Bake or Die

by January Daphne

  I wrapped my hands around the mug, enjoying the warmth. “He knew Mom, but I didn’t get the sense that they were close. It seemed like a professional relationship.”

  Willa drew her finger around the rim of her mug. “I think he’s worth looking into.”

  I finished my tea and got up. “You can talk to him tomorrow at the mixer.”

  “Sam, wait.” Willa glanced up. “There’s another person it could be.”

  I pushed in my chair and rested my forearms on the chair back. “Who?”

  “Connor. He has the keys. He could’ve broken into the loft, stole my shoelace, and killed Mom. He and Mom have spent a lot of time working together. Have you noticed how he seems more comfortable in our cabin than we are?” She paused. “He has a motive, too.”

  “What?”

  “He knew that if Mom died, we’d have to move back up to Denali,” she said. “And if he’s under the love spell, maybe he killed Mom to get to me.”

  A cold trail of ice trickled down my spine. “No,” I said. “No. There’s no way that’s what happened.”

  “I hope it’s not,” Willa said. “There are two things that make me believe he’s innocent. The first is that the murderer is supernatural. Connor has never done anything to make me think he’s supernatural, but you never know. The second thing is that Connor made it past the cabin wards. That means he doesn’t have any plans to harm us.”

  “I suppose it could be him,” I said. “I don’t like thinking about this murder, Willa. Our suspects are all people who were friendly with Mom—Rosie, George, Connor, and Logan Graves. Those are just the first people that come to mind. It could be anyone in this town.”

  Willa’s chair scraped against the floor as she got up. “I know. That means we can’t let our guard down and we can’t trust anyone but each other—not until we solve this.”

  17

  I spent the next day wiping down tables at the bakery and avoiding getting stuck in conversations with people I hadn’t seen since high school. After that, Sam had given me a dress and a pair of very uncomfortable pointy-toe pumps. Then she flipped the sign on the bakery door to “closed” and sent me up to our cabin to change.

  When she saw me in the dress, she insisted on completing my look with red lipstick and smokey eyes—something I would have never done myself. When she told me to look in the mirror, I didn’t hate what I saw. I looked… sexy.

  Like a woman, and not some string bean prepubescent boy.

  She’d also tried to get me to drive us across the street to Logan Graves’ business mixer, but I drew the line there. The hotel was literally right across the road.

  It was surprising that Logan had gotten the town’s business owners onboard with something like this. Denali wasn’t the type of place where dressing up was done. The last time I was here twelve years ago, the seasonal business mixers were BYOB potlucks held in someone’s backyard.

  “Are you sure we’re not going to be overdressed?” I asked.

  “Logan said black tie,” Sam said, pulling the chain of her tiny handbag over her shoulder. She unsnapped her clutch, plucking the two laminated passes out.

  “Logan?” I repeated. “You and him are on a first name basis?”

  “That’s how he introduced himself to me.” She handed me the one with my name on it.

  I flipped it over, reading it. “Wow, it’s even got a barcode. Is someone scanning these at the door? Is he worried about someone crashing his party and eating all of his fancy hors d'oeuvres?” I rolled the long nylon cord around the card, gripping it in my fist.

  “Is it really that crazy to be concerned about security, considering what’s been going on?” Sam combed her fingers through her flawless blonde hair.

  “Whose side are you on?” I demanded. “People like Logan Graves are ruining Denali. He built his huge resort right in the middle of this gorgeous landscape and now he’s handing out passes to his party like it’s the Grammys or something.”

  “I’ve been looking forward to this.” Sam confessed, pulling a compact out of her purse and checking her reflection. “I like getting dressed up. It makes me less homesick.” She used her finger to wipe a bit of lipstick from the corner of her mouth before snapping the compact shut.

  “Forget about LA. Denali is your home now,” I said. It came out a little more harshly than I expected.

  “Thanks for reminding me,” Sam said primly.

  We cut through the parking lot and approached the door.

  A man in black pants and a pale blue polo shirt with the Denali Goddess Lodge logo embroidered on the pocket stepped in front of us just before we crossed the threshold. “Good evening, ladies.” The guy was young—maybe early twenties from his slender build and roundish cheeks. “May I see your passes?”

  Sam obediently held up her little card and the kid scanned it. “Enjoy your evening, Samantha Craven. The event is being held in the ballroom.”

  “Thank you.” Sam started to put the pass away in her purse.

  “Oh.” The boy held up his finger. “Mr. Graves has requested that all party guests keep their badges visible and wear them the entire time on the premises.”

  Sam caught my eye as she looped the cord around her neck.

  I held my own pass out for the doorman to scan. “This gaudy badge is going to totally ruin my sister’s outfit,” I complained for the sole purpose of causing trouble. Maybe he’d throw me out and I could spend the evening shooting the breeze with Wes and working on my blog.

  “Apologies, ladies,” the kid said. “It’s policy.”

  Before I could argue further, Sam steered me away into the lobby. “Behave,” she hissed into my ear.

  “I’m here and I dressed up. What more do you want from me?” I craned my neck, taking in the beauty of the lodge.

  White paper lanterns hung on a string from the ceiling. They weaved through the rafters and down through the hallway. Flickering votive candles cast small circles of orange light on the round cocktail tables sprinkled around the dance floor of the elegant ballroom.

  A man in a tux played show tunes on a white grand piano near the huge glass windows that stretched all the way up to the a-frame ceiling.

  Samantha’s eyes lit up with delight. “Look at this place. It’s beautiful.”

  “My feet hurt,” I grumbled under my breath.

  “Drink some wine. It helps with the pain.” Sam patted my bare shoulders. “How about we do the obligatory rounds with everyone? That way I’ll be there to do damage control if you say something offensive to anyone.”

  “You’re the only one I say offensive stuff to,” I said.

  “Lucky me.” Sam grabbed my elbow. “Everyone’s probably going to mention how sorry they are about Mom’s death. Be polite and just say, ‘thank you.’ If you feel the need to ask probing questions, please be subtle. Can you do that?”

  “I hate small talk,” I said.

  Sam rolled her eyes. “You’ll survive.”

  I dutifully followed her through the crowd and did the whole meet-and-greet thing. As Sam chatted up the friends and neighbors we hadn’t seen in twelve years, I surveyed the rest of the party.

  I found Rosie at the bar nursing a glass of champagne as she conversed with none other than my prime suspect, Mr. Indiana Swan-Shifter.

  Rosie had on a black cocktail dress, which was a shock to say the least. I hadn’t ever seen her in anything but jeans. I also noted the way George Huber was lurking in her personal space. He had his arm braced against the edge of the bar counter, leaning towards her.

  I nudged Sam to wrap up her conversation and nodded towards the couple.

  “They’re definitely together,” I commented once I had Sam’s full attention.

  Sam’s face remained neutral as her eyes flicked between our mom’s two oldest friends. “I’d have to agree.”

  “Let’s get them separated so we can double-check their stories. Follow my lead, OK?” I waltzed through the room, staggering a little as my heel got
caught on the spot where the tile turned into a polished wooden floor.

  I could tell the moment when Rosie spotted us because her whole face warmed up with a smile. “Willa Craven, I barely recognized you.” She wrapped me up in a hearty hug. “You look beautiful. Both you girls do.”

  How could someone give a hug like that after murdering their mother? I wondered.

  “It’s the makeup,” I said. “Sam did it.”

  Rosie shook her head. “Makeup’s got nothing to do with it.” She paused, glancing at Sam. “I suppose since I’ve got both of you here, I want you to know that if you need anything from me like help getting the cabin together or planning the funeral—anything at all—you say the word. And I’m right down the hill anytime either of you need to talk. You two are family to me.”

  “Thanks, Rosie. That means a lot,” I said, all the while searching her expression for any hint that she was being untruthful.

  George chimed in. “The same goes for me. You girls need anything, you know you call me day or night. I think it’s terrible about what happened with the break in. I was surprised to hear of something like that happening in Denali.”

  George Huber hadn't aged much in the last twelve years. His dark hair was combed flat with just a hint of gray around his temples. The angles of his face had gotten more pronounced with age, and it suited him. His square jaw had some scruff on it, as was his way.

  It was weird to see George while knowing he was a swan shifter. It made no sense with his rough-and-tumble demeanor.

  But we didn’t get to choose our powers. They chose us. That was why Sam had the ability to light the whole world on fire if the mood struck, while I had to work to pull off a simple warming spell.

  “I appreciate that, George,” Sam said, breaking the silence.

  I frowned, unable to let the last part of what he said go. “How did you know about the break in? We’re trying to keep that quiet.”

  George looked uncomfortable as his eyes slid to Rosie.

  Rosie straightened up. “I mentioned it to him. I didn’t realize it was a secret. Sam talked to me about it at the bakery yesterday.”

  “You and George sure seem to talk a lot,” I commented.

  “What are you getting at?” Rosie tapped her fingers on the stem of her champagne flute.

  I decided to just go and say it. “Are you two a thing?” Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Sam glaring at me.

  Rosie took a step towards me, her mouth set in a firm line. “Not another word, Willa. It’s my private business, and I keep it that way for a reason.”

  “It’s not like it’s a secret.” I folded my arms, not ready to back down. “Considering my mom’s body was found on George’s property and a cabin that you held the keys to got broken into, I’d say, in this case, it is my business.”

  “You’ve got to be kidding me.” Rosie’s eyes widened. “Are you accusing me of something? What has gotten into you?”

  Sam pressed a hand to her forehead, a look of pain crossing her face. “Rosie, she didn’t mean that. She’s under a lot of stress.”

  I held up my finger. “Sam, stay out of this. I meant every word.”

  “You are way out of line, missy.” Rosie snapped.

  George slid his arm around Rosie’s waist. “Rosie, cut the kid some slack. They just got to town. They’re grieving.”

  Rosie untangled herself from his grip. “I would never hurt Rebecca. She was my best friend and she trusted me to look out for you two.” Rosie’s eyebrows dipped down as she shook her head at me. “Have you lost your mind, girl?”

  “Someone killed Mom,” I said. “And you’ve got a motive.”

  I noticed my conversation was attracting stares from other partygoers. Sam pasted on a friendly smile and nodded to people passing by, silently assuring them that everything was fine.

  “A motive?” Rosie’s anger had turned her cheeks crimson. “This should be good. Tell me, Willa, what’s my motive?”

  “Your ex-husband,” I blurted out. “The one who used to give you bruises. You’re a woman living alone. You’re dating other people now. You’d need something to protect yourself—something you had to kill my mom to get. Maybe you didn’t do it yourself. Maybe George helped you.”

  All the anger from Rosie’s expression drained away. “Sweetie, I have no idea what you’re talking about. I’m truly lost,” she said, concern knitting her eyebrows together. “I haven’t heard from my ex-husband in years. I assumed he was in jail or dead.”

  George’s expression turned stony. “Has he been around lately?”

  “No, George, he hasn’t. I think Willa’s cooked up some wild stories in her head.” Rosie shook her head. “And even if he has, that’s not your problem.”

  “If he’s bothering you, Rosie, you’d better believe that’s my problem.” George pulled Rosie closer to him, his eyes flashing a warning to me to keep my mouth shut.

  It struck me as a knee-jerk protective gesture. No doubt these two were an item.

  “Willa, I’m going to chalk this up to you being upset. I do think something happened to your mom, but I had nothing to do with it. I wish you’d take my word on it, but I know it’s no use arguing when you’re got your mind set on something. As far as I’m concerned, we’re done talking about this.” Rosie downed the rest of her champagne and slammed the glass down on the bar top. “Did anyone see where the bathroom was in this place?”

  Sam perked up, happy to be able to help with something. She pointed to one of the two doors just beyond the bar. “Right over there.”

  Rosie gave me a tight-lipped smile. “Excuse me, girls.” As Rosie stormed off in the direction of the bathroom, Sam gave me an uneasy look.

  George gazed after his woman, wearing a weary look on his rugged face. Then he turned to me. “What’s this about, kid? Is there something you want to say to me? Ask me anything you want. I’ve got nothing to hide, and neither does Rosie.”

  I squared off with George. “Connor said you weren’t very forthcoming when he talked to you before.”

  “Oh, Connor said that, huh?” George clenched his jaw. “Well, that’s because I’d just found my friend dead in the lake right by my house. I could have saved her if I’d have known she was in trouble. It makes me sick thinking about Rebecca drowning while I slept in my bed right up the path.”

  “So you were avoidant because you were upset?” I pressed.

  George brought his gaze to meet mine. “I suppose I also didn’t like being interrogated by a boy I used to coach in tee-ball.” He shook his head. “I don’t buy the story that she drowned anymore than you girls do, but you can be darn sure I had nothing to do with it.”

  Sam shifted her weight. “Any ideas who it was?”

  George ran his hand through his hair, messing it up. “Logan Graves is at the top of my list. I’d seen him and Rebecca at the bar talking.”

  The music cut out as a man with an athletic build and styled blond hair strolled into the center of the ballroom. He held a microphone to his lips. “Friends, neighbors, and fellow business owners, can I please have your attention?” The man flashed his high-wattage smile to the group. “My name is Logan Graves. I want to thank all of you for coming to my little get-together. I know many of you stay in Denali year round, and since I’m usually gone all winter, these mixers give me a chance to reconnect with everyone. If I haven’t said hello, rest assured, I’ll be making the rounds. In the meantime, I’d like to invite you all to eat, drink, and enjoy the downtime before all hell breaks loose when the tourist season officially begins.”

  So this was the illustrious Logan Graves.

  I cocked an eyebrow at Sam. “Interesting choice of words.”

  Her head bobbed in the smallest of nods, but I could tell she was trying not draw any attention to herself.

  As it was, Logan seemed to have honed in on her. “Let’s raise our glasses to a wildly profitable summer.”

  Everyone lifted their slender champagne flutes and applauded.<
br />
  Logan smoothed a hand down the front of his slick-looking suit. Then he handed his microphone to one of his minions—or rather, employees—and headed right for Sam. She glanced right and left, anxiously looking for a way to avoid the man.

  I wondered what that was about. Here she was trying to get me to meet everyone while she tried to duck out on the host. I touched her wrist. “I’ll talk to Graves. You talk to Indiana Jones,” I whispered, quiet enough so only she could hear.

  Logan Graves moved with the kind of confident swagger of someone who always expected to get what he wanted.

  Before he made it over, Sam turned her smile onto George Huber. “I know you don’t dance, but will you make an exception tonight? Just one dance.”

  George paled at Sam’s question, but he looped his arm around hers when he saw Logan lurking nearby. “Sure, why not?”

  With a bright smile, Sam strolled to the center of the dance floor with George.

  Logan’s eyes followed the couple across the room, but now he headed towards me. “You must be Samantha's sister. I can see the resemblance.”

  I gave Mr. Graves a casual shrug. “Guilty,” I said. “If you were coming over to talk to Sam, she’s busy. Maybe she’ll save you the next dance.”

  “What makes you think I wasn’t coming over here to see you?”

  I shifted my weight, looking him up and down. “Because you were totally eyeballing her during your speech. Did something happen between you two?”

  “Not to my knowledge.” Amusement twinkled in Logan’s eyes. “I didn’t realize I made such an impression on her.”

  “Whatever, rich boy,” I said.

  “Wilhelmina, I assure you there is nothing boyish about me.”

  “But you’re rich.”

  He smirked. “Very.”

  “No one calls me Wilhelmina,” I said, fidgeting with the laminated party pass around my neck.

  His eyebrow arched. “Then what should I call you?”

  I shrugged again. “I don’t care. I was just informing you that no one calls me that.”

  “You can call me Logan. I hope to become good friends with you and Samantha.” He tugged on the lapels of his tailored suit and lifted his elbow to me, a silent invitation.