The Diva Frosts a Cupcake

by Krista Davis

  I paid for it and hurried on to Sugar Baby. Humphrey had put up the closed sign.

  “Are you wrapping up here?” I asked. “Nina’s putting together a posse to post flyers about Buddy.”

  “I heard about that. Maurice is a menace! The nerve of him to steal a dog! Sure, I’ll help. There’s not much I can do here. Nina hired someone to keep an eye on the booths overnight, so I’m not breaking it down yet. I can’t imagine that Renee will have cupcakes to sell tomorrow, but I also don’t know where to take all this stuff. Do you think the cops would let her bring it into the bakery?”

  I doubted it. “Probably not while it’s a crime scene. You haven’t heard from Renee?”

  “Not yet. I went over there a little while ago to see what was going on, but I couldn’t get in.” He leaned toward me and spoke in a low tone. “Do you mind if I ask you a personal question?”

  CHAPTER NINE

  Dear Sophie,

  Everyone in my family raves about my cupcakes. I’m baking four hundred for my niece’s wedding, but I’m a little nervous because I’m not used to making so many at once. I hate to be up all night before the wedding to bake them. Is there an easy way to bake a lot of cupcakes at once?

  —Overwhelmed in Bride’s Hill, Alabama

  Dear Overwhelmed,

  Some bakers freeze cupcakes when they have to bake a large quantity. Many cupcakes thaw very well and will taste freshly baked. However, it’s best not to frost them until the day they’ll be served.

  —Sophie

  “What is it that women see in a guy like Nick Rigas?” asked Humphrey.

  Across the plaza, Nick was eyeing cupcakes at Sugar Mama’s booth. Joy Bickford opened a box of cupcakes and showed him the contents. I couldn’t hear their conversation, but Nick selected one.

  Joy ran her fingers around her neck and laughed.

  Nick said a few more words and moved on without paying, wolfing the cupcake in four bites.

  “Is it his hair?” asked Humphrey.

  Nick had been blessed with an abundance of dark hair. Medium height and not particularly athletic-looking, he lacked some of the typical attributes thought to be particularly handsome. Women coveted his long, lush eyelashes. His warm chocolate eyes coupled with an easy grin that made everyone feel special. “Humphrey, I think it’s the smile. There’s something boyish and captivating about it.” I watched as Nick turned his charm on a woman who was old enough to be his grandmother. She giggled at something he said and swiped a hand through the air in his direction.

  Humphrey grimaced at me like a jack-o’-lantern.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “That was my boyish smile.”

  “Don’t do that! You’ll frighten women away.”

  He slumped. Unfortunately for Humphrey, Nick was still in my line of sight. “Maybe it’s not the smile. Nick carries himself as though he expects everyone to like him. There’s a comfortable assuredness about him.” Of course, it didn’t hurt that his features came together in a remarkably appealing way.

  Humphrey frowned. “How do I do that?” He turned his head slightly, raised his chin, and posed with his hands held waist high, palms down.

  “Now you look conceited and like you’re trying to keep people away from you. Just relax and be yourself.”

  “Being myself hasn’t worked. I think I’d be better off trying to be someone else for a while.”

  I pulled him into a big hug. “I don’t know why you think that. It’s obvious that Myra likes you just the way you are.”

  “Eh, Myra.” He spoke her name like he was talking about broccoli.

  I made a few phone calls to friends, asking them if they would help post flyers about Buddy. Half an hour later, Spenser, Mars, Bernie, Francie, Humphrey, Nick, and a host of our Old Town friends met to pick up flyers. Humphrey had drawn a grid of Old Town. He assigned each person an area, and we all dispersed with flyers in hand. Humphrey had thoughtfully given elderly Francie the route back to the block where we lived. I drew the area behind Market Square, along North Pitt Street and North St. Asaph Street.

  Word about Muffin had spread quickly through Old Town. As I popped into stores, asking them to post the flyer, everyone inquired about Muffin and about my eye, which, from the comments, must have become considerably more pronounced.

  Daisy and I dragged home, exhausted. Mochie, who had slept all day, met us at the door, full of energy.

  I set his new hammock on the tile floor in the sunroom. He circled it, examining it from all sides before he jumped into it. But when I set out a fresh bowl of kitty salmon, he readily abandoned the hammock for his dinner.

  I curled up on the loveseat in the sunroom for a nap, but no sooner had I dozed off than someone slammed the knocker on my front door. I dragged myself to the door and opened it to find Detective Kenner.

  His usual disapproving expression turned to a mix of wonder and horror at the sight of me. “What happened to you?”

  “Don’t worry. I have witnesses. It had nothing to do with Muffin’s death.” Once my nemesis, he no longer frightened me. I held out my arms and he readily hugged me. I invited him in, but Daisy growled at him.

  “Why doesn’t your dog like me?”

  “They say dogs are good judges of character.”

  A hint of a grin emerged, softening the hollows under his cheekbones.

  “Could I offer you some tea or coffee?”

  “No, thanks. Busy day. Tell me what happened at Sugar Baby.”

  He sat down at my kitchen table. Daisy sat next to me, her gaze never wavering from Kenner. I ran through the details for him.

  “Can you be any more precise about the times when Humphrey or Renee left Market Square?”

  “I wasn’t watching them or a clock. All I can tell you is that she was alive when we delivered the desk.”

  “Thanks. Does Francie still live next door?”

  “Absolutely.”

  I walked him to the front door.

  “I don’t see much of you anymore,” he said.

  “Trying to keep my nose clean and stay out of trouble.”

  He nodded. “Try harder.”

  I closed the door behind him and gave up on napping. A peek into the fridge revealed a beautiful flank steak that I’d forgotten about. If I knew Nina, she would order takeout for dinner or just eat four cupcakes and call it a day. When I phoned her, she and Humphrey were still at Market Square. I felt like a sloth. The least I could do was feed them.

  Dusk was beginning to fall over Old Town when Humphrey, Nina, and I gathered in my outdoor room. Humphrey insisted on building a fire but clearly had never achieved a Boy Scout merit badge for fire building.

  I coached him on the use of kindling, but I could tell he wasn’t paying attention. “Are you thinking about Muffin?”

  “Sophie, I deal with death every day. I’ve come to terms with it for the most part. But Muffin shouldn’t be in the morgue yet. She wasn’t meant to be there. Someone snuffed her out, but I can’t imagine why. It can’t have been for money, because she didn’t have anything.” He stood up. “We have to find out who it was. We have to!”

  I wasn’t altogether keen on his use of the word we in that context.

  “I couldn’t agree more.” Nina stirred an icy concoction in a pitcher. “I hope you don’t mind, Sophie. I used the rest of your strawberries in the margaritas.”

  She poured drinks for the three of us and settled into a chaise longue.

  Humphrey switched on the little lights in the lofted ceiling overhead while I placed the steak on the grill. Potatoes had been baking for almost an hour, slathered in butter, sprinkled with salt, and wrapped in aluminum foil. I had marinated the flank steak briefly in bourbon, oil, sea salt, and freshly ground pepper. A raid of the refrigerator had yielded the ingredients for a salad of fresh baby spinach leaves, sliced strawberries, red onion, and creamy avocado, with a strawberry and orange blossom honey vinaigrette.

  “I don’t mean to sound self-centered,�
� said Nina. “Let’s face it—Muffin was murdered—it doesn’t get worse than that. But honestly, if I could find the person who did it, I’d wring his neck myself. You can’t imagine what a ruckus this has caused in regard to the dinner tomorrow night.”

  “So we’ll have fewer cupcakes,” I said. “Surely everyone will understand. Is Joy still baking her cupcakes? She knew Muffin very well, having worked with her.”

  “Not only is Joy baking her cupcakes, but Renee will be presenting cupcakes, too.”

  Humphrey gasped. “Renee is baking anyway?”

  “Turns out they were already done,” said Nina. “Get this. She baked her cupcakes in advance and froze them. All she needs to do is frost them.”

  “Are they still at the bakery?” I asked.

  “Spenser is so generous. He’s setting her up in the Old Town branch of Cake My Day.” Nina poured herself another drink. “Wong and one of the detectives accompanied her to be sure she didn’t destroy evidence when she removed the frozen cupcakes from Sugar Baby. I think that was just a formality, or maybe a way to get her to loosen up. They probably peppered her with questions the whole time. But don’t you think that’s suspicious? That she baked them in advance and froze them?”

  Humphrey scooted so far forward on his chair that he almost fell off. “Are you suggesting that she baked the cupcakes in advance because she knew Muffin would be murdered?”

  Nina tilted her head from side to side. “Just sayin’. Plus, I would have been a wreck. I can promise you that if someone close to me had been murdered, I would not be producing cupcakes for a banquet the following day. No way.”

  “Did you know that Renee is a micro-manager? One of those people who is always a step ahead of the game?” A defensive edge had crept into Humphrey’s tone.

  Time for me to jump in. “I hate to spoil your theory, Nina. But a lot of bakeries bake very large orders ahead of time and freeze them. It’s not that unusual.”

  She seemed disappointed. “Maybe so. But would they deliver cupcakes the following day?”

  “Stop that!” shouted Humphrey. “You’re making it sound as though Renee killed Muffin.”

  Nina met his eyes dead on but didn’t deny it.

  He lowered his voice. “She couldn’t have. She was busy at her booth.”

  “Humphrey, sweetheart,” Nina drawled soothingly in her North Carolina accent, “once you left to pick up the desk, I don’t think anyone watched her constantly. I know for a fact that she put up the closed sign for a few minutes. I guessed she slipped off to the restroom, but I don’t really know. I didn’t go with her.”

  “That would have been very daring of her, Nina.” Using tongs, I placed the hot potatoes on a plate and the steak on a carving board and carried them over to the table. “She knew we would be bringing the desk. It wouldn’t make sense for her to risk being caught. If she had planned to kill Muffin, wouldn’t she have waited a day or even a week to have the desk delivered?”

  “All the more reason to shove poor little Muffin under the bed.” Nina unwrapped her potato, sliced it open, and plunked a pat of butter inside. “Did she know you were going for the desk right then?” She gasped. “What if Renee planned to pin it on Humphrey? If he had brought the desk all by himself, he would have been the prime suspect.” She leaned over the table toward Humphrey. “It’s just lucky that Sophie and Spenser were with you!”

  From his expression, I gathered Humphrey wasn’t at all pleased with the discussion. “I don’t think anyone could have carried that desk up the stairs by himself. Sorry, Nina. You’re wrong this time.”

  “Don’t be so sure. There are rumors that Muffin and Renee were after the same man. After all, they were arguing in Renee’s bedroom.”

  The candle on the table flickered.

  Humphrey hadn’t taken the first bite of his dinner. “What man? How do you know they were arguing?”

  “Spenser heard them.”

  “He only heard Muffin.” Humphrey’s chest puffed up. “That’s nothing but an assumption!”

  I mustered a calm voice. “There are also rumors that Renee and Joy split because of a man. You can’t believe everything you hear. Muffin could have been arguing with Joy or, for that matter, Spenser himself.”

  Only after I’d spoken did it dawn on me that Humphrey might have been the man who came between them. Surely not.

  “That’s ridiculous,” said Humphrey. “How could Spenser hear himself?”

  “What if he’s lying?” I asked. “What if he said he heard an argument in case someone else heard him arguing with Muffin?”

  “You mean he could have left his car there on purpose knowing he would return? It gave him an excuse to be at the scene of the murder!” Humphrey gripped a steak knife in his fist like a weapon.

  Poor Humphrey needed to eat. I turned the conversation to the cupcake dinner the next night. In spite of our lovely meal and spring air that held the promise of warm summer nights, Muffin’s death hung over us, dampening our spirits.

  We broke up early since we were all exhausted and the next day would be busy. I had returned to the outdoor table to retrieve the remaining dishes when I heard Daisy’s collar tags jangle. She loped to the back gate. It creaked open, reminding me to oil the hinges. In the shadows of falling darkness, I made out a stocky figure entering my yard and closing the gate behind him in haste, as though he was trying to avoid detection.

  CHAPTER TEN

  Dear Sophie,

  We’d like to take our dog on the road with us this summer, but I’m worried about where we’ll stay. We’ve never traveled with a dog before.

  —Timmy in Collietown, Arkansas

  Dear Timmy,

  Plan your route ahead of time so you can make reservations at dog-friendly hotels. Be sure to ask about weight or size restrictions. Happily, many hotels offer special amenities for dogs, like bedtime treats on their pillows and doggie room service.

  —Sophie

  The person paused and leaned over to pat Daisy, which made me feel like he must be friend, not foe. But his demeanor left me a little bit wary. I made a mental note to start bringing my cell phone outside with me.

  I couldn’t quite make out his identity in the dark. Had he come to see me, or was he dodging someone and had simply snuck inside my fence to hide? I watched him for a moment. He turned around.

  “Sophie!” It was a loud whisper. He’d clearly seen me.

  As he drew near, I realized it was Spenser. “Hi! What’s going on? Is it about Buddy?”

  “I wish it were. I’m heartbroken about that dog. If only someone would find the poor guy.” He took in my outdoor room, gazing up at the lofted ceiling and twinkling lights. “Nice place.”

  “Thanks. I think there’s some margarita left. Could I interest you in one?”

  “Yes, please!”

  I fetched a clean glass, poured a drink, and handed it to him. “What brings you here?”

  He rested on an Adirondack chair and focused on the margarita. Was he avoiding my eyes?

  “Sophie, you’re a very nice woman. And attractive, too!”

  He said the last part in a rush, which made me smile. He was greasing me up for something with those compliments.

  “Under other circumstances, I would be flattered by your interest . . .” He peeked up at me, turning his face slightly as if he were afraid of my response.

  I laughed. “My interest? What are you trying to say, Spenser? Spit it out!”

  He chugged back half the margarita. “I can’t date you!”

  I hadn’t expected that! What on earth? Did he think I was in the habit of dating married men because of my relationship with Wolf? There had been extenuating circumstances. Why didn’t people realize that? I worked at keeping my tone friendly. “Of course not. You’re married, and I don’t date married men.” There. I’d said it up front—clear as could be. Not that there had ever been any question of dating him, or any indication of anything of the sort. He’d caught me off guard. Why woul
d he have imagined such a thing? I racked my brain for anything I might have said or done that could have misled him. Had I told him I was in love with his cupcakes?

  He heaved a great sigh. “I believe I’ve put my foot in it. You’re not chasing me, are you?”

  I was tempted to say what he had—that he was a nice man and attractive, too! Instead I asked, “Does this have anything to do with Clarissa being so angry with me?” I sipped my drink.

  “She thinks we’re having an affair.”

  I spewed margarita.

  “And two other people have asked me about it, as well.”

  Dabbing my shirt with a napkin, I said, “No wonder you had trouble broaching the subject. Why would anyone think that?” It certainly explained Clarissa’s odd outbreak at the coffee place and her ire when I showed up for the desk. No wonder she thought I had nerve to come to her house.

  Spenser acted bashful. “I thought maybe you had a little crush on me, and . . .”

  This time I choked. Coughing to clear my throat, I sputtered, “You thought I told people that we were having an affair?” I wiped my watering eyes. “What would that accomplish? Besides, don’t most people try to keep their affairs under wraps so people won’t find out about them?”

  Looking much relieved, Spenser sat back in his chair and crossed a leg over his knee. “You can imagine how well it went over when you turned up at my house with Humphrey today.”

  “Actually, I didn’t realize we were going to your house. After my brush with Clarissa this morning, I would never have intentionally visited your home.”

  Spenser sipped his margarita and frowned. “If you didn’t suggest it to anyone, then I don’t understand. It’s not like we could have been seen together anywhere, thus raising suspicions.”

  I sighed. “It’s possible that my split with Wolf has made me Grade A Prime meat for the gossip mill. Sounds like you were the unwitting victim. I’m so sorry, Spenser. I’ll talk to Clarissa about it tomorrow and straighten her out.”