by Gina LaManna
The presence of the bus spooked the other driver. With a squeal of tires, the truck turned tail and zoomed away in the other direction, leaving me with a bump on the forehead, Meg with a gash on her temple, and our poor piece of cake that was beyond resuscitation.
“Now, I don’t tolerate that,” Meg said solemnly. “It’s one thing to try and poison you or run us over. But to destroy a perfectly innocent slice of cake...”
We gave a moment of silence for our final slice of cake from The Sugarloaf.
Then Meg reached forward and took a swipe of frosting from the windshield. I followed suit. It was better than nothing, except that I still had my finger in my mouth when the bus driver knocked on the window.
“You ladies okay?” she asked. “I—er... is that cake?”
“It is,” I said. “And we’re fine.”
“It looked like that truck was about to run you over,” she said. “I called the police. Looks like your tail end is damaged.”
“Thanks,” I said. “If it weren’t for you, I don’t know what would have happened.”
The bus driver nodded. “Crazy people out there, I tell you. I’ll wait until the cops arrive. I didn’t see the crash, but I did see the truck. Are you sure neither of you need immediate assistance?”
Meg pointed to the gash on her head that was bleeding somewhat profusely. “Head wounds just bleed a lot. And, you know, since I’m super smart, I have a lot of extra blood in my head to make it work. I just feel a little bit dizzy, so...”
Meg slumped into a faint. I reached for her and set her back against the seat.
“Maybe a little help would be okay,” I said. “I think someone just tried to kill us.”
THE POLICE WERE JUST leaving the scene when Anthony arrived. He didn’t look happy.
“Someone tried to kill you?” he asked in lieu of greeting. “Again?”
“They managed to finish off my cake,” I said sadly. “But Meg and I are fine.”
Meg had regained consciousness just a few seconds after she’d fainted. The EMT’s had checked her out and suggested she go for a ride to the hospital for further analysis, but she’d refused one hundred times over. She only asked that they wrap her head in a lot of gauze so she could, quote, ‘look badass.’
“I feel fine,” she said when Anthony looked her way. “Thanks for asking.”
“Okay,” Anthony said.
“I remember your name, and your birthday, and your address,” Meg told him. “I remember how much you weigh and what you like to eat. No concussion here.”
“Why does she know all of that in the first place?” Anthony looked to me. “Why would she ever need to remember that?”
“I’m a savant,” Meg said. “You know, with men.”
Anthony looked bewildered. “I can see it was a mistake to come here.”
“Not at all,” Meg said. “Though if you could tell me who our president is, that would be great. I couldn’t remember when the EMTs were asking.”
“Not because she has a concussion,” I explained to Anthony. “She just doesn’t know.”
“Right,” Anthony said. Then he did a double take when he looked at our windshield. “Is that cake?”
Anthony picked his way around the crime scene which was, sadly, decorated by jewels from my license plate frame. The ground was dazzling with the sparkling gems.
“Why is that the first thing everyone notices?” I sighed. “Yes, it’s cake.”
“People are probably noticing because it’s all over your face.” Anthony licked his thumb, them leaned forward and brushed it over my lips. “Don’t tell me you licked the windshield.”
“That’s a negative,” I said. “Didn’t lick the windshield.”
Anthony grew somber. “Do you have any idea who did this to you?”
“We got the plates on the vehicle, but I suspect it’s a rental. Especially if Amelia’s killer was behind it. This person is very stubborn about not wanting to get caught.”
“Good criminals are the worst,” Meg said. “How come we can’t get one of them easy ones like you see on America’s Funniest Home Videos?”
“I don’t know who did this to us,” I said. “Honestly, it could’ve been any one of our suspects. And we’ve got a whole slew of them.”
“It’s probably a sign you’re getting close,” Anthony said. “Did you tick anyone off today?”
“Only five people,” Meg said, counting on her fingers. “Nellie, Britta, probably Hunter when he hears, maybe Nellie’s dad... Shall I continue?”
Anthony turned his gaze on me.
“I sort of had some tough questions I needed answers to,” I said in explanation. “We just left The Sugarloaf, though I’d hate to think it was Nellie behind the wheel.”
Anthony massaged his forehead. “I’ll look into it.”
“Look into what, exactly?” I asked anxiously. “Please don’t make anything worse.”
“I’ll see what I can find on the license plate,” Anthony said. “It might not be much, but it’ll be better than nothing.”
“Clay’s on it,” Meg said. “But if you want to take a gander anyway, by all means feel free.”
“I’ll talk to Clay,” Anthony said. “Meanwhile, I hope the two of you are coming home. It’s time you had a break.”
“Sure,” I said. “We’ll be home in a little bit.”
Meg looked at the clock. “We’ve got forty minutes to get to the Channel 87 headquarters before Susie goes on. We can make it.”
“I really think—” Anthony began.
“She’s right, I’m afraid,” I told Anthony. I opened my car door and climbed in. “If nothing else, this is a sign we’re headed in the right direction. If we stop now, who knows what could happen?”
My phone rang as I slid behind the wheel. I pulled it out and answered.
“Hunter, slow down,” I said. “What’s going on?”
I listened to the frantic judge.
“Okay, we’ll be there in two hours. Hold tight.”
Both Anthony and Meg were staring at me when I hung up.
“That was Hunter Arquette, a judge for the bake-off,” I said, clarifying for Anthony. “He called to let me know Britta Facelli is in the hospital.”
“The hospital?” Meg asked. “For what?”
“Poison,” I said. “Seems like whoever got to me got to her, too.”
“Luckily she was cozied up with Hunter,” Meg said. “Otherwise, she might not have made it to the ER. He probably noticed her feeling sick and made her go in.”
“You might be right,” I said, then turned to Anthony. “We have to wrap this up before someone else gets hurt. Whoever is doing this is getting reckless. Or nervous. Or accelerating their master plan. Either way, we can’t sit around and do nothing.”
“Go on,” Anthony said. “But be careful. Are you sure you don’t want me to bring you a new car?”
“Nah,” I said. “This one’s got character.”
By character, I meant a dented bumper and chocolate frosting smeared across the dashboard as if it were toast. But it ran, and it hadn’t exploded. Which was better than most of my past cars.
Anthony pulled me close and kissed me on the lips. “Do me a favor.”
“What’s that?” I nuzzled against him.
“Don’t eat anything that strangers give you,” Anthony said. “Just for a few days until this blows over. Do you think you can do that for me?”
“It’s a lot to ask.”
“Here’s a granola bar.” Anthony slapped one across my lap. “Start there.”
Chapter 26
We made it to Channel 87 with ten minutes to spare before Susie was due to go live on the air. This time, we didn’t bother trying to check in at the front desk. I didn’t think lightning would strike twice for Meg, so we just snuck around back, and thankfully, there was no security at a place like Channel 87.
We found Susie getting her makeup done by Claude, the same artist who’d doctored up Hunter
. Meg entered the room first, and I followed shortly after her.
“Hi, Susie,” I said, coming to a stop in the doorway. “We really need to talk to you. Are you feeling okay?”
“Feeling okay?” Susie looked at me, her lips parted in surprise. “What are you talking about? And why are you here?”
“Just answer the question,” Meg said, gently patting her head bandage like it was a tiara. “Have you vomited recently? Felt nauseous at all?”
“No...” Susie looked confused and studied Meg’s head. “Are you okay?”
“Never better,” Meg said. “We’re worried about you.”
“Why? And how did you find me here?”
“Hold on.” Meg wandered to a small end table off to one side. “Are these doughnuts up for grabs?”
On the end table sat an opened box of perfectly glazed jelly doughnuts. Next to it stood a Keurig coffee machine and several diner style, white coffee mugs. Both Meg and I eyed the desserts longingly.
“Don’t get any ideas,” Meg warned me. “Anthony told you not to accept food from strangers.”
“Claude isn’t a stranger,” I said. “And neither is Susie.”
“Fair point,” Meg said, then reached for a napkin and a doughnut. She handed me one, too, before facing Susie again. “You’re sure you’re not feeling ill?”
“I’m fine,” Susie said, sounding exasperated. “What’s this about?”
“We just learned that Britta Facelli has been poisoned,” I said. “And yesterday, someone poisoned me. That’s two people down in two days. Both of us were present at the bake-off.”
“That’s not the end of it. About an hour ago, someone tried to run us off the road,” Meg said. “That’s why I have this amazing head bandage.”
She pointed to her head. As she raised a hand, her doughnut still in it, a splotch of jelly plopped onto her gauze.
“Rats,” she said. “That’s not going to come out.”
I took a bite of my doughnut. A glop dropped onto my shirt.
“Neither is that,” Meg said. “We’re quite the pair.”
“You were poisoned?” Susie gaped at me. “That’s awful. Who did it?”
“We’re not sure,” I said. “But it’s seeming like whoever killed Amelia is getting nervous. Or ramping up their game plan. We’re trying to prevent someone else from getting sick... or worse.”
“Well, there’s only one person who would have incentive to poison both you and Britta,” Susie said. “I mean, technically there are two people, I guess—me and Nellie. But I couldn’t have run you off the road because I’ve been getting my brows done for the last hour.”
“Well, I guess that’s one way to have an alibi,” Meg said. “You do have nice brows.”
“Thanks,” Susie said. “It’s Claude’s specialty.”
“We should also warn you not to take food from suspects in a murder investigation when the risk of poisoning is high,” Meg said. “Obviously Lacey and Britta ingested something that made them sick.”
Susie stared at the doughnuts in our respective hands.
“You’re not a stranger,” Meg said. “And even if you were, these doughnuts would be worth the risk.”
“By the way,” I inserted, “what is your interview about for Channel 87?”
“It’s a promo segment for the bake-off,” Susie said. “A bit about my life story, etcetera. It’s just a little something to get people talking about the event.”
“Actually, we’ve had a change of plans,” came a voice from the other end of the room. A thin woman stepped from a doorway and smiled at us. “I’m Rhonda, the producer for this segment. Your story is so juicy, we want to cover it. Will the two of you come on air?”
“Me?” I looked around. When everybody stared back at me, I shook my head. “No, sorry, I can’t. Not a good hair day.”
“It’s a good head day for me.” Meg again thumbed at her gauze. “I feel like I should be in a Mission Impossible flick or something. I’ll come on the air.”
“We pay,” Rhonda said. “
“We’ll do it,” Meg said. “Lacey never has a good hair day anyway.”
“We need to talk about this,” I said. “I don’t think it’s the best idea to—”
“Just think,” Meg interrupted. “We go on air. Not only do we make money, but we can expose the case to the general public. The killer is already getting spooked. Just think of the impact a television segment will have! He or she might go off the rails. Make a mistake. We’ll be there to catch him or her.”
“Or this whole thing could backfire if the killer does something rash. We don’t want that.”
Rhonda looked at her watch. “What’ll it be? We’re on in t-minus-seven-minutes.”
“What about me?” Susie asked. “I spent a lot of time preparing for this.”
“You can pop on after we talk to these two.” Rhonda barely glanced at Susie, who looked mightily offended. She snapped her fingers at us. “Let’s go, let’s go, ladies. No time for hair or makeup, but that’s okay. The disheveled look will only enhance the story.”
Before I knew what was happening, we were carted off through a hallway and into a small studio. Cameras loomed on impressive devices and spotlights twirled through the air. A woman who looked coiffed to perfection sat behind a desk that said Channel 87 in big, bold letters across the front.
“Holy smokes, is that Leslie?!” Meg screeched. “Leslie is going to be interviewing us? No freaking way.”
“Come on.” Rhonda shuffled us forward. “Leslie’s waiting for you. We’re on in five minutes.”
Meg and I were shuffled on stage and plopped on two chairs under a swatch of bright lights. Someone brushed powder over my face and another scrubbed at something on my shirt. A third person tugged at my hair. I didn’t get a chance to see what’d been done to me before they began the countdown that would thrust us before anyone who was watching Channel 87 live. A viewership that hopefully consisted of two people.
“Good evening,” Leslie began. “We’ve got breaking news here on Channel 87. Our live interview just got more live. We were planning to have a chat with Susie Townsend of the Great Minnesota Bake-Off until plans changed. We’ll chat with Susie in a bit, but in the meantime, we stumbled upon an even more pressing story that needs to be shared.”
Meg nodded. The tail of her gauze had come undone and flapped around her head like a little bird. I was afraid to look at myself. Or the camera. Or really anything. I focused on Leslie, feeling dazed and halfway wondering how I’d ended up on television in the first place.
“Lacey Luzzi,” Leslie said, looking down at a notecard. “I’m told that you’re one of the city’s finest private investigators?”
“I don’t know if I’d go that far,” I said. “But I do my best.”
“We’re a great team.” Meg leaned forward and winked into the camera. “A modern Scooby Doo.”
Leslie cleared her throat. “The current case you’re working has to do with a baker’s death in the famed bake-off event happening now in the Twin Cities.”
“Yes,” I acknowledged. “We’ve been asked to help look into Amelia Rapport’s death.”
“Was she murdered because of the bake-off?” Leslie asked. “Was someone trying to eliminate the competition?”
“We’re not entirely sure,” I said. “But we are pursuing all avenues.”
“Is there any avenue that looks particularly promising?”
I hedged my answer. I didn’t want to give anything away that wasn’t fact. At the same time, I wanted to warn the killer that we were watching—in the event he or she saw this broadcast. I settled on a happy medium, and went with the standard, “We’re getting there, but unfortunately I can’t give you any specific details yet.”
“Are you considering any of the other bakers as suspects?”
“Again, I’m not at liberty to say.”
“At least tell us if the other bakers are in danger.” Leslie eyed me with a keen stare. “I�
�d think the safety of the other bakers would be your primary concern.”
Leslie was obviously not new to interviewing people. She knew exactly what to say to get a response. She was deftly backing me into a corner with no way out. If I said no, I looked like a jerk. If I said yes and gave details, I was telling her information that I’d wanted to keep private.
“It’s not that simple—” I began.
“Surely, it’s a yes or a no answer,” Leslie pressed. “And judging by the state of you two, it’s looking quite dire. How did you injure your head?”
“Well, someone just tried to run us off the road,” Meg said. “I’ve got a gash on my head the size of Delaware. That’s the smallest state, right? Or is that Rhode Island?”
“Ah—”
“Whatever.” Meg bulldozed right over Leslie. “The cut is really the size of a small banana, but luckily, it wasn’t deep. Didn’t need stitches. By the way, I’m Meg. I’m the other half of Lacey’s team. More like eighty percent if we’re going on sheer body mass.”
Leslie gave a thin smile and added a fake little gasp. “How awful!”
“That wasn’t even the worst part,” Meg said. “My head wound, I mean.”
“The story gets worse?”
“We lost this amazing piece of cake,” Meg said. “It’s a real bummer to waste food, you know?”
Leslie looked stunned. I doubted she was caught speechless very often, but today was one of those days. She blinked, and then looked at me for clarification.
I returned her former small smile and shrugged. “That part is true. We did lose a piece of cake.”
“If that’s the case, then we need to be worried...” Leslie cleared her throat, then glanced down at her notes as if gathering herself before she continued. “If someone is willing to run you off the road, that must mean the killer is still out there. And they’re getting nervous. Would you agree, Lacey?”
Leslie’s gaze was fixed on me. While I wasn’t super pleased about the fact that Meg had burst our case wide open on television, a part of me was relieved she had. The pressure was mounting on our suspects, and hopefully, the guilty one would slip up and make a mistake.