The Diva Frosts a Cupcake (12 page)

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

Dear Sophie,

How do I make a filled cupcake? I love that extra surprise when I bite into one.

—Cupcake Mom in Lemontree, Arizona

Dear Cupcake Mom,

After the cupcakes have been baked, cut a small cone out of the middle. I use a paring knife, but an apple corer also works. Don’t worry about it being perfect, because the frosting will cover it. Fill the spot with jam, whipped cream, lemon curd, chocolate, Nutella, Marshmallow Fluff—the options are endless. You can eat the little cone as a snack, or stick it back on top of the filling. It’s up to you.

—Sophie

I could barely tear my eyes away from Alex’s. But when he reached across the table and took my hand, my gaze moved down in amazement.

“Aside from wanting to see you again, I didn’t cancel today’s brunch because I’m told you’re pretty good at solving crimes.”

I snatched my hand out from under his and leaned back in my chair.
Aha
. Well, it wasn’t like I didn’t know from the very beginning that guys as handsome as Alex didn’t go for women like me. I should have realized that as soon as I saw his BMW. He was used to sleek sports cars, and I was a VW Beetle.

Alex cocked his head. “Have I offended you?”

“No.” He’d disappointed me a little, but I’d sort of expected as much. “I don’t know exactly what you’ve heard, but I’m not a private investigator. I just got lucky a few times. You’re an attorney—I’m sure you can figure out what’s going on. Considering how you phrased that, I’m guessing you think someone is trying to kill the general?”

He appeared to hold his breath for a moment. “I don’t want to think that. But since the general wouldn’t have eaten fava beans, I have to think they were disguised in some way. There is the possibility that someone has unknowingly continued to offer him a dish containing fava beans, but—” he paused and slowly shook his head “—it seems like an awfully big coincidence that fava beans would happen to be in the dish. When’s the last time you cooked fava beans?”

“Never.”

“Precisely. There are a few sweet widows who bring the general homemade goodies. They’re adorable. He’s still popular with ladies. I can’t say that one of them doesn’t innocently make a dish with fava beans in it, but it just seems so unlikely. I’m planning to track them down this afternoon to find out. Three of them called early this morning as soon as they heard he was in the hospital. None of those have ever cooked fava beans. Most of them know he has a thing for sweets. They bring him brownies and cobblers, the kinds of dishes that wouldn’t contain legumes.”

“Maybe one of them is a health food type who makes him salads or casseroles?”

“Could be. I’m definitely going to find out.” Alex rubbed his chin and looked away. “The alternative is something I’d rather not contemplate, but I think I have to.”

“Is there anyone who has it in for the general?”

Alex leaned back in his chair. “I’m at a loss. I don’t live here, so I’m not familiar with his life and the people he knows.”

“Any family other than Nick?”

Alex froze. He stared at me, but I couldn’t read his expression. Had I said something disturbing?

“No. Just Nick. How did you know? He has a different last name, because his mother is the general’s sister.”

“You’re his brother’s son, then?”

He nodded.

“Wasn’t hard to guess. Nick was seated at the general’s table last night. There’s a strong family resemblance among the three of you. Was it supposed to be a secret?”

Alex placed his elbows on the table. “Not really. Nick likes to keep it quiet, since he works for the general. He’s sensitive about people knowing he’s related to the boss. You know, nepotism in the workplace.”

I could see it in his eyes. He was afraid Nick had slowly been killing the general. “Do you know who will inherit the general’s estate?”

“No, I don’t. It’s a pretty lousy time to ask him, don’t you think?”

The waitress came around one more time to see if we needed anything else. I checked the time. “I need to pick up a ballot box, and I guess you’d better check on the general.”

We walked back through the booths on Market Square. They were still doing big business, with throngs of people browsing and buying. We stopped by the adoption booth so I could pick up the ballot box.

Nina could barely contain herself. She raised her eyebrows at me and whispered, “I want full blow-by-blow details later.”

I glanced over at Renee’s Sugar Baby booth, but no one was there. “Did Renee shut down?”

Nina cringed. “There was a major problem with her cupcakes. I tasted one, and they were weird. Now isn’t that odd after the catastrophe last night with her frosting?”

“Humphrey told me that Renee made the horrible Salted Caramel Cupcakes.”

“And now there’s something wrong with all her cupcakes.” Her face pulled into an unpleasant distortion. “They taste like a really bad recipe—like I baked them! I was all for her shutting down. Wong took a few of the cupcakes for the police lab, just in case anyone turns up sick.”

“Do you feel sick?”

“No, and neither does anyone else. In spite of the problems last night, I’ve heard nothing but raves from the people who attended. Some are hoping we’ll make this an annual event.”

Alex carried the box for me on the way back to my place. It wasn’t heavy, but it was a nice gesture. We left Market Square, heading for my house, and he asked about the flyers regarding Buddy that were hanging everywhere.

I explained what had happened. He paused, lifted my chin a tad with gentle fingers, and studied my eye. “You sure you don’t want to bring charges?”

“I set Maurice up. He never should have kicked a dog, of course, but I was trying to get him to say something horrible and, well, I really don’t think he meant to kick me.”

“What a worm. Why does that name sound so familiar to me?”

“He’s the one who made a fuss about feeling ill after the ambulance came for the general last night. Oh! But you were gone by then.”

He stopped walking for a moment. “Maurice . . . any chance that he could be Nick’s landlord?”

“Yes, I believe he is.”

Alex resumed a comfortable pace. “That figures. He wants to throw Nick out. Apparently Maurice went to the general for Nick’s rent, which provoked some fireworks. All three of them were furious.” He shot me a knowing look. “One doesn’t ever ask the general for money. He has plenty, but he likes to remind people that he is not ‘The Bank of General German.’”

I wanted to ask if the general had paid Nick’s rent, but decided that was just plain too nosy.

Alex peppered me with questions about life in Old Town.

“You’re serious about moving here?” I asked.

“I’ve almost decided to make the move. I’ve extended my trip a few days because of the general’s illness. Tomorrow I hope to check out some properties. Wouldn’t it be great to set up a law practice in one of these historic town houses?”

What with all the news about favism in his family, I hadn’t asked him about his work. “What kind of law do you practice?”

That enticing grin appeared. “Your favorite—criminal law.”

We were laughing when we passed Bernie’s new house. Alex walked me to my front door and reached for my hand. For an awkward moment, I thought he might kiss it. But he leaned toward me for a kiss—

“There you are!” Natasha had changed into a stunning blue and beige dress that showed off her figure. I didn’t know how she managed to walk on those five-inch heels. “I just missed you before. Alex, you simply must come over for a tour of my house.”

He still held my hand, and although his face revealed no distress, his hand clenched mine tighter. “I’m afraid I have to get to the general, Natasha. He’s still in the hospital. You understand. Another time, perhaps?”

She actually had the nerve, the chutzpah, the brazenness to lean toward him for a kiss.

He obliged her with a perfunctory peck on the cheek—while still grasping my hand!

Natasha walked him to his snazzy car. I could hear her exclaiming about it nonstop.

As he climbed in, I realized that Bernie and Mars had witnessed the whole thing from Bernie’s front porch. Maybe having him so close by wasn’t such a great idea after all.

I unlocked the house, left the ballot box on the console in the foyer, and crossed the street to Bernie’s. The front door stood open. I rapped on it and walked inside. Someone had kept the house clean, but it was so empty that Bernie’s and Mars’s voices sounded like they were in a cavern. I found them in the family room I had once decorated for a show house. Francie rested on a sofa, holding Daisy’s and Duke’s leashes. The dogs strained toward me. Bernie was exclaiming over the carved wall-to-wall bookcase. They had already hung the TV in a niche.

“I’m so glad you didn’t tear this out,” said Bernie. “You just don’t see this kind of hand-carved work much anymore.”

“Have a nice brunch?” asked Mars in a vexed tone.

“It was lovely, thank you very much.”

“I see you’re dating married men again.”

The nerve of him! “I am not. In the first place, he happens to be separated from his wife, and in the second place, it was just brunch, not a date.”

“I dated him last night,” said Francie. “Whoo, is he adorable!” She winked at me. “But I only got a kiss on my wrinkled old cheek.”

Bernie and Mars stared at me, their arms crossed over their chests.

“I have a completely clear conscience. No one calls it a date when I have lunch with one of you.”

“You boys get over yourselves,” said Francie. “Mars, I’m not one of Natasha’s fans, but it’s time for you to tie the knot. Quit making cow eyes at Sophie. You already made your bed.”

I held my breath. I was so sure no one had known anything about the spark left between us.

Bernie laughed at Mars.

“Not so fast, Bernie,” she added. “Dana is a perfectly darling girl. I can’t imagine why you broke things off with her. You and Mars need to quit giving Sophie a hard time. Besides, Alex’s wife is the one who caused the marriage to fail. She’s the one who started sneaking around to see someone else. Poor Alex.”

“How did you find that out?” I asked.

“You young people are too hung up on niceties. If you’d tell each other what you think and come out and ask questions, you wouldn’t have to pussyfoot around so much. I asked Alex why he was getting a divorce. Sometimes, if you just ask, it’s pretty amazing what people will tell you.”

I hurried to change the subject before Mars could start in on me again. “I came over to see if you’d like to help count ballots with Francie and me. Humphrey had to bow out. Neither of you has a dog in the race. How about it?”

“I’m in,” said Bernie.

Mars acted a little sheepish, not the norm for him, but he nodded. “Sure.”

Bernie locked his front door and handed me a key. “Just in case of emergency.”

At the bottom of his porch steps, he bent over and reached out to examine seedlings that were coming up.

“Don’t you dare touch that with your bare hand!” Francie seized his arm and tugged at him. “That’s jimsonweed.”

Bernie straightened up. “I’m not familiar with that plant. What happens if I touch it?”

“You die,” said Francie grimly. “Okay, maybe you wouldn’t die right away, but the whole plant is extremely poisonous.”

“How can you tell what it is?” The seedlings looked unidentifiable to me.

“I was standing in this very spot when Mordecai planted it. There was a bit of a discussion between Mordecai and my husband because of its dangerous properties. We felt he should plant it in the enclosed yard in the back, where children wouldn’t be tempted to touch it.”

Mars peered at it. “Why would anyone want such a dangerous plant?”

“Are you sure Natasha doesn’t have one?” asked Francie. “They’re gorgeous. The blooms are four inches long and look like trumpets. They’re quite popular as ornamental plants. The name
jimsonweed
is thought to have come from ‘Jamestown weed,’ because it was so prevalent there. Some people call it thorn apple, mad apple, or devil’s trumpet.”

“I don’t believe we have this delightful killer in England,” said Bernie.

“You must. If memory serves, Agatha Christie used it in a couple of books. It’s part of the nightshade family. Shamans around the world reportedly used it to induce visions.”

Bernie scowled. “I really don’t care how beautiful it is if it’s that deadly. I’ll dig it up this afternoon and dispose of it.”

We trooped across to my house. While Bernie, Mars, and Francie settled around the kitchen table, I put on a kettle of water for tea. Bernie had fed them takeout from The Laughing Hound for lunch, but I thought a little dessert nosh might be in order. Fortunately, I had a batch of my favorite new oatmeal cookie recipe frozen in a roll. I preheated the oven, then cut off fat rounds that I quartered and placed, pointy side up, on parchment paper spread over a cookie sheet. I slid them into the oven to bake.

I poured organic black tea for everyone except Francie, who asked for green tea. They moaned appreciatively when the cookies came out of the oven. The smell was so mouthwateringly scrumptious that I wanted to bite into one even though they were still too hot. When everyone had a mug of tea, and the platter of cookies was on the table, we commenced with the tabulation of the ballots.

It was a close call between Joy’s Monkey Business, a banana walnut cupcake with chocolate frosting, and Spenser’s Raspberry Vanilla, a raspberry-laced cake with raspberry filling and vanilla icing. But in the end, after a recount to be absolutely, positively sure, Spenser’s Raspberry Vanilla won the public opinion taste test for Cake My Day.

At three o’clock, we ambled up to Market Square. I couldn’t help noticing that the cupcake vendors appeared to be dwindling. Renee had not reopened, and Joy’s booth was closed as well. I had expected them to shut down when they heard about Muffin’s murder, but they’d carried on like troupers, in spite of their sorrow. I wondered if it was more than coincidence that they’d both had to shut down their booths early. Maybe I was reading too much into it. They’d tried too hard to keep going. Maybe they’d both finally taken time to grieve.