by Carol Lee
“What? The way what’s looking?” Lizzie came in with cheese and crackers on a plate. She nearly dropped it when she heard that.
“Okay. Here it is, Barbara ate a piece of poisoned chocolate cake and the working theory is that you poisoned her to make sure that your business didn’t go under. The thing is, the poisoned cake might be a piece of your Death by Chocolate cake.”
“But, how stupid do people think I am to feed her my signature dessert laced with poison and leave it there to be found?”
“Well, you’d be surprised at how criminals forget about details. It usually is how we catch them,” he smiled and his dimples made me lose a bit of my indignance.
“That’s all circumstantial, though. They can’t arrest her for that, can they?”
David sighed and reached for a cracker, “I’ve put together weaker cases before.”
“You’re a big help,” I said.
“I’m just saying, you can see the logic in the case they’re building. Oh, and one of your recipe cards also turned up near her hand.”
“So they think she held onto the card to name me as the killer?”
He shook his head since he had stuffed more crackers and cheese into his mouth.
“Then, we need to find the real killer to prove that I am innocent.”
“Okay, Sherlock. What’s the first move?” asked Lizzie.
“Wait a minute,” David cleared his throat from the crackers. “Don’t go meddling in an active investigation or you’ll be charged with obstruction.”
“I’d rather an obstruction charge than a murder rap,” I countered.
“I think we should opt for no charges,” said Lizzie.
David’s cell beeped and he checked it. “I’ve got to go.”
He stood and grabbed a few more crackers and pieces of cheese and moved toward the door. I went with him and Lizzie got very busy with the cheese and crackers. He opened the door and then turned back to me. He leaned down a bit and kissed me. Although surprised and admittedly a bit out of practice, I kissed him back and for that blissful second, I totally forgot about everything, including the murder.
“Don’t worry, Green Eyes; I’ll do whatever it takes to catch the real killer.”
I opened my eyes and smiled. “I know you will. Thanks.”
The door swung back gently as he stepped out and it took me a second to actually move from the spot.
“So, that could’ve been a scene from a movie. So romantic,” Lizzie oozed as I walked back to the couch.
In spite of the fact that I had to focus on devising a plan to clear myself, the dopey smile from this morning snuck back out and my thoughts were a bit cloudy.
“I think it is safe to say that he believes that you are innocent,” she chuckled.
“Will you focus, please?” I tried to make my voice sound stern, but since my smile wouldn’t fade, I couldn’t pull it off effectively.
“Right. Focus,” she echoed.
“First, I need to think about who has bought my Death by Chocolate cakes this week.” A slight pang of regret at naming the dessert that stabbed briefly. “Then, we need to figure out who else, besides me, could have a motive for killing Barbara.”
“Okay, but once we figure out who else could have a motive, how are we going to prove that he or she did it?”
“I’m not sure. I guess we’ll figure out the “hows” after we figure out the “whos”. We’ll get whatever we find out to David as soon as we can so that he and Peter can officially investigate everything.”
“Get it to David? I thought it sounded like he would be helping us, too?”
“You heard him about the obstruction thing and he could even be in trouble for talking with us about anything to do with the investigation. No, we need to do this on our own and once we have something solid, we can bring it to him so he can follow up with the official channels.” I picked up the nearly empty plate. “I don’t want to get him into too much trouble for being on my side.”
I went into the kitchen and rinsed the plate. Lizzie followed me and opened the freezer.
“You only have strawberry? What happened to good old fashioned chocolate?”
“I ate it all. The strawberry is leftover from that apple pie I made a couple of weeks ago.”
“Mmm, I remember that meal.” She closed the freezer without taking the ice cream out.
“So, who tops your Death list?”
“What?”
“You know, who bought your cake?”
“Willie bought just a piece a couple of days ago. Rachel bought one for her open house for that new scarf line.”
“Okay, so that’s two.”
“Mrs. Ramsey bought one for her dinner party and Mark bought one for something or other and you.” I tried to look as suspicious as possible and I pointed at her.
“So four, altogether?” she asked and swatted my hand away. “That’s not too many to check out. Who do you want to question?”
“I’ll take Willie and Rachel,” I said.
“That leaves me with Mark and Mrs. Ramsey. I’ll switch you Mark for Rachel,”
“You just want an excuse to shop, right?” I watched her slightly sheepish smile form.
“I guess since you are helping me, I could take Mark back, figuratively, of course,”
“Great. It’s settled. I’ll call off from work in the morning and get to Rachel’s as soon as she opens.”
“My two might be harder to track down. Willie came in early this morning before he left for work somewhere so I’m not sure if he’ll even be in town and Mark usually doesn’t come in at all.”
“Then, once I track down my two, I’ll swing by and cover the shop, as long as I don’t have to cook anything, while you go and catch up with Mark.”
Suddenly I felt exhausted and yawned. Even though it wasn’t quite eight thirty, I had nothing left. Though Lizzie offered to stay with me I opted to just crawl into bed and call it a night. Not that I expected to sleep all that much, but I thought I’d give it a try.
I tried to think about any tiny detail that might be important in figuring out who killed Barbara. What kind of motive would there be, aside from mine, that would make someone kill. Money? Well, Ron would stand to gain because he’d presumably get the business and possibly insurance. Who else? She’d been in business for twenty years and it seemed like everyone in town liked her or at least didn’t dislike her. In a small town, how could there be such big trouble? I had the funny image of a miniature town in my head and the next thing I knew the alarm clock buzzing at 3:30 startled me, so I guess I did sleep some at least.
I sat up in bed and the moonlight peeked through the slats in the venetian blinds. I wondered if I should drive to the shop this morning instead of walking. I felt uneasy and even a little unsafe about walking to work, even though I’d never given it a second thought before now.
I got dressed and made my usual oatmeal for breakfast. For a baker, it seemed a bit odd, but I’d been eating oatmeal nearly every day all my life and it never really occurred to me to do anything different.
“That’s it! What was different for the people in town yesterday? Most people are creatures of habit in some way, so when something goes a bit awry, that throws them off.”
After shoveling the oatmeal into my mouth, I went outside. I looked at my red Baja in front of the house and instead I walked down the street as usual for me. I wondered briefly if anyone watched me and remarked that my routine hadn’t changed. The thought of someone watching me made me walk faster and gave me goose-bumps not at all related to the cool air.
I got to the shop at about 4:25, a little later than usual. I fumbled with the key just like every morning. The loud click echoed through the empty street and I had a momentary déjà vu feeling. Inside I put on the lights and donned my apron. This morning, the chocolate cake logo didn’t make me smile as it had others, it made a sick feeling grow in my stomach. Swallowing hard, I set up the coffee urns and fought with myself about whether
to make any Death by Chocolate cakes today. Not usually caring what people thought of me, I knew that I’d be under a microscope and there didn’t seem to be a good answer as to whether I looked guilty if I did or didn’t make the cakes after Barbara’s murder.
“But, how do they know the cake she’d eaten actually had been mine?” I wondered out loud. Then another thought occurred to me. How and why anyone would put that much effort into planting evidence that squarely put me in the hot seat? Barbara had been one victim, but had I also been a target or had I just been collateral damage? I realized that I had been frozen in place while my thoughts reeled. I needed to get some things ready for the morning. Today I could be in for a true rush or people would steer clear of my bakery just on principle.
I opened the refrigerator and took stock. I had cranberries, some more chopped apples, lemons and blueberries for fresh fruits. I took them all out and grabbed the bowl of bread dough, too. Once the oven groaned to life, I filled the kettle and put it on the back burner. I took the last D by C cake out and the remaining apple muffins from yesterday. As I mixed up a batch of cranberry muffins and made a lemon zest icing, the door opened with a customer. I looked up at the clock and it wasn’t even five o’clock, yet. I stepped toward the counter wiping my hands.
“Good morning, what can I get for you?” I asked before I looked up.
“I’d like to have that cake to start, if you please.” Peter Lynch placed a folded piece of blue paper on the counter.
I reached for the paper and opened it before getting the cake. The warrant said that it gave permission to search the premises and to obtain any item(s), including any financial records and computer as potential evidence in the matter of the Simpson murder.
“Of course, Detective. Can I get you a cup of coffee?” I tried to sound casual, but I felt nervous. I wondered how guilty people managed to carry on while they lied to the law. I had done nothing wrong and I felt completely on edge.
“No, thank you. Can I take a look around?”
“Of course.”
I tried to work around him, but he made me feel really uncomfortable. He looked in my refrigerator and freezer. He checked under my sink for cleaners and took each bottle out in turn and made a grand show of reading the labels. He made his way to the back door and looked around my desk; all without saying anything to me.
At around 5:30, the door opened and David came in. I don’t think I’d ever been so happy to see anyone.
“Good morning, Detective,” I said in as controlled and even a voice as possible, but relief flooded my body.
“Hi, Gr—, Myra,” he mumbled as he noticed Peter. “Hey, Pete. What are you doing here so early?”
“Dave,” he said simply, but didn’t offer anything else.
I picked up the warrant and David nodded.
“Are you executing a warrant? Where’s the uni?”
“It came up from the judge after night court over in Caraway, so I thought I’d come over before the rush,” he said with a sarcastic clip to his words.
“Find anything? David asked in a slightly disinterested voice.
“I just secured the cake, but nothing else, so far.”
Secured the cake? I had an image of the cake being handcuffed and the silliness made me almost laugh. I was really glad that David had come in while Peter searched.
“How about a cup of French Vanilla and make it a large, please. It looks like it’ll be a long day.”
“Sure. Just cream, right?
“Yes. I’m sweet enough without any sugar, you know, “he said in a bit quieter voice.
David had to be a bit careful not to show that he’d become too involved with a suspect if he wanted to continue in the investigation.
Involved, I wondered if we really were getting involved. One kiss didn’t have to mean that we were even technically dating, since we hadn’t yet had a date and I felt sure that tonight’s dinner plans were off, but the chemistry between us was real enough. That thought also helped to bolster my spirits.
Peter stopped poking around and came back to the counter. “Ms. Bailey, how do keep your books?”
“I use QuickBooks on my computer.”
“I’ll be taking that with me,” and to David. “I didn’t find anything else here.”
He sounded disappointed to me and that made me mad that he clearly seemed to want me to be guilty.
A few minutes later, the two of them loaded up my computer in a big box and the last D by C cake into Peter’s car. Peter drove away and David came back inside.
“You held it together really well, Green Eyes,” he said as he closed the door.
“He wants me to be guilty, doesn’t he?”
“Not really. He does want this all to be wrapped up though, and you’re an easy answer.”
I needed to figure out who else wanted her dead and fast. I put the cranberry muffins in the oven and stirred the icing a bit.
“I did find out that it was a poison that killed her,” David said with a gulp of coffee.
“Yuck,” I said.
“Yeah, but it’s good that you didn’t have anything incriminating here.” He took another swig of coffee. “You know, we’ll be searching your house, too.”
“Great, so my cases upon cases of rat poison hidden in the crawl space will be confiscated.”
He coughed on his next sip at that.
“Well, I should get going to find some clues to clear your good name.”
“Want a refill?”
He shook his head and placed a folded bill on the counter. He winked at me. “Later, Green Eyes.”
“Bye,” I picked up the money and noticed that he’d stuck his card in the dollar. I slipped it into my jean’s pocket.
I made some more muffins and got dough out to rise for some bread. I wondered if Willie would come in today or if he was still away. Then it hit me. The stain on his sleeve. It looked like chocolate cake. He’d seemed jumpy and he’d come in early. What if he’d killed Barbara and then came into my shop. He’d said that he had a long day of driving ahead of him. Was he getting away from town to avoid becoming a suspect himself? He could be anywhere by now. The door opened and someone came into the shop.
“Dahling, Myra?” called Rachel a bit softer than her usual tone.
“Morning, Rachel. What can I get for you this morning?”
“Do you have any scones this morning?” she asked looking into the case.
“I have some in the fridge. I can heat one up for you,” I offered and went to get the tray out.
“Thanks ever so, also a cup of Earl, too, please. Another long morning of inventory ahead of me means that I so need the sustenance.”
“Of course,” I said. Inventory explained why Rachel had been so early the last couple of mornings.
“Such bad business in town, isn’t it? I said to Cynthia, you know, the Mayor’s wife, yesterday that I just couldn’t imagine a scandal like this in our little slice of Heaven. I hope the police will get to the bottom of this before any other proprietor on the Main Street is found, well, you know,” she whispered, “dead.”
“You think we’re all targets?” I hadn’t considered the possibility that there might be more killing. I felt sick again. I got out an Earl Grey Tea bag and poured the hot water from the stove. I put the scone in the microwave and pressed 20 seconds.
“Well, I certainly hope not, but one never knows. I understand that they are investigating you, dear. How dreadful for you! I don’t believe it for a second. Personally, I think the boys would be better off looking for that handy person, what is his name, Willard or something? You know, I heard from Millie, who heard from her sister, Lila, who heard from Dennis, that Willard argued with Barbara the very night before she died.”
“What?”
“I heard from Millie, who heard from—“
I put my hand up for her to stop, “What did Willie argue with Barbara over?”
She paused and seemed a bit surprised that she’d been interrupted. T
he microwave beeped and I brought her order to the counter.
“Not sure, but it has something to do with Barbara’s son.”
“Son? I didn’t think Ron and Barbara had any kids.”
“They didn’t, but Barbara had a child that she put up for adoption before she met Ron. You know, too young to care for the child and all, but from what I understand, Willard had information about the man and had been refusing to tell her about it,” she took a breath.
“I didn’t know any of that.”