the counter.

  A high-pitched groan catapulted her heart into her throat. She whipped around to face the noise, knife in the slice-and-dice-an-attacker position. Sophie let out a strangled squeal as the bathroom door whooshed shut behind her.

  "Amy! What are you doing? I thought you weren't coming in today."

  The surprise was an electric shock to Amy's muscles. Her whole body felt tingly. Sophie was okay, but Amy wasn't so sure she was since her heart was trying to beat its way out of her chest after the adrenaline surge. She explained, "I woke up and couldn't sleep, so I figured I might as well come in and help for a bit. The door was unlocked, and I couldn't find you. I thought something terrible had happened."

  Sophie held up her hands. Her palms were covered in bleeding cuts and swollen scratches. "I fell down when I got out of my car. I didn't want to get blood in the kitchen sink, so I came to the bathroom to wash up."

  Amy set the knife on the counter behind her and rushed to her friend. She put her arm around Sophie's shoulder, being careful not to bump her hands. "You poor baby! We need to get some antibacterial cream and bandages on those cuts. Where's the first aid kit?"

  "In my office."

  "I'm not Carla," Amy said as she followed Sophie through the shadowy rooms, toward the main kitchen. "But I think I can get you patched up for now."

  They squeezed into the hole-in-the-wall office. Sophie sat at her desk chair while Amy tried to apply salve to the wounds. It was a game of hit-or-miss because Sophie's hands were shaking violently. Amy fitted the largest Band-Aids she could find in the first aid box over the worst cuts.

  "You need to see a doctor to make sure you don't develop an infection. The parking area probably has all kinds of vehicle fluids dripped on the pavement and gravel. I'm sure you're in pain, so maybe a doctor could give you something to help with that, too."

  "I'm more worried about an infection than the pain. I'm tough. Have you seen the burn scars on my arms?" Sophie chuckled as she rotated her arms so Amy could see the thick, raised scars scattered on the underside of her forearms. Ghosts of the wounds from bumping searing hot oven racks and scalding pot rims.

  Sophie's phone dinged. She winced when she plunged her right hand into the back pocket of her khaki pants. After checking the message, she quickly switched the phone back off and set it on the desk. "I can grit my teeth for now, to make it through the morning."

  Amy set down the almost empty tube of antibiotic cream. "There. That's the best I can do." She leaned forward to make sure Sophie was looking her in the eyes, since she had avoided eye contact when promising to visit a doctor. "Please visit a walk-in clinic at the very least. If not, I'll bring Carla and have her make you go. Believe me, you don't want to get on her naughty list. She kickboxes for fun, if you get my drift."

  Sophie held up her hands in surrender. Her palms looked as if a third grader had been given a box of bandages and instructions to turn her into a mummy. "Okay…okay. I promise I'll have my hands checked out." She stood. "But for now, I need to get to work. Can't make any money if there's nothing to sell."

  Five hours later, Amy and Sophie walked out the back door together, after finally catching up with all of the baking that was delayed by the medical emergency. Extra kitchen staff had been summoned to fill in for Sophie so she could visit a doctor. Amy was on her way home to make the lemon cake that needed to soak in boozy, orangey syrup overnight. With all of the excitement between the wedding and the murder, she was glad she had finished perfecting the recipe weeks earlier. Lemon and elderflower curd sandwiched between the moist cake layers and a simple vanilla buttercream icing to add another subtle layer of flavor. While she was hoping her entry was good enough to win the brand new Trending Flavors competition, she couldn't wait to see the elaborately decorated wedding cakes in the other contest at the bridal show. They were sure to be spectacular.

  "Thank you so much for your help," Sophie said as she unlocked her car door with a button on her key fob. "I wasn't expecting you to be in today, but I don't know what I would've done without you."

  Amy's shoulders ached from kneading dough. Beyond the usual bread for sandwiches and tartines, a blackberry kuchen was scheduled on the dessert menu for the day. Latex gloves protected Sophie's torn-up hands, but Amy had insisted on taking over her boss's usual kneading duties. There was no way putting pressure on the wounds wouldn't hurt.

  "No problem. I'm just sorry that I couldn't fix up your scrapes any better. I was in high school the last time I took a first aid class."

  "You did a great job." Sophie grabbed the door handle. Her face scrunched up from the pain as she swung the car door open. "Much better than I could've accomplished on my own."

  Amy smiled. As she turned to walk away, she noticed a streak of bright red spray paint on the wall beside the café's door. "I didn't see that paint yesterday. When did somebody do that? It looks like some kind of graffiti, but it's only one line. Weird."

  Sophie rolled her eyes as she turned her key in the ignition. "Sometime last night. I noticed it right before I
tripped this morning. Just what I need on top of everything else. Now I have to clean up after a talentless graffiti artist."

  After waving goodbye, Amy climbed into Mimi. It was much warmer in the car than outside. Feeling like a baking potato was one of the not-so-great aspects of summer. As she pulled the door shut, sealing herself into the Mini Cooper oven, a splash of pink caught her attention. Halfway down the block the lid of the dumpster for Whisper's Intimate Apparel had blown open, revealing a pile of pink trash bags inside. She drummed her fingers on the steering wheel while the vents blew hot air on her arms, effectively transforming the Mini into a vehicular convection oven. The lingerie store would very likely be cooler than the kitchens at Riverbend had been. Pre-chilling her body would be a nice way to combat the discomfort of the unavoidable commute.

  The trek along the back side of the block then around to the sidewalk along Main Street was pleasant even though her destination surely wouldn't be. During the walk Amy came up with an excuse for visiting the lingerie shop. A gift for Carla's honeymoon.

  A synthetic floral scent slammed Amy in the nose when she opened the front door of Whisper's. While she recognized the fragrance as rose, there was no way a real flower would smell so strong, even if there were a dozen bouquets inside the store. The overwhelming odor was probably Rayshelle Applebee's idea for creating a romantic, lingerie-buying ambiance. Nothing about her appearance or personality was subtle, so her marketing tactics most likely wouldn't be either.

  Amy flipped through the items on the rack nearest the door in case the airborne assault became too much and she needed to make a run for fresh air. Stretchy fishnet bodysuits were arranged in a neon rainbow. The tags dangling from the garments had a drawing of a light bulb on them. Did they glow in the dark too? As she flipped over a tag to read it, Amy surreptitiously glanced at the checkout counter. Rayshelle, sporting shamrock green hair pulled into a scraggly ponytail, popped up from behind the display case full of adult toys. She slammed a spray bottle full of blue liquid on the counter then bent again and retrieved a roll of paper towels. It looked as if Rayshelle had a cleaning job to do.

  The eye-popping bright teddies weren't really Carla's style, but if Amy wanted to talk to the prickly clerk she would need to quickly find something to purchase. She grabbed a tropical-blue bodysuit and headed to the counter, weaving around circular racks full of animal print and metallic lace lingerie.

  "I suppose you want to buy that," Rayshelle said as Amy approached.

  "It's a present for a friend who's getting married." Amy laid the thankfully inexpensive bodysuit on the counter in front of the Mistress of Poor Retail Service. "I'm sorry for the loss of your friend."

  One of Rayshelle's penciled-on eyebrows rose. "You know about me and Luke? You just can't keep your nose out of my business, huh?"

  Amy took a deep breath to try to stay calm and instantly regretted it. Her sinuses throbbed behind her cheeks from over-exposure to the toxic air freshener. She was not nosy. Rayshelle's social life was not something she wanted to know about either. The only detail she was interested in was why charming, always-friendly Luke willingly dated crude Rayshelle. She sighed. "I'm not trying to interfere with your personal life. I just heard that you were dating Luke and wanted to give you my condolences."

  Rayshelle slid the bodysuit's tag over the bar code scanner. When Amy pulled out her credit card the surly clerk grunted. "Credit card system is down, and I can't find the slide machine thingy to do the carbon copy slips. You'll have to pay cash or check."

  It was Amy's turn to be grumpy. She had enough cash, but had intended to use it to buy some potted tomato plants for her patio on her way home. The roadside stand had an old-fashioned honor system cash box for its only payment method. As she handed over the money, she pressed on with the real reason she was in the stinky store. "Luke was a great guy. I'm sure you miss him."

  Rayshelle snatched the twenty-dollar bill out of Amy's hand. "I'll miss the free beer on Saturday nights. We weren't dating, unless that's what you call hanging out at O'Hare's Bar and getting drunk together. He had a lot of problems. Used to say his family baggage was filled with cement." She snorted. "My car breaks down about every other week. I would've gladly sucked up to dear old dad to see if I could get a discount on parts, but Luke never introduced me to him."

  "What does Luke's family have to do with your car?"

  "They own a bunch of auto parts stores." She stuffed the glow-in-the-dark bodysuit in a hot pink paper bag and sniffed. "I'm surprised you didn't know that already since you know all about my life."

  As Amy reached for the bag, the sudden tingle of an oncoming sneeze zinged through her nasal passages. She turned away from the counter and released the tooth-rattling sneeze into the crook of her elbow. "Sorry. Excuse me."

  "Yeah right. Thanks for covering me with cooties," Rayshelle said as she grabbed the bottle of cleaning fluid and squirted a cloud of it onto her hand. The green-haired germophobe, who hadn't been sneezed on, smirked as she wiped off the ammonia-scented liquid. "I hope you have as crappy of a day as I'm having. Now if you'll excuse me, I have to go clean up a mess I didn't make."

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Carla slid a slice of the Greek pizza onto her paper plate. The thin crust had no tomato sauce, just feta cheese, kalamata olives, cherry tomatoes, olive oil, and a generous sprinkle of herbs. Heaven. Bruce's pizza looked like a vegan's worst nightmare. The pizza place called it The Meat Market, and it appeared to have every kind of meat ever known to be used as a pizza topping from humble ground beef crumbles to spicy chunks of capicola ham. She figured it should be called The Grease Bomb, but he deserved a decadent treat. Between getting ready for the wedding and solving the murder, he was in all-work-no-play mode 24/7.

  "Did you have any luck finding some place to have the wedding?" he asked as he dropped another overloaded slice of pizza on his flimsy paper plate. Eating greasy pizza while wearing a white dress shirt was tempting fate, but her soon-to-be husband had more to worry about than potential laundry stains. After she left, he would probably go back to his laptop to try to dig up some leads on the murder.

  "Nope. I can't even find a back room at a decent restaurant that isn't booked to have a small reception. It seems that half the town is getting married the same weekend. When I brought up having everything here Amy offered her backyard. It would work, unless it rains. There's really no space inside large enough for the ceremony. Her house is big, but it has a lot of smaller rooms instead of an open concept."

  She'd spent the day calling every venue on the list Amy had made for her, plus a few others that the banquet halls and restaurants suggested when they couldn't help. There didn't seem to be anything available on their wedding date within a fifty-mile radius of Kellerton. She could continue the hunt the following day, but she needed to head to work as soon as she finished eating. Working opposing shifts from Bruce would get the wedding planned, but it wasn't easy. If absence made the heart grow fonder, then they would be the most in love couple in history by the time they exchanged vows.

  They were sitting side by side on the couch with the pizza boxes strewn over the coffee table. Bruce patted her knee. "There's always Las Vegas." He leaned over and kissed her cheek. "You know I'd be happy to marry you at the courthouse while wearing blue jeans and T-shirts, but I understand you want something nicer. I'm so sorry I can't help much because of this case."

  "It's okay. I understand. Amy is being a huge help, even though she isn't happy with the short deadline." Carla leaned back and rested her head on the back cushion of the black leather couch. "Although, at least this way, we'll get the casual, small wedding we want. She is in super wedding planner mode. If I gave her much longer, we'd end up with a fancy, formal gala straight out of a bridal magazine. She loves this kind of thing. Since she's competing in some cake recipe contest at the bridal expo this weekend, she's dragging me there, too. No vendors can do anything with only two weeks' notice. She'll spot something that she thinks we need an
d then take on the burden to make it herself."

  He shrugged. "That's just how she rolls. She isn't afraid to do things herself, even murder investigations. So maybe she can help with this one. Has she seen or overheard something suspicious? Does she have any ideas about what happened?"

  "She hasn't come up with any ideas yet, but I'm sure it's just a matter of time. She already told me she wants to help with the case."

  "If she has any theories, please let me know. We can't find any evidence of the demands and threats on the store's computer system. No other businesses have reported being harassed for money, either. I have no witnesses, no solid suspects, very little evidence, and a giant headache from trying to figure anything out."

  Carla slid another slice of pizza onto her plate. Carbs were good. She'd need the energy boost to help make it through the night shift in the ER. "You wouldn't have known about the extortion if it wasn't for the murder. Sorry, but I heard most of your interview at the store. Matt said there were specific instructions not to call the police or there would be consequences. If the hackers are going after other businesses all they have to do is bring up the murder, and people will be scared into silence. Then poof, the hacker erases the death threat so nobody can trace it."

  "True. Even if the murder was random and not tied to the extortion, whoever is sending the threats could still use it for leverage." He plucked an errant chunk of sausage off his plate and popped it into his mouth. "The murder could be a totally unrelated crime, maybe a burglary gone wrong, but a big happy accident for the hacker."

  "So you think the crimes are unrelated?"

  "I think they could be. There's a greater chance that they are connected."

  All of the what-ifs and maybes that went along with solving a crime would drive Carla insane. Nursing was usually much more direct. There were certain medical procedures to follow in a nice, orderly fashion. No trying to figure out the thought patterns of a psychotic killer. She glanced at the bridal magazine lying beside the pizza box. The gown on the cover made her remember the bridal salon. "Would crashing all of the computers in a business be another way for the extortionist to get money?"