The Diva Frosts a Cupcake (5 page)

CHAPTER SIX

Dear Sophie,

I always manage to make a mess when I pour batter into a cupcake pan. It ends up everywhere. A spoon doesn’t work much better. Help!

—Messy Moyra in Kitchen, West Virginia

Dear Messy Moyra,

Cut the tip off the bottom corner of a large freezer bag, roll the top back over your hand and fill it with your cupcake batter. You can squeeze out exactly as much as you want into each cupcake liner.

—Sophie

“She must be here somewhere. Did you check in the back?” I asked.

Humphrey tilted his head. I could read his expression—he wasn’t that dumb!

“Muffin?” I jogged upstairs and peeked into the bedrooms. One was almost empty. A tangle of wire coat hangers lay on the floor, along with a few scraps of paper and a partial roll of leftover Christmas gift wrapping paper. A pile of clothes was heaped in a corner. Jeans and colorful tops peeked out, and a black fleece jacket lay on top. It appeared that someone had emptied drawers but forgotten the contents.

The other bedroom was so adorable that I wanted to curl up on the bed with a book. Gauzy white curtains billowed gently at two tall windows overlooking the alley. Tiny jewelry boxes clustered together on a dressing table. Renee clearly loved miniatures. Petite cat statuettes were displayed in a case on the wall. Teeny teapots and saucers sat on the dresser in an artistic arrangement. A glass shelf contained a collection of miniature cupcakes.

The white headboard and dresser shone against barely pink walls. A cushy armchair had been upholstered in a pink and white toile with a ruffle around the bottom. The duvet cover was a brisk, clean white, like the dust ruffle, but the pillows on the bed were a darling mixture of patterns that ran from pale pink to red.

The largest and most prominent pillow was in the shape of a cupcake. The white bottom had been stitched to look like a cupcake wrapper. Pink icing swirled to a peak, and tiny clear beads had been sewn onto it as though they were sparkling sprinkles of sugar. Part of the frosting looked so real that I paused to examine it. How had they done that?

I touched the frosting on the pillow. It smeared under my finger. That was odd. Anyone with a room this tidy would never leave icing on a pillow.

“Sophie!” called Humphrey. “Come down here.”

I ran down the stairs to the back foyer. Voices drifted to me from the bakery, and I followed them.

Humphrey stashed money in a drawer. “I just sold some guy a blueberry cupcake.”

“I didn’t see her upstairs. Maybe she stepped out. Did you check the restroom?” I marched to the restroom door, knocked, and flung it open. “Not a soul in there.”

I opened the front door and peered up and down the street, but didn’t see her outside, either. When I closed the door, a scorched smell wafted to me. “Is something burning?”

Humphrey sniffed.

I joined him behind the counter and peered into an oven. “There are cupcakes in there!” I promptly jerked the door open, located oven mitts, and yanked out two pans of scorched cupcakes. “Those are toast.” I set them on a stainless steel worktop next to a tray of baked cupcakes and a mixing bowl full of pink icing. Only two of the cupcakes had been frosted.

“She must be nearby,” I said. “No one would put cupcakes in the oven to bake and then leave.”

“Maybe she ran over to Market Square and something delayed her along the way?” Humphrey postulated.

I didn’t think so. “And left the doors unlocked so anyone could walk right in and help themselves to cupcakes and the cash register? Seems unlikely.”

“This place isn’t very big,” said Humphrey. “Let’s split up and have a good look around. If we don’t find her, we’ll, uh, decide what to do next.”

“Is there a basement?” I asked. “Maybe a door slammed shut, and she can’t get out?”

“Wouldn’t we hear her screaming?” asked Humphrey. “Sophie, you check upstairs. I’ll take the main floor and look for a basement.”

The upstairs wouldn’t be hard to search. There wasn’t a thing in the living room but the desk. I hadn’t seen the kitchen or bathroom, though.

I took the steep stairs faster than I should have and breathed heavily at the top. On the alley side of the apartment, the sun shone in through a kitchen window over the sink. Galley style, it was small but well outfitted. No sign of Muffin, though. Dashing through the apartment, I flung open closet doors just to be on the safe side. No Muffin. The pink and black bathroom was dated, like my own, but it gleamed squeaky clean. Still no Muffin.

Joy’s old closet had been emptied. The last place to check was Renee’s closet. Packed to the gills, I didn’t think anyone could have wedged herself in there. I sighed when I shut the door and leaned against it. We were searching as though she was hiding, which made no sense. She must have had some overwhelming reason to leave the cupcakery—some kind of personal emergency that caused her to forget about the cupcakes in the oven. I couldn’t imagine what that emergency might have been, but there wasn’t any other logical explanation.

I peered out the open window in case Muffin was catching a quick break out back. Spenser’s car was gone, but there was no sign of Muffin.

My gaze fell on the cupcake-shaped pillow. I walked to the bed and picked it up. Once again, I ran my fingers over the frosting. If it were old icing, it would have hardened and felt crusty. This was fresh enough to rub off on my fingers. I turned the pillow around. Two dark smudges marred the base of the faux frosting. I was sniffing them for a clue when the toe of my shoe hit something under the bed.

A scream burbled up my throat, and I jumped away from the bed. A glob of pink frosting had somehow landed on top of my shoe. I stared at it stupidly. How could frosting be under the bed? Idiotic thoughts flicked through my head. Did Renee store frosting under the bed? Had she hidden it from Joy so she wouldn’t take it? And then it came to me that someone must be hiding under the bed. I backed toward the door, chills coursing down my arms.

Footsteps banged on the stairs. Humphrey raced into Renee’s bedroom.

“Did you find her?” asked Humphrey.

Trying to keep my cool, I said, “There’s someone under the bed. He . . . she just dumped a little dollop of frosting on my shoe.”

Humphrey’s shoulders twitched at the thought. He grabbed a heavy doorstop and bravely dropped to his knees. He lifted the bed skirt and peered underneath, holding the doorstop at the ready to swing it down on someone. “Oh noooo.”

He pulled two legs out from under the bed, and I felt as though my heart had plummeted off a cliff. They wore girlish Mary Jane–style shoes.

I knelt and helped him tug Muffin out from under the bed.

Humphrey placed two fingers on the side of Muffin’s neck. Ever so softly, he said, “No pulse.” He tilted Muffin’s chin back and blew into her mouth.

I hustled to the telephone and called 911.

A siren wailed in the distance almost immediately. I was still on the phone when the bell tinkled downstairs and someone shouted. The woman on the phone said, “There’s an officer on the premises.” I hung up and scrambled down the stairs.

A young police officer peered into the back hallway. He must have been close by when the call went out. “Something burning in here?” he asked. “I thought someone was injured.”

I explained as succinctly as I could.

He remained calm, but when I showed him the stairs, he wasted no time and was all business. “Stay down here and show the EMTs where to go.” He hustled up.

Emergency medical technicians arrived a scant minute later. As they chugged upstairs, I could hear voices in the bakery. People had begun to come in to find out what was going on. I shooed them outside, locked the front door, and flipped the open sign to closed.

Fearing they would peek in the back door, I rushed through the hallway, only to find Humphrey sagging against the wall, his shoulders curled forward.

He wiped his eyes with his sleeve. “Why would anyone hurt Muffin? She wasn’t much more than a kid.”

I rubbed his arm in a futile gesture of comfort. “Is she . . . ?”

“They’re still trying to resuscitate her, but . . .”

He didn’t need to say more. As a mortician, he knew.

He snuffled. “She was going home to see her family in Tucson next week.”

Obviously, he had known Muffin well. I’d seen her around town but knew nothing about her.

“I’m going over to tell Renee,” he said. “She shouldn’t hear about this over the phone.”

I locked the back door behind him.

Footsteps on the stairs caught my attention.

The young officer emerged. “Don’t touch anything. This place is officially a crime scene. Where’s Mr. Brown?”

“He went to tell Renee about Muffin.”

His mouth swung to the side in annoyance. He took down explicit notes about how we happened to find Muffin’s body, including my name and contact information.

He squinted at me. “You seem nervous.”

“I am! I just found Muffin, who was probably murdered!” I couldn’t exactly tell him that I was afraid my old boyfriend Wolf, a homicide investigator, would knock on the door any second. Besides, finding Muffin had rattled me. Cupcakes usually baked in my oven in sixteen to eighteen minutes. The cupcakes I removed from Sugar Baby’s oven had baked into rocks. I’d have to run a test to be sure, but my guess was that Muffin had been murdered within the last hour. It was even remotely possible that the killer had left when the bell on the front door tinkled due to Humphrey’s arrival.

“I didn’t mention murder.” He held his breath and studied me.

“Why else would she be under the bed? Clearly someone bothered to hide her.”

He made a note on his pad. “I’ll probably have more questions for you later.”

He hustled me out the front door and latched it. A crowd had gathered outside, including Clarissa Osbourne and Maurice.

They pummeled me with questions.

“Who is it?”

“Did Joy murder Renee?”

“Is Joy dead?”

No one even mentioned poor Muffin. I pushed past everyone and made my way back to Nina’s booth on Market Square.

Nina hugged me fiercely. “Humphrey told us what happened. He’s taken over for Renee at her booth so she can go back to the cupcakery.”

Tear trails stained Francie’s face. “I liked that young woman. How dare someone snuff out her life like that?” She held on to her golden retriever as though she found solace in his presence.

“Do you want to go home?” asked Nina. “It must have been quite a shock.”

If going home could have brought Muffin back to life, I would have run all the way. “Thanks, but I’d rather be busy and useful here.”

“Maybe you should eat something. Bernie sent over quite a feast!” Francie pointed to the take-out boxes.

I reached into the dog pen and slid my hand over Buddy’s head. Just thinking about him having a new home soothed my ragged nerves. “Hey, Buddy, your new dad will be coming by to take you home soon.” He wagged his tail and panted.

“Where
is
Spenser? I’m so afraid that horrible Maurice will be back.” Nina scanned the crowds milling through the booths.

As though the mere mention of his name caused him to materialize, Maurice emerged from the clusters of people, and appeared to have Officer Wong in tow. Pointing a long, bony forefinger at us, Maurice said, “They refuse to give me that dog.”

CHAPTER SEVEN

Dear Natasha,

My daughter says she wants cupcakes as favors for her sweet sixteen party. That’s okay with me, but what do I put them in? I can’t just hand out cupcakes as the guests walk out the door.

—Baking Mom in Sixteen Acres, Massachusetts

Dear Baking Mom,

Buy cupcake favor boxes and personalize them to suit the occasion with a little bling, and ribbon imprinted with your daughter’s name!

—Natasha

“Are you kidding me?” Wong placed her fists on her ample hips. “There’s a murder less than a block away, and you haul me all the way over here because of a dog adoption? Have you lost your senses?”

I thanked my lucky stars it was Wong he’d dragged over. She wasn’t easily fooled. In fact, Maurice might rue his decision to involve the police.

“So what’s the story here?” Her gaze drifted up to the adoption sign.

“Hi, Wo—”

I elbowed Nina. It probably wouldn’t be smart to let Maurice know we were chummy with Wong. What could I say to get him to malign dogs again so she could see Maurice for what he was?

Nina coughed. “Sorry, Maurice. The other interested party has confirmed. The big black and tan dog is taken. That’s what the bandanna means.”

Wong nodded her head. “Okay. Why don’t you take one of these other dogs? That one with the brown spot around his eye is awfully cute.”

Maurice drew himself as erect as he could. Wong and I were on the short side, and Nina was only a couple inches taller than me. Did he think he could intimidate us?

“I was told they would not hold a dog.”

“Is that true?” asked Wong.

“We don’t usually hold them, but in this case we made an exception, since the person notified us that he is on his way to collect the dog.” Nina licked her lips, and I could tell she was gearing up for Maurice’s next accusation.

“I don’t see him anywhere. I am here, ready to adopt.” Maurice sneered at us.

Nina shot back, “He refused to fill out the adoption form.”

Wong sighed. “What is
wrong
with you people? I have better things to do. Mr. Lester, fill out the form already.”

I had to do something before she told us to hand over Buddy! Wong
had
to see Maurice for what he was. Trying to act casual, I strolled to the gate on the pen, latched a leash onto the cute dog with the brown spot around his eye, and let him out. He wriggled all over with excitement. I edged toward Maurice. Bingo. Cute as could be, the dog sniffed Maurice’s pant leg.

Maurice shrieked as though the dog had bitten him, jumped away, and pulled his foot back to kick the poor little dog. I bent to sweep the dog into my arms, and the toe of Maurice’s shoe clocked me in the eye, hard enough to knock me over onto my side.

The ensuing chaos was all a little fuzzy. I held on to the dog so he wouldn’t get away.

“You kicked her! That’s assault!” Wong’s hands reached out to me. “Sophie? You okay? Let me see that eye.”

“I can’t believe you did that,” said Nina. “You monster! You would have kicked a defenseless little dog?” Nina gently removed the dog from my arms.

With Wong’s help, I stood up, holding my hand over my eye.

Maurice barely flinched. “You set me up. You intentionally threw yourself in the path of my foot. My lawyer will hear about this.”

He opened the gate to the dog pen and tried to remove Buddy.

Wong blocked his path. “I’m very sorry, sir, but I’m not sure that
you
should adopt a dog at all. Sophie, do you want to press charges?”

“No.” After all, I
had
meant to trick him into saying something vicious, I just hadn’t anticipated that he would try to kick the poor dog.

Maurice sputtered something incoherent and slunk away. Nina secured the dogs in the pen while Francie and Wong examined my eye.

They didn’t say anything until Nina joined us, and said, “Man, but you’re gonna have a shiner!”

I covered my other eye. I could see fine. Francie pulled a mirror out of her purse. I peered into it. Sure enough, the skin around my eye was turning all sorts of pink and blue colors. Swell.

“Okay, everybody, I’ll be fine.” I wanted to focus their attention on something else already.

Wong’s radio spewed something unintelligible to me that appeared to have meaning for her. “I’ll come back later to check on you.”

“Hey! Anyone hungry?” I asked to get their minds off me. “I’m starved! We’re supposed to tell Bernie what we think.”

I opened the boxes to find enough food for eight people, even though Nina and Francie had already eaten some of it. I could see ham, turkey, roast beef, various cheeses, sprouts, lettuce, tomato, cucumber, and mustard in assorted sandwiches and roll-ups. There were a few tubs of a mouthwatering chicken salad with mangoes and avocados, as well as some with pasta that appeared to contain spinach and little specs of some sort of red pepper.

Nina whisked a fork into the chicken salad. “Oh! Oh!” Her mouth full, she murmured, “It’s a good thing I’m married, or I would latch on to Bernie and hang out in the restaurant all day.”

A couple ambled up to admire the cats. Nina set her food down to talk with them.

Francie excused herself for a powder room break, and I rushed a box of food over to Humphrey.

“How’s Renee?” I asked.

“She took it hard.” He craned his neck to get a better look at me. “What’s with your eye?”

I didn’t feel like going into details with people listening in. “I banged into something.”

“It looks terrible.”

He slid a cupcake into a box and accepted payment for it from a young woman. “I’m still having trouble believing that I saw Muffin with my own eyes, and that she’s dead.”

“It seems impossible. She just met us in the back when we delivered the desk. All cheery and adorable. How could this have happened?”

“I’m almost out of cupcakes.” He said it in a disconnected way. Like he was struggling to cope with mundane reality. “I don’t think Renee will be able to bake more. It would be unreasonable to expect that of her under these circumstances.”

As I passed him the box from The Laughing Hound, I realized Nina would have a new problem to deal with. “Renee was a featured baker for the dinner tomorrow night. And Joy worked with Muffin, too. I doubt either one of them will be up to baking.”

I cringed to have even considered anything of the sort. Muffin had been killed, and I was thinking about cupcakes and a massive dinner party.

Humphrey set the box aside. “Thanks for the lunch, but I’m not very hungry.”

I drifted back to the adoption booth, thinking through the ramifications of Muffin’s untimely death. People had come from all over, including bakers. It wasn’t like we could cancel Cupcakes and Pupcakes now.

Francie returned, and we had just begun to chow down when Bernie showed up with a baggie of crushed ice. “Heard you encountered an angry shoe.”

He handed it to me and insisted on examining my eye.

Nina told him the story, barely able to stop eating long enough to get it all out. I sat down and ate slowly, hampered by the ice I pressed against my black eye.

“Maurice, eh? He’s an odd one. Comes into the bar all the time expecting other people to pay for his food and drinks.” Bernie helped himself to a tub of pasta. “So how’s the lunch Moe made?”

We assured him it was terrific.

“I thought you would be stopping by for a bite today. I’ve had a rotten streak of bad luck with employees lately. I’m giving Moe a trial run. He claims he can cook, bake, make oven-fired pizza, schedule employees, and tend bar.”

“With all those skills, why is he on probation?” asked Francie.

Bernie swallowed a bite of the roasted red pepper and spinach pasta. “Nice flavor in this farfalle salad. Because, in my experience, when a bloke claims he can do it all, he usually can’t do any of it well.”

“He didn’t appear to be flustered by that mammoth crowd in the bar today,” I offered.

“He can cook. That’s for sure,” said Nina, selecting a lingonberry turkey sandwich.

“He uses interesting ingredients, but sandwiches aren’t much of a challenge.” Bernie cast a critical eye over them. “We’ll be busy with the cupcakes for the gala dinner tomorrow. I might give him a shot at the grill.”

Spenser ambled up. “What a day! Nightmare after nightmare. I suppose you heard about the murder at Sugar Baby.”

“Definitely murder?” asked Bernie.

Even though that came as no surprise to me, just hearing the word
murder
sent tremors to my fingers.

Spenser nodded. “That’s what I hear. A cop came by to ask if there’s anything someone would want to steal from a cupcakery. Cake My Day was hit last night. I guess they’re trying to figure out if there’s a connection.”

“Is there?” asked Francie.

“None that I know of. But the worst thing—” Spenser steadied himself by leaning against a table. He closed his eyes and a jagged breath shuddered out of him. “—I think I heard Muffin arguing with her killer. I was there! Dear heaven, I was there, but I didn’t go in. I’ll never forgive myself. I picked up my car and headed over to my cupcakery.”

“You couldn’t have known . . .” Nina’s voice tapered off, and her eyes met mine.

“Of course not.” Francie scowled at him. “People argue all the time. There was no way you could have known. And maybe you’re wrong. Maybe that argument was with someone else.” She shook her forefinger at Spenser. “I’ll hear no more of that. Don’t blame yourself!”

“She’s right, you know. But what did you overhear?” asked Bernie.

Spenser swallowed hard. “Muffin was shouting at someone about taking advantage of people. And then there was something about a ring.”

Joy! When we’d left Muffin earlier, she’d said she intended to speak to Joy about her treatment of Renee. “Did you hear who the other person was?”

Spenser shook his head.

“If I had heard what you just described, I wouldn’t have butted in,” I said. “Don’t blame yourself. How could you have foreseen that it would end tragically?”

“Thank you all for being so comforting. I fear I’ll never get over the fact that I didn’t intervene.” Spenser looked at the dogs in the pen. “Where’s Buddy?”

Nina sprang out of her seat, knocking the pasta salad over. “He’s gone!”