Murder Takes the Cake Text (24 page)

“Hey, Ms. Martin. How are you? I heard there was some trouble over at your house last night.”

“How—”

“Joanne Hayden was in here earlier.”

“But Officer Hayden wasn’t one of the officers who came to my house.”

“Yeah, but he heard about it anyway. Look, I can come over after work and help you get that paint cleaned up.”

“I appreciate that, Fred, but Ms. York brought some turpentine over this morning, and we got it all off.”

“Oh.”

With a smile and a nod, I tried to walk on into the store.

“Hey,” he said, “thanks again for doing Papaw’s cake.”

“You’re welcome. Thank you for your business.”

“No problem. People in a small town like this ought to take care of each other, don’t you think?”

“Yes, it is good to support your town. I’d better get going. I have a cake to make for my niece and nephew.” I hurried inside the store before he launched into more conversation.

I gathered the items I needed, noticed Juanita’s line was short and got in her checkout lane. I perused the tabloid covers while I waited and took a perverse delight in seeing some of the starlets caught without their makeup on. Some of those girls were downright plain without it.

Fred came over to bag for Juanita. She shot me a glance I couldn’t read.

At last, it was my turn. As Juanita scanned my items, she kept looking from Fred to me.

“How’s everything going?” I asked.

“It’s good,” Juanita said. “Um . . . Mrs. Hayden was shopping earlier today and was talking about what happened to you last night.” She gave me a pointed look. “Please be careful.”

“I will. Thank you.”

“Yeah,” Fred said, “you ought to be careful. I don’t mind coming by your house to check on you.”

“Thanks, but the police are already doing that.”

“Oh. Okay then.”

I paid for my groceries and left.

When I got home, I had a message from Ben on my answering machine: “Hi, Daphne. I came by to work on that mess on your walkway but saw that you’ve already taken care of it. Gee whiz . . . fast worker. Give me a call, all right?”

I would call Ben, but it would have to wait until after I decorated Lucas’ and Leslie’s cake. Given all the drama of last night and this morning, I needed some normalcy to get my stress level under control. And for me, normalcy was decorating a cake.

I put a sheet of waxed paper on the island. Then I got the bitty cake and a mixing bowl full of butter cream icing I’d sat out of the fridge before going to the store. I crumb-coated the cake and left the icing to crust while I gathered the remaining ingredients.

I tinted a portion of my butter cream copper (for flesh tone) and a portion yellow for Violet’s and the twins’ hair. I’d melt some milk chocolate for my own hair. I also tinted some of the icing light blue for blankets and the cake’s border.

By this time, the cake had crusted, and I was able to ice it smooth again. I used oblong, individual cream-filled sponge cakes to serve as beds. I carefully lined up sponge cakes across the top of the cake. I took four jumbo marshmallows and flattened them into pillow shapes. With a small dollop of icing, I “glued” the pillows onto the sponge cakes and then piped a circle of flesh-toned icing onto each pillow. I took the blue icing and made several small rows of scallops onto the sponge cake, to make it look like a blanket was covering each “bed.” I retrieved the bag with the flesh-toned icing and piped tiny feet sticking out from under the blankets at the end of the beds.

I melted the milk chocolate in the microwave and used a grass tip to make myself some long, straight hair. Before the chocolate got too cool to work with, I changed to a writing tip and piped closed eyes on our faces and Z’s onto the top of the cake.

I used another writing tip to give Violet curly yellow hair and to provide hair for her towheaded twins. A light blue top and bottom shell border completed the cake. Leslie and Lucas would be delighted. In fact, I was pleased with it, too.

I put the rest of the sponge cakes, marshmallows, chocolate drops and other snacks I’d bought into a lidded picnic basket. Then I curled up in my favorite club chair in the living room and called Ben.

“What’re you doing?” he asked.

“Resting.”

“I imagine so. You did a good job on the walkway, by the way.”

“I can’t take all the credit. China York got started on it before I was even dressed this morning. She worked rings around me. The woman is a dynamo.”

He chuckled. “Let me guess—she heard about it over her police scanner?”

“You got it.”

“Ms. York is famous for her police scanner. She always knows what’s going on.”

“Thanks to Joanne Hayden, so does everybody else. Anyway, I’m grateful to Ms. York. It was sweet of her to help me out. She doesn’t even know me.”

“Yeah, Ms. York is a rather odd person, but she’s a good one.”

“Define ‘odd,’” I said.

“Um . . . eccentric?”

“Does she fancy herself a bit of a mystic . . . or philosopher or . . . something?”

“I don’t know. Enlighten me as to why you ask that question, grasshopper.”

“Ha, ha. She told me that my subconscious knows who painted the message on my walkway.”

“I wish your subconscious would clue me in.”

“I wish it would clue
me
in. Any thoughts on how I could make that happen?”

Ben blew out a breath. “Writing always helps me. If I were in your position, I’d write down everyone in town who might want me to mind my own business—”

“That would be everybody I’ve met.”

“Then put everybody you’ve met on the list and why they’d want you to stay out of their affairs.”

“I might give that a try,” I said, “tomorrow.”

“Is that your coy way of letting me know you have plans for tonight?”

“Maybe. I do have plans. Big plans. Major plans. Humongous plans.”

“Humongous?”

“You bet. I’m going to a sleepover.”

“That is humongous. May I join you?”

“I’m afraid not. The guy I’m sleeping over with might get jealous if I bring you along.”

“Let me guess—Lucas.”

“You certainly know how to spoil my fun, don’t you?”

He laughed. “Sorry.”

“You’d love it if you could come, though. Jason is out of town and I’ve made a sleepover cake and bought snacks and we’re renting movies and—”

“Enough already. You’re making me jealous.”

“It’s my turn to apologize,” I said with a giggle. “I’m sorry.”

“Have fun tonight. But be careful, too, okay?”

“You’re the second person today to tell me to be careful. I’m beginning to wonder if I have a ‘kick me’ sign taped to my back. Or maybe it’s a ‘warn me’ sign.”

“Just be careful, okay?”

“I will.”

After hanging up the phone, I walked to the kitchen and looked out the door. Sparrow was crouched over her food bowl. I opened the door, and she fled. Whoever was here last night must’ve scared her pretty badly. She wasn’t the only one.

*

I was at Violet’s house at four-thirty. Hey, I couldn’t wait! We hadn’t had a sleepover in two years, and sleepovers with my sister are about the only time I can truly let my hair down and act like a kid. Sure, I can be silly when Violet’s kids spend the night at my house; but there I have to be the adult. Violet had to be the adult tonight.

When I pulled into the driveway, I beeped my horn. On cue, Leslie and Lucas sprinted out to help me carry in my things. They were both talking at once.

“Dad got to Chicago and called us late yesterday afternoon,” Leslie said.

“Yeah, he’s in stupid meetings all day today, but he’s gonna try and find me a Bears’ souvenir.”

“And me, too.”

“You made us a cake. Cool!”

“And you brought snacks.” Leslie peeped into the picnic basket.

“Wait until we get inside,” I said.

That comment sparked a stampede toward the front door. Violet was in the kitchen making dinner. The aromas of garlic and bread dough were enough to make my mouth water.

I sat my overnight bag next to the couch and joined my sister in the kitchen. “What smells so good?”

“Homemade pizzas.” She smiled. “You’re not the only cook in the family, you know.”

Lucas brought in the cake, put it on the table and opened the lid. “Awesome! Leslie, come check this out!”

“All right, you’re not the
only
cook in the family . . . just the most popular,” Violet said wryly.

“Wait’ll you see the snacks Aunt Daphne brought,” Leslie said as she strolled into the kitchen with the picnic basket. As soon as she saw the cake, she let out a piercing squeal. “I love it! Look at our little feet!”

Violet playfully muscled her way between the twins to look at the cake. She laughed. “That’s adorable.”

“Thank you. I thought since it’s a special occasion, we should have a special cake.”

“Can we cut the cake into four pieces and eat ourselves?” Lucas asked, pointing at the bed that contained a confectionary Lucas.

“Yeah,” Leslie said, “and since we’re on the ends, we’ll get the biggest pieces!”

Lucas gave her a thumbs-up.

“Was it hard being in school this week after last week’s break?” I asked.

“Ish,” Leslie said.

“She means ‘a little,’” Lucas translated.

“Well, before you know it, you’ll be getting out for Christmas break, and we’ll be doing all kinds of fun stuff.” I turned to Violet. “Maybe we can take them to that guitar museum.”

“Yeah, and it’s closer than we thought. I looked it up online. It isn’t up near Roanoke after all; it’s in Bristol.”

“Oh, that’s good.”

“What’s the guitar museum?” Leslie asked.

“Duh,” Lucas said. “It’s a museum for guitars.”

Shooting her son a disapproving look, Violet said, “Actually it’s a building in the shape of a guitar. But, yes, I’m sure they do have guitar memorabilia in it.”

“Cool,” Lucas said.

“Plus, we’ve got Christmas cakes and cookies and candies to make,” I said.

“Yay!” Lucas and Leslie said in unison, and Leslie came over and hugged me so hard I was afraid she’d break one of my ribs.

“Oh, hey,” Lucas said, “that creepy guy at Save-A-Buck is crushing on you way bad, Aunt Daphne.”

“Who?” I asked.

“That Fred guy. Tell her, Mom.”

Violet nodded as she put oven mitts on and took the pizzas out of the oven. “When we were there earlier, he was asking all these weird questions about you.”

“Like what?” I got the pizza cutter out of the cutlery drawer.

“He asked me if your boyfriend minds all that baking you do.” Violet frowned. “I simply said ‘no,’ because I knew he was fishing to see whether or not you have someone in your life.”

“Do you?” Leslie asked.

“Do I what?” I asked.

She rolled her eyes. “Do you have a boyfriend?”

“No . . . not really. I mean . . .no.”

“Sounds like a ‘yes’ to me,” Lucas said.

“No,” I said. “I’ve gone on a couple dates but—”

“With who?” Leslie asked.

“Wait, tell me what else Fred said.” I didn’t like being in the hot seat. “He called and ordered a cake for his papaw’s birthday, by the way.”

“He mentioned that,” Violet said. “He said you were making this totally cool snake cake for his papaw in two weeks.”

“Two weeks? He told me next Sunday.”

“Do you think the cake is merely a ruse to get to know you?” Violet began cutting the pizzas into squares.

“I don’t know. Uncle Hal knows Fred’s grandfather, and he thought the guy’s birthday was in spring. But what should I do? Should I make the cake or not?”

“Go ahead and make it,” Lucas said, snagging a square of pepperoni pizza. “If he doesn’t take it, we’ll eat it.”

“Yeah,” Leslie said, “and next time, try to make sure your customers aren’t mental.”

I wondered if I should tell them I was designing cakes for a guinea pig’s birthday party. I took a slice of the sausage pizza. Maybe I’d tell them later.

*

Hours later, the four of us were spread across the living room in sleeping bags much like I’d positioned us on the cake. Rather than being on the outsides, however, Lucas and Leslie were cocooned between their mother and me. The three of them were sleeping, but something had awakened me. What was it? My ears strained at the silence. I knew I’d heard something . . . something so out of place it had snapped my mind out of a dreamless sleep. All I could hear now was the breathing—and occasional snoring—of my companions.

My eyes adjusted to the darkness and scanned the room. Nothing appeared to be out of the ordinary.

Just then I heard the crash of metal outside. It came from Violet’s back door. Heart pumping, I eased out of the sleeping bag and crawled into the hallway, avoiding the windows.

Please, God, don’t let me have brought some sort of calamity on Violet’s house . . . or even worse, her family.

I thought about waking Violet and warning her, but I didn’t want to make a commotion and risk waking the kids. They were probably safer where they were.

I flinched when I heard the sound again. I squared my shoulders and went into the kitchen. I took the meat cleaver from the knife block and tucked the cordless phone under my arm. Then I peered through the window of the back door. I couldn’t see a thing, but I could still hear that racket. It—whatever
it
was—was still out there.

I got the cleaver ready, unlocked the door and flung it open. As I did so, someone got a firm grip on my cleaver-wielding wrist . . . from behind me. I struggled to get my wrist free.

“Are you out of your freaking mind? What are you doing?”

It was Violet.

“There’s something out there,” I said. “It woke me up, and I—”

“It’s the neighbor’s dog. He’s turned over our trash again.” She took the cleaver and put it back where it belonged.

“Are you sure?”

“Positive.” She stuck her head out the door. “Come here, Rufus.”

A shaggy brown dog appeared in the doorway, wagging its tail.

Violet bent down to pat his head. “You’re a bad boy, you know. I should call animal control on you.” Instead, she opened the refrigerator and got him a hot dog. “Take this and go on home. And stay out of my trash.”