1 Nothing Bundt Murder

by Leigh Selfman

  “Sure. See you at noon, Rosie,” he said. Then he gave me a charming, cocky, dazzling smile that for some reason made me blush from head to toe. Which I’m sure was exactly what it was calculated to do. But as he turned back to open the door, he almost bumped into Nana and Birdie who were just coming in with their groceries.

  “Ladies,” he said, holding the door for them with a gentlemanly flourish. “May I?”

  He easily took the bags from their hands as they murmured their thanks, touched their hair and giggled girlishly. They watched in appreciation as he put the bags on the glass counter, nodded at us and left.

  “What a nice boy,” Nana said looking at him as he walked away.

  “And what a hottie,” Birdie added. “And no ring, did you notice?”

  “I did,” Nana said. Then she looked pointedly at me. “Did you?”

  I rolled my eyes and started carrying the groceries to the back. “He’s bad news, Nana. Seriously. He wants to buy the store out from under Babette. To put her out of business.”

  “So he’s a businessman," she nodded approvingly. “I knew there was something I liked about him. Besides those sparkling emerald eyes.”

  “They were really more of an aquamarine,” Birdie corrected her.

  “Pfft, please,” Nana rolled her eyes. “Aquamarine is blue. His eyes were green. Deep, pure, dazzling green.”

  “No they had flecks of blue. Didn’t you see that?”

  I sighed and headed back into the kitchen to preheat the oven, but then I stopped at the doorway and turned back. “Time to get to work, ladies,” I said, shooting them each a look. “Or are you only here for the gossip?”

  Though I knew the answer, I let my question hang in the air, to guilt them into helping. Which unfortunately, didn’t work.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  Two hours later we had several trays full of imperfectly decorated, slightly lumpy Bundt Babies in the display.

  “They may be lumpy but they taste pretty good,” Birdie said taking a big bite. “They’ll do anyway,” she shrugged.

  I frowned at the cakes. I’d done everything that I’d seen Babette do a hundred times. But somehow, I just didn’t have her touch. I was debating whether to throw them out and start all over--or maybe to just call it a day, since clearly, no one was coming into the store anyway, when, just then, I heard the front door chimes jangling.

  I looked up, it was Mr. Evil. “You came back,” I said.

  “You said to come back at noon and…” He stopped and cocked an ear. “If the chirping of that hideous bird is correct, then that is exactly what time it is."

  I sighed. “What can I get you?”

  “A dozen of those….um…lumps,” he said, studying the mini Bundts in the case before looking up at me, pityingly.

  “Fine,” I said. I grabbed a box and began filling it with my sad, little creations. “Actually, maybe I better take them all,” he said, with a cocky smile. “Save some other poor customer from having to endure them.” Then he paused and looked around. “Although…it doesn’t look like you have any other customers, does it?"

  I was just about to come up with a withering reply when the front door bell tinkled and a woman walked into the store.

  “Actually,” I said in a smug tone, “It looks like we do.”

  I turned to the woman and smiled. “Welcome to Bundt Baby. What can I get for you today?”

  “A quote would be nice, “ the woman said. “I’m from San Coronado Local News Four. Patsy Blaire.”

  I looked at her in surprise. “You’re Patsy?” I blurted out, before I could stop myself.

  “Yes? Do we know each other?” she asked giving me a dazzling smile.

  I really had to find out who everyone’s local dentist was.

  “No, we don’t,” I said, then I bent down to straighten my little cakes. When I stood up I noticed Mr. Evil was looking from me to Patsy and then back again. His piercing green eyes looked thoughtful, and I couldn’t help but wonder if he’d guessed the reason for my strong reaction—That Patsy was the perky newswoman who’d stolen my journalism job away from me.

  Well, okay, she didn’t actually steal it, it was more like she got it and I didn’t, but still, I couldn’t help resenting her for it. Especially since she was exactly the type of perky, feisty news woman I was pretending to be when I auditioned for the job.

  “So!” Patsy said. “How do you feel about your boss being charged with murder?”

  I looked up to see that a cameraman had entered the store and was now filming my every move.

  I stared, dumbstruck. Then I regained my voice. “Babette hasn’t been charged. They just brought her in for questioning.”

  “Hmn. Obviously you haven’t seen the latest news.”

  As if on cue, Nana and Birdie came buzzing out of the back room, not even pretending to not have been eavesdropping. “Did someone say ‘charged with murder?” Nana asked sounding horrified and excited at the same time.

  "Is there news?” Birdie asked.

  “Oh yes there is,” Patsy said, pulling out her iPad. “I have it right here. This is from my eleven a.m. news broadcast.”

  Nana, Birdie, Mr. Evil and I all crowded around to watch as she played her latest news update of the Delilah Wiggins murder.

  On the screen, the fast-paced newscast music played, then the anchorman introduced the story and the image cut to Patsy, who was standing outside the police station, looking at the camera. In a serious voice, she informed the viewing audience that Daliah had been poisoned by a Cyanide-laced cake at a bridal shower.

  At that point the image cut away and played some cell-phone footage from the bridal shower. Babette was handing Delilah the gluten-free Bundt cake and telling her she hoped she choked on it..

  “Oh, look honey, you’re on TV,” Nana said, stroking my hair proudly as we watched—though how she could even notice me there, in the background of the film, with only my arm and shoulder showing, was beyond me. Must be a grandmotherly thing.

  “Rosie looks so lovely in white. Doesn’t she Casey?” Nana asked with a smile.

  “She does,” Casey said, watching the footage intently. “Lovely left side.”

  I rolled my eyes at Casey who was obviously putting on his ‘charming’ act for Nana and the others, and which unfortunately seemed to be working. Nana smiled pleased and Birdie patted my shoulders, mumbling something about star quality.

  I shook my head and looked down at the iPad, trying to focus on what Patsy was saying on the screen. “And so, the owner and proprietor of Bundt Baby, Babette Berwick was arrested this morning for putting Cyanide, in the form of Bitter Almond oil, into the frosting of the gluten-free cake she made especially for the victim, who, rumor has it was sleeping with her husband.”

  “See?” Patsy said to me when she turned off the iPad. “I told you. Babette was arrested.”

  I nodded. I did see, though I wondered why she couldn’t just have told us all that, rather than making us watch it on TV.

  “Poor Babette,” I said, shaking my head. “But I just don’t believe she did it.”

  "How do they know the poison was in the cake? And not in some of the other food at the shower?” Nana asked Patsy.

  “The police ran tests that confirmed that the cake was poisoned right here, at the Bundt Baby shop. The poison was definitely not added at the party or out in the van. A fact I’ll be revealing more about in my four o’clock broadcast.”

  “The poison was added in here?” I asked. I looked around at the once charming little shop which had now taken on some seriously creepy undertones.

  “Yes,” Patsy said darkly. “Apparently, Babette’s friend had brought two bottles of bitter almond oil back from New Zealand, as a gift for Babette. It’s illegal here in America, because, in its raw form it can cause cyanide poisoning. The police found one of these bottles in the Bundt Baby kitchen. And traces of the oil were found on the spatula, in the mixing bowl, on the pastry bag…”

  At that poi
nt I noticed Mr. Evil looking down at his box of lumpy Bundts.

  “Don’t worry,” I said. “The police took all that stuff away. Those are all made with brand new ingredients. By my own unlethal hands.”

  “Her lovely, soft, unlethal hands,” Nana said, lifting my left hand as if to show Casey its soft, unlethal, ring-free state. I frowned at her, and pulled my hand back, trying to get her to chill out, but she didn’t notice. She was too busy arranging my marriage to Casey.

  “So, any comment?” Patsy asked. The camera was back on and filming, and Patsy’s mic was in my face.

  Everyone looked at me, as if I was now the official spokesperson for Bundt Baby. Perhaps they were waiting for me to mount some impassioned defense of my boss…but I couldn’t.

  Not just because it wasn’t my place to say anything. But because I didn’t know what to say. Or think. It didn’t seem possible that Babette really had killed Dahlia on purpose, but then again, if what Patsy had said was true, who else could have done it? After all, the oil belonged to Babette. Plus, she and Doug and I were the only ones who had a key to the shop, and Babette had told me she was alone working here all that night.

  I was about to say no comment, when we all heard a loud voice call out, “I have a comment!”

  It was accompanied by the wild ringing of the front door chimes.

  Doug.

  He was stumbling drunkenly into the store, looking worse than I’d ever seen him. He was still dressed in full-on prep, with a pink golf shirt and khaki pants, but his eyes were rimmed with red and his normally clean shaven face was all stubbly. His blonde hair which was usually neatly combed, was now a spiky mess.

  “You can quote me on this,” Doug said to Patsy, blinking several times as he tried to focus his bleary eyes on her. “My wife killed Dahlia. And I can prove it!”

  Patsy’s eyes lit up as she motioned to her cameraman to start filming. Then she hurried over to Doug and shoved her mic in his face. “What kind of proof do you have about the murder, Mr. Berwick?”

  “I…” Doug said, swaying woozily. “I…” he said again and reached for the mic to steady himself. But he missed and fell to the floor, passing out.

  Patsy motioned to her cameraman to ‘cut’, then she frowned at Doug’s inert form. “Tell him to call me when he sobers up,” she said. Then she smiled at Casey, handed him her card and walked off.

  I couldn’t help but notice that Casey’s eyes followed her as she went.

  CHAPTER NINE

  As Nana and Birdie fed mugs of hot coffee to the now slightly- conscious Doug, they milked not only his coffee but Doug himself, trying to get any information they could out of him. He slowly came back to awareness at which point, as if by magic, Patsy appeared with her cameraman.

  Doug, now full of coffee and much more awake, told her he was ready to be interviewed. Patsy did a quick check of her perfect makeup, then put on a concerned expression and held the microphone in Doug’s face.

  “We are here,” she said, solemnly into the camera, “With Mr. Doug Berwick, the grieving boyfriend of the murdered woman who was so overcome with grief that he collapsed, right here in his wife’s store. In the very store where the Cyanide-frosted cake was created…”

  Well, if the business wasn’t already dead, that sure killed it for good.

  “Now tell us Mr. Berwick. You said you had proof that your wife committed the murder. Can you tell us what this proof is. Exclusively.” She turned to the camera to hone in on that point, then she turned back to Doug.

  He nodded shakily and leaned against the display case.

  “I found…” he shook his head, tearfully. “I found something in my wife’s computer history…” he caught his breath. “A web page article she was reading on how to poison someone using bitter almond oil. That’s the same oil that a friend of Babette’s brought her from New Zealand. Illegally.” He blinked into the camera and ran his fingers through his hair. "I thought Babette just wanted to use it for baking. If I’d known how my affair would drive her over the edge, I never would have done it.”

  “And there you have it,” Patsy said into the camera. “A ‘Bundt Baby murder’ exclusive.” Then she made slash-across-the throat motion and the cameraman cut.

  Doug sidled up to her, suddenly no longer quite so teary-eyed. “So when will this be on TV?”

  “Four o’clock,” she answered, handing him her card. “Call me if you think of anything else.” She then turned to Casey. “You can too.”

  Casey gave her a charming smile back, which for some reason, really pissed me off.

  As Doug followed Patsy and her cameraman out of the store, Casey looked around with an appraising eye.“Well, I guess after all that, this property’s going to me mine pretty soon. I didn’t want to acquire it this way but…"

  “But it’s not yours yet,” I glared at him. “So if you’d please leave and let me get back to baking.”

  He looked at me shocked. As did Nana and Birdie who both started making excuses for my rude behavior. They followed him out the door, muttering things like, “She’s not herself,” and “She’s so upset over the tragedy.”

  Which was all true but still...

  Was I the only one who felt like something fishy was going on here?

  Would Babette really be so stupid as to research the poison online and then leave it as evidence for everyone to find? It just didn’t make sense to me.

  One thing was sure. I had to find a way to talk to her.

  CHAPTER TEN

  It was 8:00 PM and most everyone had left the small Police station. The only one working there was Stevie Logan, who was sitting at the front desk.

  "Hey," he said, looking up from his surfer magazine, suprised to see me walk in. "What's up, Rosie?"

  I walked towards him, letting the delicious smell of the casserole dish I was holding, waft towards him.

  "Stevie, I brought some of my Nana’s famous Chicken Paprikash that you mentioned it the other day. It’s for you and Babette. I was wondering if I could give it to her.”

  I placed it down on the desk in front of him and lifted the lid, letting the smell of it waft even closer.

  “Sorry. I can’t let you back there," he said, looking down at the delicious-smelling food. "Wow are those fingerling potatoes?" he asked, swallowing hard.

  "Uh huh," I said. "With paprika also."

  "You’re not trying to bribe a police officer,” he asked with a friendly smirk. “Are you?”

  “You’re not a police officer!” I answered in mock outrage. “But if I were…would it work?”

  “Nah…I’m sorry, Rosie. But I really can’t let you back there.

  I nodded and sighed loudly. “Okay, well you can’t blame a girl for trying, right? I just really need to talk to Babette about the store. I promise I wasn’t trying to do anything shady. But here...” I pushed the casserole dish towards him. “You can have this anyway.”

  I handed him the plastic fork wrapped in a napkin that I'd brought, and almost before I could pull my hand away, he was digging into the meal, moaning in pleasure. “Thanks, Rosie,” he said, his mouth full. "This is amazing."

  I nodded and walked to the door, waiting for him to buzz it open.

  “Rosie,” his voice came from behind me. “Don’t you need to use the bathroom before you go?”

  I turned and looked at him, confused. He wiped his mouth with the napkin and reached for a key that was under the desk, then he walked to the door behind him. “I can let you use the ladies room,” he said. “But you have to promise me not to talk any prisoners we might have locked back there. Okay?”

  “Oh. Absolutely, thanks, Stevie,” I said. He nodded and held the door open for me to go in back, then as it slowly swung shut, he went back to the desk to finish his dinner.

  I headed down the empty hall knowing that if I went straight, I’d find the bathroom. Instead I made a little detour to the left where I saw the holding cell where Babette was being kept.

  I looked ins
ide to see her sitting on a cot, staring down at her hands.

  “Babette!” I whispered.

  She looked up shocked. “Rosie?” She got up and came to the bars, looking thin and even paler than normal with dark rings under her eyes. “What’re you doing here?”

  “I just wanted to see how you’re doing. How are you?” I knew it was a stupid question, though. Just from looking at her, I could tell how bad she was.

  “I didn’t do it,” she said, tears spilling down her cheeks. “I know no one believes me. But I would never…” she looked off, shaking her head.

  “But there’s so much evidence. The bitter almond oil toxicity research in your webpage history…the cake itself.”

  “I know,” she shrugged in defeat. “I know it looks bad but I’m being framed. I must be.” She looked me straight in the eyes and I could see the color returning to her cheeks. “I never did research on how to kill someone with bitter almond oil. I already know that it’s poisonous! That’s why I never ever would have brought it into the store. I only use it at home, for my own personal baking.”

  She took a deep breath to calm herself, then looked me in the eyes again. “A friend brought two bottles of it back for me from New Zealand last year. I think that someone who knew I had those bottles at home, took one. Then he came into the store that night and put it into the frosting, and planted the bottle in the store.”

  “But Babette,” I said. “How could they? You said you were in the store alone all night. How could someone even have gotten into the bakery to put the poison in the cake?”

  She looked at me intently, her eyes wide. “I think I know what happened. I’ve been thinking a lot about it. There was one period of about five to ten minutes that I left the store unattended that night.”

  “There was?”

  “Yes. Yes, I’d forgotten all about it, what with the lack of sleep and everything…”

  I nodded, urging her to hurry.

  “That night,” she continued. “As I was baking the gluten-free Bundt, I heard what sounded like a cat outside, howling in pain. So I hurried out to look around. I stayed out there a while, looking around. But I didn’t see any cat, so I came back inside."