by Trent, Gayle
“Of course,” I said.
Leslie straightened back up, and Ben and I moved over to make room for the two newcomers.
“We heard about Pauline,” said Fiona. “Someone said you went to the hospital to check on her. Is she okay?”
“Is she the one we saw the paramedics leaving with?” Molly asked.
“Yes,” I answered Molly. “She accidentally stuck herself with a piece of floral wire this morning and had to have a tetanus shot. She apparently has a congenital heart defect that made her heart race once the vaccine was administered, and she almost had a heart attack.” I looked back at Fiona. “She appears to be fine now. The hospital is just keeping her until her heart rate returns to normal.”
“I’m glad she’s okay,” said Molly.
“So am I,” said Fiona. “That’s scary. Do you suppose she’d never had a tetanus shot before? You’d think a woman her age would’ve had at least one before now.”
I shrugged.
“I’m not so sure it was the vaccine that caused her to be so sick,” Myra said. “She told Daphne and Ben at the hospital that she heard a certain someone arguing with Chef Richards on Thursday. I think that person poisoned her to keep her quiet.” She turned to me with the full mantle of authority and expertise that she most certainly did not have. “Did you check with the hospital to see if they ran a tox screen?”
“I . . . I didn’t ask,” I said. “Ben, did you?”
He simply looked at me with amusement, refusing to justify my question with a response.
Kimmie Compton stepped out into the center of the demonstration area. Gavin Conroy’s makeshift memorial had been moved aside to make room for the trophies, plaques, and certificates to be awarded the winners.
“Thank you all for being a part of our first annual Brea Ridge Taste Bud Temptation Cake and Confectionary Arts Exhibit and Competition,” said Ms. Compton. “We appreciate all our sponsors, our competitors, and our spectators for making this event such a resounding success. We’d especially like to express our thanks to those spectators who voted for cakes with their pennies. Those pennies will be donated to the local food bank and, given the number of filled cups, we think they will amount to a significant contribution.”
Ms. Compton paused to allow the audience’s applause to die down before continuing.
“And now let’s get on to what you’ve all been waiting for—the winners!” She moved over behind the demonstration table where a stack of cards were waiting. She picked up the top card. “We’ll start things off—naturally—with our beginners category. Third place goes to Kelly Anderson.”
We all applauded as Kelly Anderson came forward to accept her plaque and prize basket.
“Our second-place winner is Brandon Campbell,” said Ms. Compton.
Again, we applauded while Brandon went forward to claim his prizes. Our hands were going to be sore before all the winners had been announced.
“And, our first place winner in the beginners’ category is Pam Barnett.”
Myra gasped. “Pam Barnett is most definitely not a beginner! She’s been decorating cakes for years! What a liar and a cheat! I should yell ‘fraud.’ ”
“Please don’t,” I said.
Still, Myra fussed, and Mark and I tried to shush her. Mark finally persuaded her to lower her voice by saying that karma would come back to bite Pam in the derriere. That seemed to satisfy Myra for the moment.
“Another round of applause, please, for all our entrants and winners in the beginners category before we move on to the junior category,” Ms. Compton said.
As I applauded, I felt Leslie’s bony fingers dig into my shoulders.
“It’s all right,” I said softly. “You did a fantastic job on your cake.”
Her little chin—also bony—joined her fingers on my right shoulder. It stayed there until the winners of third and second place in the junior category were announced. The fingers tightened as Ms. Compton started to announce the first-place winner:
“Leslie Armstrong.”
She’d won! She and I emitted simultaneous squeals of delight. The rest of our group cheered.
“Go, go, go!” I said. “But be careful going down these steps.” I felt tears prick my eyes. “I’m so proud of you.”
As Leslie navigated the risers to make her way to the demonstration table, where her trophy and prize basket awaited, Ben put an arm around me, pulled me close, and kissed my cheek.
“You know, even if I don’t win, her winning has made this competition a wonderful experience for me,” I said. “All things considered.”
“I do know,” Ben said. “That’s one of the things I love about you.”
My heart nearly skipped a beat. One of the things he loved about me. Was he saying he loved me . . . or only that he loved certain things about me?
Leslie returned with her treasures, and we all oohed and aahed over them until we missed the first winner announced in the advanced category. We applauded and tried to look contrite.
Except Myra, of course. She exclaimed, “I’m so happy for you, baby! This thing might not be rigged after all.”
I rolled my eyes, and Molly giggled.
The other two winners in the advanced category were announced. These decorators were those who were skilled in decorating but who weren’t professionals. I’d never heard of any of the winners in the category, and I thought they were probably from out of town.
I hadn’t entered a cake in the professional category—only the novelty cake category and the wedding cake category. I was pleased, however, that Lou Gimmel took the top prize in the professional category and that another student from our Australian string work class took second place. It was the redhead whose name Pauline couldn’t recall. I couldn’t recall her name either and hadn’t been paying attention when it had been announced.
In the floral sugar craft category, Pauline Wilson won first place. Ms. Compton said she’d see to it that Pauline received her prizes and asked us all to keep Pauline in our thoughts and prayers as she recovered from a bad reaction to the tetanus vaccine injection she’d had that morning.
Myra harrumphed her skepticism at the reported cause of Pauline’s illness, but everyone pretended not to notice.
“Let’s move on to the novelty cake category,” said Ms. Compton. “Our third-place winner is Dana Mills.”
We applauded as Dana went to collect her prizes. I continued to hold my breath. I didn’t win third place. Would I win second? I’d been pleased with the way my superhero cake had turned out, but now I wasn’t so sure. Had there been some flaw in it that I’d overlooked?
The second place winner was announced. It was Gavin Conroy. He accepted the prize, and I began to accept defeat. For some reason, I didn’t think I could outdo Gavin. Was I that impressed with his decorating skills, or was I intimidated by his forceful personality and his inflated opinion of himself? Thinking of his forceful personality made me wonder if it was possible that Gavin had killed Jordan Richards. When the two of them argued, their tempers had to have escalated quickly. I could well imagine either one of them taking the argument too far.
I was still pondering that possibility when Kimmie Compton called my name as the first-place winner in the novelty cake category. It didn’t really register that she’d said my name until Leslie squealed and threw her arms around my neck.
“Way to go, Aunt Daphne!” Lucas said.
I turned to look at them, and they were all smiling.
“Good,” said Alex simply.
“Thank you,” I said.
Ben squeezed my hand before I went down to accept my trophy and prize basket.
I’d beaten out Gavin Conroy! I hoped he wouldn’t kill me now. I met his eyes as I was returning to my seat. He gave me a supercilious smirk. I tried to smile, then dropped my eyes and hurried back to rejoin my group.
I’d barely sat back down before my name was announced again. I’d won third place in the wedding cake category.
“Our loc
al girl is racking up the wins,” said Ms. Compton. “Congratulations, Daphne!”
I was thrilled. Of course, there was a part of me that wished I’d won first place, but third place was a huge honor. The wedding cakes in this ballroom were gorgeous and represented hundreds of hours of painstaking work.
Once again, Gavin Conroy won second place. Lou Gimmel won first place in the wedding cake category. I was so happy for Lou. He seemed to be such a nice guy.
Ms. Compton gave her closing remarks and announced that the winning cakes would be photographed before they would be released.
“After the cakes have been photographed for our website and brochures, the decorators may pick them up,” she said. “Again, I appreciate everyone coming out to lend your support of the culinary arts. Please join us again next year.”
The audience had one last round of applause in them, and then everyone began milling toward the ballroom exits. Jason and Ben helped Leslie and me carry our prizes down the risers.
“If you’ll give me your keys,” Ben said, “I’ll put these in your car.”
“Thank you.” I fished in my purse and brought out my keys. I took one final look at my goodies before Ben turned to leave with them.
“I’ll be right back,” he said.
Jason volunteered to go out with Ben, since he needed to put Leslie’s prizes in their van. Lucas decided to go along and help carry the prizes because he figured Ben and Jason could use “another guy on the job.”
I noticed that Leslie was busy talking with Alex, and—though it’s as clichéd as it gets—I commented, “They grow up so quickly.”
“Yes, they do,” Molly said. “It seems like only yesterday that Alex was taking his first steps.”
I wondered if his motor development had been delayed any by his Asperger’s syndrome, but I didn’t ask. I didn’t want to appear rude, and it was none of my business anyhow. Besides, the child certainly didn’t seem to have any difficulties now.
“I know exactly what you mean,” said Violet. “We went from an Easy-Bake oven to the real thing overnight.”
“I just hope this trip . . . this show . . . sets Alex back on the right track,” Chris said softly. “Think about how much time he lost after that moron Richards set him back so far.”
“I prefer not to think about that,” Molly said. “It’s in the past. This competition has been wonderful for Alex. Hopefully, he’ll get back into cake decorating and have a creative outlet again.”
“I hope so too,” I said.
Chris looked at his watch. “Shouldn’t we be starting back soon?”
“I guess so,” said Molly. “I just hate to leave. We’ve had so much fun.”
Violet gave her a hug. “We’ll definitely keep in touch. If nothing else, we’ll get the kids together sometime this summer.”
“If nothing else?” Chris scoffed. “They’re going to be on that TV show. What was it called?”
“John and Joni,” Leslie answered. “I hope we do get on that show. It would be the coolest thing ever!”
Alex grinned and nodded.
I too hugged Molly and said my goodbyes to Chris and Alex. I believed some true friendships had been forged through this cake competition, and I was looking forward to seeing the three of them again. I knew Violet and her family were too.
I excused myself for a moment and went to congratulate Lou.
“You’re the man of the hour,” I said. “Congratulations!”
He swept me into a hug. “Thank you so much. I can hardly believe I did so well. The competition was fierce.”
“I just hope you’ll still remember tiny little Brea Ridge when you’re a big star,” I said.
“Well, if . . . and that’s a big if . . . I ever do become a big star, you’d better believe I’ll remember Brea Ridge.” He laughed. “This competition has been a fantastic experience all the way around.”
Fiona sidled up to his left. “Yeah, it has been a lot of fun . . . except for . . . well . . . you know.”
Lou’s smile faded. “Of course. Oh, man, Fiona, I didn’t intend to be crass.”
She dismissed his concern with a shake of her head. “You weren’t. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to bring everyone down. I only wish I’d been able to participate in the competition. Chef Richards kept me on such a tight chain that there was no way I could find time to work on anything . . . you know . . . outside of work.”
“Still, I’m very sorry for your loss,” Lou said.
“Any chance you’re looking for an assistant?” Fiona asked him.
“Um . . . not at the moment, but if that changes, I’ll keep you in mind,” he said.
She began digging in her purse for a business card. “I know I’ve got a stack of cards in here somewhere. . . . ”
“Hold that thought,” Lou said. He looked relieved as he left us to walk over to the television producer who’d motioned him over. It was one of the men I’d seen talking with him the day before.
Good for Lou.
I noticed that Fiona was still frantically searching for a card. Poor Fiona. I excused myself from her when I saw Ben coming back into the ballroom.
22
THANK YOU for putting those in the car,” I told Ben. “I might take them by the house on my way to see Pauline. I thought I’d volunteer to take her prizes to her.”
“You’re planning on coming back here, aren’t you?” Ben asked. “I thought we’d have dinner in our room.”
I smiled. “That sounds wonderful. I’ll feed Sparrow when I go by the house, then.”
“Great.” He looked down at the floor.
“What about Sally?” I asked. “Would you like for me to go by and feed her too?”
“No,” he said, looking back up at my face. “I took care of her earlier today.” He took a deep breath. “There’s something I need to tell you.”
“All right.” I gazed at him expectantly, but he didn’t immediately elaborate. “Ben?”
“Yeah . . . Let’s step over here and sit at one of these empty tables for a minute.” He waved to someone.
I turned to see that it was Mark to whom Ben had gestured. Mark was now headed our way.
“Is there some new development in the case?” I asked. “Did you guys find out something else?”
“Not . . . not quite,” Ben said.
“Did you tell her?” Mark asked.
“I was getting ready to.” Ben placed his hand at the small of my back. “Let’s sit down, and I’ll explain everything.”
I didn’t like where this was going. Had there been good news in the case, we wouldn’t have needed to sit down to talk about it.
Ben pulled out a chair for me. I sat down and looked up at him warily. Ben sat to my left, and Mark sat directly across from him. I didn’t know how Mark had managed to get out of Myra’s sight for an instant—especially when he was getting ready to talk about an ongoing investigation—but he had.
“We—I—have a confession to make,” said Ben. “You know the surveillance footage that showed someone going to and from the kitchen at around the same time Chef Richards was murdered?”
I nodded.
“It doesn’t exist,” he said.
My jaw dropped. “It got erased?”
“There never was any surveillance footage,” Mark said. “We told you and Myra and everyone else that in order to plant fear in the killer’s mind. We hoped that would make him tip his hand.”
“You lied to me?” I asked Ben. “You made me think I was in the clear when I was not? I’m still a suspect in Jordan Richards’s murder?”
“We took a risk,” Ben said.
“You gave me false hope!” I said.
“Daphne, you’re not going to be arrested for killing Jordan Richards,” said Mark. “Even if you were guilty, the police don’t have enough evidence to charge you. They don’t have enough evidence to charge anyone.”
“That comes as little comfort to me now.” I pushed back my chair. “I’m going to talk with K
immie Compton and see if she would like me to take Pauline’s prizes to her.”
Ben came after me as I walked away. “Daph, please, Mark and I thought it would work.”
“I get it,” I said. “I only wish you’d have let me in on the plan.”
“I wish we had too,” he said. “Please forgive me and come back here and have dinner with me this evening.”
“All right.” I did forgive him, but I needed to be alone for a few minutes. In just a short time, I’d gone from being a suspect to being exonerated to being a suspect again. That realization hit me like a punch in the stomach. I so desperately wanted this ordeal to be over. Now I didn’t know if it ever would be.
As I was making my way back toward Kimmie Compton, I was intercepted by China and Juanita, my favorite cashier from Save-A-Buck.
“Congratulations on your wins!” Juanita grasped both my hands. “I am happy for you.”
“Thank you,” I said.
“Where are your trophies?” China asked. “I wanted to see them up close.”
“Ben has already put them in the car for me, but please come by the house anytime and take a look. I’m going to put them both on my mantel in the living room.”
Juanita let go of my hands and spun around to look at a cake someone was carrying out. “Ooh, isn’t it beautiful?”
“It is,” I said, smiling at Juanita’s excitement.
“Myra told us that the girl who made the flowers—Pauline, was it?—got poisoned,” China said.
I rolled my eyes. “She did not get poisoned. She had a reaction to the tetanus shot she was given after she accidentally stabbed herself with a piece of floral wire this morning during her demonstration.”
“I wouldn’t be too quick to dismiss Myra’s theory,” said China. “A lot of times killers use conveniences like that to cover their tracks.”
“But why would someone want to harm Pauline?” I asked.
“Maybe she knows who killed Jordan Richards,” China said. “She didn’t stab herself until that big guy showed up.”
“You mean Gavin Conroy,” I said.
China nodded. “Maybe she thinks he did it.”
“Maybe he did,” I said.