by Gina LaManna
Anthony didn’t exactly look shocked. “Coming from you? I’ve heard worse.”
“Okay, then,” I said. “Let’s get this show on the road.”
“I’m guessing that’s what the crowbar’s for?”
“You’ve got it, Sherlock.” I hefted the tool over my shoulder and marched inside. “We’re coming for you, Filip.”
“He might be dead,” Meg said. “Either that or he’s ignoring me.”
Anthony cleared his throat. I knew his guess.
I climbed back on a chair and got to work wedging the crowbar into place. “Hold tight,” I said as the cake wobbled. “I think it’s working.”
“I’m not dead!” Filip squeaked. “Be gentle. Don’t tip me over.”
“I’m coming for you too, Filip,” Meg said, reaching out for another swipe of frosting. “Hold tight.”
“You can’t get to him that way,” I said. “There’s a metal mold underneath.”
“I know,” Meg said. “But the cake’s good, and I’m not letting you hog it all.”
I took a moment to lick some crumbs from my forearm. “That is good cake.”
“I wonder if I could get the recipe—”
Anthony interrupted Meg by clearing his throat.
“Right,” I said. “Rescue mission.”
Carefully, I wiggled the crowbar into place. With Anthony and Meg’s help and balance, I leaned my weight against it until the squeak of metal told me I was making progress. Another minute, and the top popped entirely off. With it went a platter of buttercream rosettes, sailing across the room like a sugary UFO.
Meg took one look at the cake, then one look at the rosettes. She chose the rosettes. Anthony lowered a small stool through the opening of the cake, then helped Filip as he climbed out.
Filip clapped his hands, then swiped an errant piece of frosting from his hair. Other than a bit of buttercream, he was entirely unscathed.
“Well, thanks for that,” he said simply. “Now, I’ve got a competition to judge.”
It was my turn to clear my throat. “You’re welcome?”
“It’s a good thing Lacey got to you before someone cut that cake,” Meg pointed out. “Otherwise, you would’ve been sliced in two.”
“The cake wasn’t going to be cut,” Filip said crossly. “It was hollow. They’re using this to present the trophy to the winners. They’ll wheel it out onstage to wow the audience.”
All four of us studied the dilapidated cake sculpture missing its lid.
“Which isn’t happening now,” Filip added unhelpfully. “Seeing as the two of you demolished it.”
“It’s not so bad,” I repeated. “There’s a room full of bakers out there. Someone can fix this.”
“Start talking,” Anthony said quietly from the corner. “I believe you owe these ladies an explanation.”
Filip paled. Most people did when Anthony started talking that quietly. It was unnatural to say the least.
“I mean, first Hunter,” Meg said. “Then you. All these judges going missing is just bizarre. And I’d like to hear the story behind it.”
“Wait a minute...” Filip finally put the puzzle pieces together. “What do you mean Hunter? Was he missing, too?”
“Very good, Einstein,” Meg said. “Hunter was missing, too, except that was sort of fake.”
“Fake?” he echoed. “How is a missing judge a fake?”
“He faked his kidnapping for attention.”
Filip’s eyes lit up. “So did I.”
“What?” Meg and I spoke in unison.
“You didn’t fake it,” I said, catching up to Filip’s lies. “You couldn’t possibly have faked it. You were literally sealed inside.”
Filip raised his hands. Wiggled his fingers back and forth. “Magic.”
“That’s not true,” Meg said. “You’re not magic. I would know. You’re a regular old Muggle like Lacey.”
“And you,” I said. “You’re a Muggle.”
“Debatable,” Meg said. “I’m still waiting for my letter from Hogwarts.”
“Fine,” Filip said. “Hunter locked me inside.”
“I don’t believe you,” I said. “He was mad when he found out you were missing.”
“You can’t catch a break with your lies,” Meg said. “Bummer.”
“Agreed,” Filip said, then reddened. “Can’t we just forget about this little incident?”
“Not easily forgettable,” Anthony muttered.
“I swear to you.” Filip turned suddenly and crossed the room. He stood directly before me, looked straight into my eyes. “I promise you, Lacey Luzzi—you don’t want to know the truth. It’s better for you and your family if you let this go.”
“I don’t...”
“You don’t need to understand,” Filip continued. “The important bit is that I’m not pressing any charges. So even if the police get involved, they can’t do anything.”
With that, Filip stalked out of the room and left three very stunned onlookers.
“What was that all about?” I wondered aloud. “Was it just me, or was that weird?”
“That was weird,” Meg said. “Something happened that Filip doesn’t want us to know about. I’m just not sure what.”
“This is where I take my leave,” Anthony said. “I’ve got to get Bella.”
“But, Anthony—”
Anthony gave a shake of his head. “When men start jumping out of cakes, I’m calling it a day. See you at dinner.”
“Great,” Meg said. “See you at dinner.”
Anthony looked pained. But he didn’t bother to set the record straight before biting his lips and leaving Meg and I alone with the dilapidated cake.
“Well, that was odd,” I said. “I think we should get out of here before people ask more questions that we can’t answer.”
A gasp rose from the door. “What the hell happened to my cake?”
Meg and I turned to face Stuart.
“You mean, questions like that?” Meg asked. “I’m gonna let you handle this one.”
I threw my hands up and flashed a smile. “Don’t you guys have cakes to judge?”
Chapter 18
Due to the fact that all three judges had returned to active duty, Meg and I were able to wiggle out of a detailed explanation for the somewhat dilapidated state of the giant cake. There were bigger things to worry about at the moment, like deciding who would move on to the finals tomorrow.
Everyone returned to their places as Stuart announced the judging would resume at once. Bakers stood nervously behind their benches. The three judges carefully walked down the line of beautiful desserts, murmuring to one another about the architecture and taste of each one—as if nothing had happened. Even the cops looked uncertain what came next. Several uniforms loitered near the back, watching, just in case.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” Stuart finally began. “We are pleased to announce that the finalists have been chosen for the cake category!”
A smattering of nervous applause rose from the audience.
“As you all know, four bakers will go on to the finals,” Stuart continued. “The winner will be eligible for the grand prize of twenty-thousand dollars.”
“What does the winner of the cookie division get?” I asked Meg. We stood in the back of the tent and watched as the three judges filed onstage. Filip was deftly avoiding eye contact with us.
“Five thousand bucks,” Meg said. “The cake category is the most competitive. It goes by how many entries they have for each. Biggest risk to join the cake category but also the biggest reward. I decided to be a bigger fishie in a littler pond.”
“Better to have five grand than zero grand,” I agreed.
“Speaking of zero grand,” Meg said. “Are you volunteering to help me again tomorrow? I know I fired you, but I actually could use the assistance.”
“Yes, of course.” I hissed. “I already told you—I have to find out who killed Amelia, and I’m becoming more and more convinced tha
t the murderer is here. In the tent.”
Meg shivered. “Freaky.”
“There’s something funny going on with the bake-off,” I said. “Two judges disappear—Filip legitimately, Hunter not—and Filip won’t press charges? He won’t even tell us what happened. That’s pretty odd.”
“Totally strange.”
“Amelia’s death has to be linked to the bake-off,” I reasoned. “It’s just too coincidental not to have been the motive.”
“Unless it was Frankie,” Meg said. “Those cannolis are dangerous.”
Our theorizing of suspects for Amelia’s murder faded as Stuart called for everyone’s attention. The tent held a collective breath as he pulled a card out from an envelope and studied the names on it. His expression didn’t give anything away.
“Come on,” one person called.
“Read it!” Another instructed.
“The first contestant to advance to the finals is Britta Facelli,” Stuart said. “A late entry to the competition, Britta owns a bakery several hours north of the cities that is rumored to be the best in the state. Congratulations, Britta.”
Britta gave a thin smile and nodded. She didn’t look surprised.
“The second person to be joining Britta in the Great Minnesota Bake-Off finals is...” He paused, mouthed a drumroll to amp up the anticipation. “Susie Townsend.”
Susie’s smile was bigger than Britta’s, but again, she didn’t look the least bit surprised. In fact, she looked slightly smug. I wondered if it had anything to do with the fact that she’d used her own recipe and not one of Amelia’s.
“Do you think she was lying?” Meg leaned over and whispered in my ear. “Susie’s been telling everyone that she was using her own recipe and not Amelia’s. I mean, everyone. You don’t even have to ask, and she’ll tell you. It’s almost like she’s trying too hard.”
“You think she’s actually using one of Amelia’s recipes, just not one that was public?”
“Could be.”
“Certainly could be.” I frowned. It hadn’t dawned on me that Susie might’ve been lying about that, too, but it was possible.
“The third person to advance is actually a team of people,” Stuart said. “A bakery that has brought skill to the bake-off year after year for decades.”
I looked over to Nellie and gave her the thumbs up. She smiled weakly back at me and returned the gesture.
“...and this year, they’ll finally make it to the finals!” Stuart grinned broadly, proud of himself for the twist in his announcement. “The Naughty Elves!”
I studied Nellie and saw her expression melt right off her face. I tried to catch her eye to offer my sympathies, but she was either completely oblivious, or she was avoiding me.
“Yikes,” Meg murmured in my ear. “That was pretty mean of Stuart. He really hyped that up to be The Sugarloaf. And now there’s only one slot left.”
“Everyone’s sweating.”
“It’s gotta be Nellie and family,” Meg said. “They haven’t lost yet.”
The way Meg said it, as if The Sugarloaf would naturally advance, threw me for a loop. It was true. Nellie and family had never lost. Had the pressure gotten to them? If Amelia was a threat to them, would Nellie have done something about it?
I had serious doubts. Not only did Nellie and Peg seem too wholesome to deal in the dirty world of murder and lies, but what was the motive? A little prestige? A few bucks? Sure, twenty grand was nothing to sneeze at, but The Sugarloaf was an established, thriving bakery. They didn’t need cash enough to kill for it. On the flip side, if they were arrested for murder, they stood to lose everything.
“Our last contestant to creep into the finals is...” Stuart looked around the room. “This won’t come as a surprise to anyone—”
“Whew,” Meg said.
“The Sugarloaf!”
I’d kept my eye on Nellie, and she collapsed into her mother’s arms as tears streamed down her face. Tears of relief? Her joy seemed real. A little too real. Why was this competition such a big deal to Nellie—could it all be about a silly title?
“It is a big deal,” Meg rationalized, studying my face as if she could read my mind. “I know you think they’re being dramatic with their reaction, but it’s a lot of pressure to hold the title of first place winner for decades running.”
“I suppose.”
“Just think about it,” Meg said. “People have killed over lesser things before.”
I sighed. “Well, I don’t know about you, but I’ve had enough for today. Plus, my stomach is not feeling great.”
“You only sampled nine hundred and eleven things today.”
“That could be why,” I said. “But I also have to get home to relieve Anthony of Bella duty.”
“I’ll come with you,” Meg said. “I’m having dinner with Nora. Let’s hit the road—can’t be late.”
Unfortunately, we hit the road with much more gusto than expected, seeing as the second we got in the car, an overwhelming case of car sickness crashed over me. I’d been feeling so poorly in the tent that I had no desire to stick around and ask Filip more details about his strange disappearance.
Thankfully, the awful sickness passed when my feet landed on solid ground at Casa Luzzi. Meg and I let ourselves into the house and scooted down the Hall of Infamy toward the kitchen. My grandmother stood before the stove as usual, stirring a huge vat of pasta sauce. It smelled great which was why it was extra weird that the very scent made me nauseous.
“Where’s Anthony?” I asked. “Does he have Bella?”
“He’s changing her in the other room,” Nora said. “Sit down, get your food. He said not to wait for him. It’s one of those.”
“A blowout?” I asked.
“Lacey, we’re at the dinner table,” Nora said. “Please.”
I spooned myself a plate of pasta with a dab of sauce and thought a blowout sounded like it might just about put me over the edge. It was a good thing the Russian Roulette of diaper changes had brought Anthony the doozy this afternoon and spared me.
I brought my plate over to the table and took a seat. I plucked at a few noodles with my fork and thought they didn’t look at all appealing, but I ate them anyway because there was no other option when Nora was standing over my shoulder and giving me the stink eye. Two bites, and I was hightailing it out of the room, searching for the first bathroom I could find.
“Wow,” Meg said when I returned. “That was really gross but sort of interesting. I bet you brought your food up so quickly it wasn’t even digested.”
“Gross,” I said. “Nora, I’m sorry, but I can’t eat. I’m not feeling well.”
“Are you pregnant?” she asked, looking quite interested.
“No,” I confirmed.
“Then, how rude.” Nora tipped her nose high, grabbed my plate, and dumped the entire thing in the trash. There was a shattering of glass as the dinnerware cracked in half.
“I see what you think of my cooking.” She huffed. “I slave over the stove all day, and this is how you repay me?”
“Relax, grandma.” Meg gave a slurp of her noodles. “I’m eating your food. It’s delicious. Probably Lacey has food poisoning or something causing her to be all rude.”
Nora and I just stared at Meg.
Finally, I got up the sense to speak. “Food poisoning?”
“Sure,” Meg said. “Why not? It’s not exactly like you use a whole lot of discretion about what you put into your mouth. What didn’t you eat today?”
“I suppose,” I said. “But you ate most of the same things.”
“Then maybe someone just regular old poisoned you,” Meg said with a casual shrug of her shoulders. “I mean, you’re investigating a murder in a pile of bakers.” She continued to twist her noodles around her fork with almost artistic care. “How else do you think those bakers would try to kill you?”
Chapter 19
Later that evening, I found myself feeling as flimsy as a sheet of tissue paper.
When I looked in the mirror, my face look like I’d seen a ghost. So, I avoided looking in the mirror and mostly stayed camped out in bed with a trashcan. After dinner, I’d slept feverishly on and off, though the sleep had only made me more restless and tired than before.
I laid back against the pillows and turned up the volume on the television as Anthony battled Bella to bed in a playard he’d set up in the living room in an attempt to give me some uninterrupted sleep. I was taking advantage of the fact that I had my own room for the first time in months by watching some reality housewives show, but when the crying on the baby monitor suddenly went silent and footsteps sounded outside my room, I quickly flipped the channel to the news.
“Uh-huh,” Anthony said as he came into the room. “What’s happening in the world?”
“Um—”
Anthony took the remote from me. Flipped it back to my previous show.
“You’re sick,” he said in explanation. “You’re allowed to watch what you want.”
I eased back against the pillows. “Thanks for taking care of Bella. I owe you one.”
“You don’t owe me anything,” Anthony said. “But if you feel like repaying me, I’ll take an explanation as to what happened to the guy stuck inside of the cake.”
“Not totally sure about that myself,” I said, trying to focus on the TV. I wasn’t really in the mood to chat. Mostly because every time I opened my mouth there was a fifty percent chance words might come out and a fifty percent chance it might be something less eloquent.
“I hate to say it,” Anthony said, “but I can’t believe I agreed with Meg—and we were right.”
“Watch it,” I said. “You keep agreeing with her at this rate, and you might just become friends.”
“Don’t torture me with the thought.”
“I’m just saying.” I considered. “Wait... What do you agree with her regarding, exactly?”
“You’ve been poisoned.”
I waved him off and re-fluffed my pillows. “Don’t be ridiculous. I wasn’t poisoned. I just ate too many sweets. It’s like alcohol, you know? You’re not supposed to mix alcohols. Well, I mixed too many sweets, and now I’m doing the time.”