Dying for a Cupcake (7 page)

“No.” Chief Kincaid took a pen and small notebook from his breast pocket. “They just said she’d had a headache and was dizzy.”

“They probably either forgot it like I did or didn’t think something like a bad taste in the mouth could be important,” I assured him.

“I take it by these questions that you think Fallon
was a victim of contact poison.” The chief glanced at his watch and frowned, clearly getting antsy about the passing time. “What besides that bad taste in her mouth steers you in that direction?”

“Well . . .” I paused to run the scenario through my mind one more time. I definitely didn’t want to share some crackpot theory with Chief Kincaid and have him regard me as a total lunatic.

“Ticktock, Devereaux.” The chief tapped the face of his Timex.

“Okay.” I took a deep breath. “But bear with me and let me tell you the whole story before you decide that I’ve watched one too many episodes of
Murder, She Wrote
.” I started with Fallon’s absence at the restaurant because she was waiting for a package and led the chief through my thought process, then asked, “What do you think?”

“I think someone should have told me all this earlier today.” Chief Kincaid jotted a couple more notes, then made a phone call to his crime scene team.

When he ended the call, I asked, “So, how long will it take the medical examiner to figure out if she was poisoned and by what substance?”

“Without being able to narrow down what toxin to test for, it could take a while to figure it out.” Chief Kincaid’s mouth thinned. “Nearly anything can be lethal in the right amounts. Everyone who watches those fool
CSI
shows thinks that we can put the victim’s blood in a fancy machine and get an instant result. But poison disperses in the body and changes into other elements. Looking for poison, without specifically knowing which toxic substance the victim was administered, is like looking for an image in a mirror after the person has stepped away from the glass.”

“Oh.” I slumped. I thought I’d given the police a
solid lead, but instead, I’d given them no more than a whiff of smoke to follow.

“Buck up, Dev.” Chief Kincaid patted my shoulder. “This is still more than we had before.”

“Thanks.” I straightened. “Does that mean you’ll let me know what happens?”

“I’ll think about it.” Chief Kincaid smiled. “But now, since you said that Ronni didn’t know what had happened to the package that was supposed to be delivered, I need to speak to Ms. Cutler and Ms. Kimbrough.”

“Do you want me to go and ask them to step into the hallway?” I was hoping the chief would let me stay when he talked to Kizzy and Lee.

“Yes.” Chief Kincaid nodded absently as he phoned another officer and directed him to find the service that had made the delivery to the B & B Thursday night, then said to me, “Once you tell Ms. Cutler and her partner to come out here, make sure no one follows them.” He inclined his head toward me. “And that includes you.”

Damn!
So much for the police sharing information with me. On the bright side, maybe they’d solve the case and I wouldn’t need to get involved.

C
hief Kincaid’s declaration that Fallon’s death was not due to food poisoning or anything contagious went a long way in calming the Cupcake Weekenders’ fears. If anyone but me noticed that he hadn’t ruled out murder, thankfully they didn’t mention it.

Soon after making his announcement, the chief received a call that I suspected was about Fallon’s case and hurried away. Having traded my one tidbit of info, I would need to come up with some fresh piece of evidence if I wanted Chief Kincaid to tell me about any new discoveries. I sure wished that I had a spy at the police station. Maybe it was time to make friends with one of the cops. It would have to be one of the female officers since I didn’t think either Noah or Jake would be too happy with me cozying up to one of the men.

The mouthwatering aroma of fried chicken snapped me out of my reverie, and after poking my head into the kitchen to say hi to Gran and her friends, I slipped into the chair that Poppy had saved for me next to her. While Kizzy, Lee, Mayor Eggers, Winnie, the Dessert Channel host, and the judges had reserved seating up
front, the rest of us were on our own and it was survival of the hungriest.

The Marthas had set up six tables of eight, and as I placed my napkin in my lap, Poppy began the round of introductions. “Everyone, this is Devereaux Sinclair. She owns Devereaux’s Dime Store and Gift Baskets, the location where the final judging will take place.”

“Hi.” I nodded. “The store also has official Cupcake Weekend souvenir T-shirts and any odds and ends you might have forgotten to pack.”

“Nice to meet you.” The man across from me grinned. “I’m GB O’Rourke, one of the finalists.” He winked. “The only rooster in the henhouse.”

“Sounds like fun.” I couldn’t decide if GB looked more like a leprechaun or a palm tree. He was less than five feet tall and wore neon green pants that battled with his sunflower yellow sports jacket splashed with images of tropical leaves. His beard formed a red fringe around his chubby little face, and a pipe stem peeked from his breast pocket. All he lacked was a derby and a Celtic harp.

“I’m GB’s wife, Millie.” The plump woman next to him waved. “We’re from Oswego, Illinois.”

“Is that near Chicago?” I didn’t really care, but it seemed polite to ask.

“About thirty minutes southwest of the city,” a delicate woman on GB’s other side answered. “My daughter lives in the next suburb over.” She tucked a light brown curl behind her ear and said, “I’m Lauren Neumann from Des Moines.” She blinked her soft green eyes and added, “Iowa. Oh, and I’m also one of the contestants.”

We exchanged pleasantries, and then her husband introduced himself as Russell. We paused to pass around the carafes of dressing. Bowls of salad had
already been on the table when we arrived. Once everyone had selected either ranch or Italian—our two choices—and the basket of bread had been circulated along with the butter dish, I glanced at the remaining young man and woman.

The guy was tall and thin with a neatly trimmed goatee and bulging blue eyes that seemed to throb. He was perched on the edge of his chair, almost as if he was about leap up at any moment. Although he was sitting, his hands and feet were in constant motion.

After swallowing a bite of lettuce, I smiled at the pair and said, “Sorry. I don’t believe I caught either of your names.”

“Dirk Harvey.” The man mumbled around the piece of Parker House roll he’d just stuffed in his mouth. He jerked his thumb at the woman. “This is my sister, Q. We both work for the Dessert Channel.”

“Q?” GB asked with a puzzled look. “Is that short for something? My initials stand for Gerald Bartholomew.”

“Nope,” the young woman answered, fingering the iron bar between her eyebrows. “Just Q. Like on the
Star Trek
shows,
The Next Generation
,
Deep Space Nine
, and
Voyage
r.” When we all looked confused, she sighed and explained, “He’s from the Q Continuum.”

“Really?” Realizing that her responses weren’t going to get any more enlightening, I answered for the rest of the group, “How remarkable.”

“Yes.” Q nodded, and the four steel studs over each of her eyebrows winked in the fluorescent light. “He was by far the most fascinating of the noncrew characters. He was omnipotent, you know.”

“Wow. That would be useful.” It was time to change the subject before Q launched into the whole story line, so I asked, “What is it you and your brother do for the network?”

“Dirk’s the cameraman and I do makeup, hair, and styling,” Q answered.

“Nice.” I was running out of adjectives but couldn’t think of any other responses. I mean, seriously.
This woman
was the show’s stylist. She looked as if she had a curtain rod running across her forehead. All she needed was a sconce on either temple to make the image complete. Forcing myself to come up with something positive to say, I added, “Both your jobs sound wonderful.”

Thank goodness Kizzy chose that moment to stand and clap her hands for silence, because I was completely out of small talk. Once she had everyone’s attention, Kizzy said, “Welcome, contestants, judges, and everyone who has assisted me in bringing this wonderful event to my beloved hometown.” After a round of applause, she continued. “When I came up with my flagship cupcake recipe, I never dared to dream my company would become such a huge success. I knew that the recipe was awesome, and that I would need to work hard to bring my vision to fruition. Now, on the brink of introducing a second line of cupcakes and doubling my business, all I can say is that I’m proud to be a Shadow Bender.”

There was some polite applause, and then as soon as Kizzy sat down, the Marthas started bringing out the entrée. Dishes of fried chicken, scalloped corn, and mashed potatoes were slipped in front of us and we all focused on the food. It might not be the gourmet fare seen on cooking shows, but it was all kinds of yum and I eagerly picked up my fork.

As we ate our way through the main course, talk turned to the various hometowns, casserole recipes, and the contestants’ children—all of whom were beautiful and brilliant.

While the others chatted, I turned to Poppy and asked, “How are things going between you and Tryg?” Tryg Pryce was Poppy’s boyfriend du jour. He was an Illinois attorney whom she’d met a few months ago when he came to Shadow Bend to defend our friend Boone against a murder charge. Tryg had lasted longer than most and I suspected it was because he lived in Chicago. Unlike me, Poppy felt distance was a good thing in a relationship.

“I don’t know.” Poppy shrugged. “He can be a real jerk sometimes. He’s arrogant and I think he’s seeing other women when I’m not there.”

“You seem to date a lot of men like that,” I said. “Maybe that’s a mistake.”

“True.” Poppy sighed, then giggled. “But some mistakes are too much fun to only make once.”

I rolled my eyes, knowing she was serious. “How about going out with some nice guys instead? Maybe someone who’s a little bit more monogamous even if he is a little less wealthy.”

“Nah.” Poppy shook her head. “If there’s one thing I’ve learned, it’s that regardless of how good a relationship is in the beginning, that warm, fuzzy feeling fades, and there had better be a lot of money to take its place.”

Considering my own messed-up love life, I let the subject drop. Soon afterward the head Martha announced that the dessert table was in the rear of the room and we could help ourselves. The out-of-towners proceeded to do so in a leisurely fashion, but the Shadow Benders made a mad dash. We all knew the good stuff would disappear fast and all that would be left would be Mrs. Cormac’s store-bought angel food cake with icing straight from a can of frosting.

I nabbed the last piece of Gran’s marshmallow chocolate chip pie, and gave Poppy a thumbs-up when she
outmaneuvered Mayor Eggers and snatched the final brownie from the batch Vera Thom had baked. Vera was famous in Shadow Bend for the best brownies in town and they were always highly sought-after at these kinds of dinners. Happy with my own prize, I took the long way back to my seat so I could get an idea of how the event was going. No one was discussing Fallon’s death, which I took to be a good sign.

From Kizzy’s introductions in the village square that afternoon, I recognized all the contestants and deduced that the people seated next to them were their plus ones. The other unidentified diners, I assumed, were the folks on the Dessert Channel crew.

Of course, I knew all the committee members and most of their guests, and I smiled and nodded my way through the maze of tables until my gaze collided with Gwen Bourne’s scowl. What in the hell was she doing here?
Gwen wasn’t on any of the committees—Ronni didn’t like her, and since she was organizing the Cupcake Weekend, she had taken pains not to invite Gwen to help. Which meant that Gwen had to be someone’s date. But who had succumbed to the socialite’s fake charm and phony smiles?

I looked to her left and right to see which guy was the unlucky fellow. Knowing her penchant for successful men, I figured it had to be Vaughn Yager. He and I had been high school pals, but the boy he’d been back then was an entirely different person from the man he was today.

Nerdy, and the son of the custodian, he’d been tormented throughout his adolescence. But after using his amazing mathematical skills, as well as a genius for tactics and strategy, to make a fortune playing professional poker in Las Vegas and Atlantic City, he’d become Shadow Bend’s wealthiest entrepreneur.

It didn’t hurt that he now had muscles, a straightened nose, and a jutting chin—the latter two features owing to the wonders of plastic surgery. Transformed into the handsome prince, he’d returned to town, where he purchased a nearly bankrupt factory that he built into a thriving business. All of this made him one of our community’s most eligible bachelors. I loved the quirk of fate that had turned the bullies of his high school years into the sycophants who now were his entourage.

I flashed Vaughn a grin, both because we had been buddies at the bottom of the teenage hierarchy and because it would drive Gwen nuts.

He beamed back at me, tilted his head toward his date, and stage-whispered, “Me with a homecoming queen, who would have thunk it?”

Hoping Gwen wouldn’t use and abuse my starstruck friend, I smiled at him and moved on. Just before reaching my chair, I glanced at the head table. Geoffrey Eggers was leaning close to Kizzy and whispering in her ear. Kizzy’s demeanor was easy to read since she wasn’t trying to hide that she was bored out of her skull. But Lee’s expression was tougher to figure out. Was it concern that her partner would be rude to the mayor or something else?

Could it be jealousy? It had to be hard always to play second fiddle to Kizzy. While Lee was attractive in a quiet sort of way, her business partner was stunning. Tonight, while Lee had on a nice pair of khaki slacks with a white blouse and cream jacket, Kizzy’s full-skirted green and white polka-dot dress was cinched in the waist with a velvet ribbon. Her trademark blond French twist was perfect, as was her polished pink fingernails.

As I neared the coffee urn, I saw GB O’Rourke and his wife, Millie, filling their cups. Their backs were to
me and I heard Millie say to her husband, “If that witch suggests one more time that your recipe isn’t the real McCoy, we’re going to need to take care of her.”

I paused. Was the “her” Millie referred to another contestant?

“Ms. Cutler says she knows she’s seen my cupcake somewhere before.” GB’s voice was tense. “I made up that recipe, but she warned me that she’s got one of her employees searching the Internet, and if she finds proof it isn’t an original creation, she’ll kick me out of the contest. What if someone else thought of the same recipe before me and she finds it?”

“That can’t happen,” Millie snapped. “Even if you’re completely innocent, your congregation wouldn’t forget an accusation like that.”

Evidently, GB was a minister. I tucked the piece of data away, making a note to myself to avoid the preacher and his wife in the future. It always seemed to me that people who wanted to share their religious views with me never wanted to have me share mine with them. When I noticed Millie staring at me, I nodded and quickly continued on to my table.

Taking my seat, I whispered to Poppy, “Did you see that Gwen’s here?”

“It was hard to miss her.” Poppy giggled. “She made a big deal about moving her aunt’s lame angel food cake to the front of the dessert table.”

“She could have put that dried-up piece of crap on an illuminated pedestal and offered to pay people to eat it, and it still would be the last item of bakery left.” I rolled my eyes. “Mrs. C always buys her pastry contributions from the day-old shelf, and everyone around here knows it. Her only hope of getting someone to take a slice is that one of the out-of-towners forgot his or her glasses and can’t see how shriveled up it is.”

“Yep. People in these parts take their food seriously.” Poppy took a bite of her brownie. She moaned at the chocolaty goodness, then said, “And it’s the ultimate humiliation to have your contribution to the potluck dinner be the platter that’s still full.”

“Too true.” With the edge of my fork, I cut into Gran’s chocolate chip marshmallow pie. “I doubt city folks would understand, but in a small town, it’s a matter of pride to be thought of as a good cook.” I brought the delectable morsel to my lips. “I’ve seen sweet old ladies who normally wouldn’t harm a fly ready to slit their neighbor’s throat with a cake knife when they suspected that their secret family recipe had been stolen or replicated.”

We finished our desserts in companionable silence; then as Poppy scoured her dish for crumbs, she said, “I just realized that I haven’t seen Harlee today. I know she didn’t answer her phone when Ronni tried to contact her about Fallon and she didn’t come to the door when you went by last night, but was she at the village square this afternoon for the Cupcake Weekend kickoff? I didn’t notice her up on the bandstand with Winnie and the other committee heads.”

“I don’t think so. But we weren’t up there, either.” I craned my neck and scanned the church hall. “It doesn’t look as if Harlee’s here.” My chest tightened. “You don’t think anything has happened to her, do you?”