The Cupcake Capers Box Set

by Polly Holmes

  “That is the most ludicrous thing I’ve ever heard,” Charlie said wiping a tear from the corner of his eye. “Me? Murder Pierre? Why on earth would I do that?”

  “Why, indeed?” asked Logan.

  Margarete shoved the note out toward Charlie. “Curley ‘E’s. The same curly ‘E’s that were in a threatening note sent to Pierre. Care to explain?”

  Charlie took the paper from her hand and scanned its contents. “Not really. But I didn’t kill Pierre.”

  “Your note indicates otherwise,” she said. The adrenaline rush coursing through her body boosted her confidence. “I’m lucky that I have such a good memory. I am pretty sure it said, ‘We had a deal, Pierre. You don’t go back on your word unless you are willing to suffer the consequences. You’ll pay for this, believe me. This isn’t over, not by a long shot.’ Sound familiar?”

  Logan chimed in. “Murder is a pretty final consequence.”

  “I did not murder anyone.” Charlie sighed in defeat. “Okay, okay, I wrote the letter, but I’d never follow through. I was just trying to scare him.”

  What the…? Scare him? “Why on earth would you want to scare him?” she asked, folding her arms across her chest in triumph.

  “I know people in this town thought he was this wonderful chef and, don’t get me wrong, he was, but there was another side to him that he didn’t show all that often. We had an agreement. I am expanding the dining area, making it into a real upmarket restaurant and Pierre was going to be my head chef. Plans were already drawn, money spent, and then he turns around and pulls out, leaving me in the lurch with no chef. He was a real piece of work”

  Why did I not know this? “When was this exactly?”

  Charlie paused as if racking his brain for the correct date. “Around Australia Day. I remember because the pub was packed that week and it was another nightmare I just didn’t need. He said something about how he was coming into some money and he didn’t need me anymore.”

  “What money?” Logan and Margarete asked in perfect unison.

  “Beats me.” Charlie shrugged. “Now if there is nothing else, I really should get this wine back to the happy couple.”

  Margarete’s detective sleuthing was far from over. “But this proves you had a motive for wanting him out of the picture. In a way, I suppose it’s kind of fitting. You stabbed him in the back, just as he did to you, right?”

  “Pfft, don’t be ridiculous,” Charlie said brushing her comment aside as if he were swatting a fly. “I’d like to see you prove it. Besides, according to the police, the time of death is seven-forty and I had an air-tight alibi at the time. Along with most other people at the party.”

  “Seven-Forty?” Margarete felt the blood in her veins turn to ice. But I don’t.

  “What alibi?” Logan pried. “And how do you know the murder occurred at seven-forty?”

  “That would be my business, now, wouldn’t it? This is a small town, after all,” Charlie snapped. “You don’t look like the police to me, so I think I’ll save my reveal for when it requested. Excuse me, I have been away from my guests for long enough.”

  The air thickened and the smell of sweet red wine now left a sour taste in her mouth. She watched Charlie’s back as he pushed past and headed back out to his guests.

  “This is good news,” Logan said moving to stand in front of her. “He has a motive and I bet his alibi is as flimsy as they come. Surely, the police will see through it. Whatever it is.”

  He paused, but Margarete stood still, two words replaying in her head. Seven-forty…. Seven-forty… Seven-forty.

  She gazed into his worrying eyes. “I don’t have an alibi. Since the meeting room next door was empty, I went through there to the staff toilet. I figured it was closer and wouldn’t be in use. But the cameras wouldn’t have been running in that area, since the McCorrson’s party was the only event scheduled that evening. I can’t prove that, though. No-one was in there and I don’t remember anyone seeing me go in or out. I clearly remember it was seven-forty because I checked my watch and I had fifteen minutes before the second brisket would be ready to take out of the oven.”

  “So?”

  “So.” Margarete paced the cellar, her agitation growing by the second. “It means I will be the number one suspect again.”

  “No, it just means it may take a little longer for the truth to surface. I suggest we inform the police of our discussion with Charlie and then try and take a look at that footage Emmerson and Leah were talking about. What do you say?”

  Margarete smiled and sucked in a lungful of air. “Sounds like a plan. Thank you.”

  “For what?” he asked, seemingly oblivious to the impact his words were having on her emotions.

  “For believing me and for being here with me.”

  Logan smiled and Margarete’s stomach somersaulted sending her heart fluttering. “I wouldn’t be anywhere else.”

  Margarete continued to scan the crowd for Kayne, to no avail. Her need to quickly sort this nightmare was exacerbated by the increasing judgemental stares she was receiving from party goers. Either she had something on her face or word of the damning video recording has spread like the plague.

  “Alex will know,” she muttered under her breath. She headed for the table hosting Alex, where she and Mish were in deep conversation. She pulled out a chair and slotted herself down. Logan took a position behind her chair. “Hi, Mish. Hi, Alex… So sorry to interrupt, but I was wondering if you could tell me where Kayne is?”

  “I’m sorry to tell you, but he left,” Alex said. “Something about some new evidence that didn’t add up or rechecking a part of the evidence. I’m grabbing a lift back to Clair’s place with her and he’ll pick me up from there when he’s done.”

  New evidence. Great. Now what?

  Alex squeezed Margarete’s hand. “For what it’s worth, I don’t believe for one second that you had anything to do with Pierre’s death. Believe me, I know how it feels to find a dead body, and the shock you must have been going through.”

  “Don’t tell me,” Logan said in Alex’s direction. “You were involved in one of the mysterious Ashton Point murders?”

  “Unfortunately, yes. It was the worst few days of my life. The truth will come out, Margarete. Kayne is doing his best and he is the best at what he does.”

  Yes, but will the truth come out before it’s too late?

  Alex’s words did little to comfort Margarete’s ever-increasing anxieties. “Thank you. But I have to get this new information to Kayne as soon as possible.”

  Mish’s brow creased. “What new information?”

  Margarete shook her head. “I don’t think it would be wise to add to the town gossip train.”

  Mish continued as she licked the sweet lemon-vanilla cupcake icing from her fingers. “Don’t look at it as gossiping, but rather as sharing knowledge that could help clear your name. For all you, know we could corroborate your evidence.”

  “It couldn’t hurt,” Logan said.

  “Okay, but just know that this is not hearsay. We got it straight from the horse’s mouth.”

  Both girls nodded eagerly, and Margarete replayed their conversation, making sure to get every detail correct. “And that’s what I intend to tell Kayne.”

  “Maybe you got it wrong. Just because Charlie won’t reveal his alibi doesn’t mean he is a murderer,” Mish said. “It could’ve been something highly personal, you never know.”

  Margarete stood. “Highly personal or not, if it puts the knife in his hand instead of mine, then that suits me just fine. As they say in the movies, ‘means, motive and opportunity.’ He had the motive: revenge, the means: my chef’s knife that was on the dish drainer by the door for anyone to pinch and the opportunity: a party in full swing, with no cameras out the back where the outer cool room is located.”

  Alex shrugged. “I guess.”

  “Thanks again,” she said making her exit.

  Chapter Eight

  “There’s one righ
t there,” Margarete said as she pointed to the empty car space to the right of the police station. Energy filled her chest knowing she was so close to solving the mystery. “I thought with most people at the McCorrson’s gathering there would be more car spaces available.”

  Logan pulled in and cut the engine. “Well, the crowd was thinning when we left.”

  “True,” Margarete said hopping out and following him toward the steps. “I cannot wait for this to be over.”

  “I bet.”

  The sliding glass doors opened just as they reached the top step and Mary-Jane Gregory came barrelling toward them. “Oh my goodness, I am so sorry, Margarete I hadn’t expected to run into anyone. You, of all people.”

  Me. Why not me?

  Margarete sucked in a deep breath through her nose and plastered on a smile. Mary-Jane worked at Ashton Point Chemist and while she was a nice enough woman, she never thought twice about putting her two-cents worth into any situation. A real Hyacinth Bucket type character.

  “That’s quite all right, Mary-Jane. My fault entirely,” she said through her fake smile and gritted teeth.

  “How are you holding up, dear? Such an awful situation with Pierre, isn’t it? I was shocked. Shocked, I tell you. Especially when they said you did it, but I guess people’s actions are motivated by goodness-knows-what these days.”

  Margaret’s jaw dropped, irritation slowly brewed in her belly.

  “I beg your pardon?” Logan snapped. “I think you may have crossed-wires.”

  “Well, come now. No-one expects Margarete to deal with the excessive badgering Pierre dished out on a continual basis. I heard from Joe’s wife. You know, Joe from the Christmas tree farm. His wife, Samantha?”

  Margarete bit her tongue and nodded.

  Mary-Jane continued, almost without taking a breath. “Well, she was telling me about the argument you and Pierre had a few weeks back. Nasty business, greed.”

  “What?” Margarete fumed.

  “And then that dreadful video.” Mary-Jane continued. It was as if she had one continual supply of oxygen to her lungs. “I heard it somehow found its way into the hands of the police. No wonder you lost it. I don’t blame you for getting rid of the competition. Who wouldn’t? Maybe I would have done the same thing if I were in your position.”

  Margarete saw red. It was as if a volcano had erupted in her stomach and was heading right for Mary-Jane’s head. “What on earth are you talking about? I did not kill Pierre. I had nothing to do with his murder and I am not going to rest until the real murderer is behind bars.”

  “I think you may have jumped in feet first, Mary-Jane. After all, have they accounted for your whereabouts during the party?” Logan asked, an air of suspicion in his tone.

  Mortification paled Mary-Jane’s expression. “As a matter of fact, that is exactly where I have been. Giving my statement to Robert. I’ll have you know at Pierre’s time of death, I was in an interview with Morgan Archer from Heart of the Home, the interior design magazine. She wanted an exclusive interview with good friends of the happy couple, and I happened to be available. I think she said it was going to be a featured article in their magazine next month.”

  Great. Another party guest eliminated.

  Margarete folded her arms across her chest. “That must have been nice for you and Noel. To be able to share some insights into the happy couple.”

  “Oh, Noel wasn’t at the party, it was just me.”

  Margarete’s brow raised. “Oh.”

  Mary-Jane’s eyes were beaming with what Margarete thought was pride. They sparkled like glistening diamonds as she spoke. “I’m not supposed to tell anyone, but I just can’t hold it in any longer. Noel’s been promoted and was away on business. I’m so proud of him.”

  “Congratulations,” Margarete said, deflated.

  Mary-Jane hiked her Guess designer handbag up on her shoulder and quickly sidestepped them and continued down the stairs. “I really have to be somewhere. Good luck with everything.”

  Luck… Luck. Are you for real? I’m going to need more than luck, if I’ve got any hope of a future that doesn’t include cooking copious amounts of mashed potato and meatloaf.

  A renewed determination filled Margarete and she stormed toward the doors. “Come on, let’s find Kayne.”

  She stood by the counter, her gaze drilling Alison. Margarete couldn’t believe her ears. “What do you mean he’s not here? Where is he?”

  Alison dropped her chin and glared a fiery death stare over the top of her strawberry glasses. “I thought I made myself clear. He’s. Not. Here.”

  “But we’ve come to see him with some very important information that could clear my name,” she said, exasperated.

  “He’s gone for the evening. I’ll leave a note that you stopped by. Maybe come back in the morning,” Alison said as she pushed her glasses back up her nose.

  Morning? The morning was too far away. It would have to be tonight or bust. Like I’m going to be able to sleep tonight. “Thank you, Alison.” Margarete grabbed Logan’s arm and headed out the door.

  “Slow down,” Logan said with a chuckle. “You’re not the Road Runner. What is going on?”

  Margarete stopped and edged herself to the side of the pavement, out of earshot of nosy passers-by. “Don’t you remember? Alex said that Kayne was picking her up at the McCorrson’s once he finished here. So, it stands to reason that’s where we’ll find him. If we hurry, we won’t miss him for the second time.”

  A frown dented his brow. “Are you sure that’s what you really want to do?”

  “What do you mean?” she asked, sternly putting her hands on her hips.

  “I mean,” he continued in a softer, calming tone. “The McCorrsons have just finished celebrating their milestone anniversary with their family and friends. For the second time, I might add. Do you really think it will make their night if you barge in, guns blazing, demanding to speak to Kayne?”

  Logan’s words made perfect sense, and if she were in his position, she’d probably give the same advice. But this was her life they were talking about. A life that was fast spinning out of control. Determination coursed through her. “I understand where you’re coming from. I really do, but I am going to see Kayne tonight. This is too important to wait until tomorrow. I promise I won’t go barging in there and rain on their happiness. I’ll just ask to speak to Kayne quietly. I’m sure everything will be okay. Now, are you with me?”

  Margarete’s anxieties hiked up a notch with each second that ticked past.

  Logan smiled and stepped to the side opening his right arm as if he were her private chauffeur. “Lead the way.”

  Elation flowed through her as she headed toward his car. The warmth that bled through her heart for this man was quickly squashed by the realisation that he would be leaving town sooner rather than later. Best to keep her heart guarded from impending heartbreak.

  ****

  Kayne’s gut seized as he stared into the dumbfounded expressions of the entire McCorrson family. Liam stood by Charlotte, while Mason and Clair’s hands were interlinked. Kayne was glad they had the love and support of both men. They were going to need it.

  They all stood around the island bench in the kitchen. He knew the newfound revelation would be a shock to everyone, more so to Charlotte and Clair, who had worked alongside Pierre for the past year.

  “What do you mean he’s not the real Pierre?” Charlotte snapped, her face as pale as the whites of an egg.

  Kayne swallowed and began the explanation one more time. “After much digging, the body Savannah found in the cool room was not the real Pierre Bellamy. Apparently, the real Pierre Bellamy was seventy-two when he died and that was over twenty years ago. He’s buried in a graveyard in France. Our victim’s fingerprints are not on file anywhere. We don’t know who he was.”

  The kitchen erupted in an explosion of noise and shocked mutterings. Dumbfounded expressions, mixed with disbelief, clouded Kayne’s vision.

 
“Whoa, whoa, whoa. So, who has been working for us?” Clair asked, her gaze flitting from Kayne to Charlotte and back again.

  Mark McCorrson shook his head. “That is a very good question. Have you any idea, Kayne?”

  He shook his head knowing his answer was woeful at best. “No, we have no idea. Like I said, his prints are not in the system. The best we can attain at this point is that he stole the real Pierre’s identity. Why or how, we have no idea.”

  “Whoever he was, he sure knew how to cook,” Alex chimed in. “His pastries were some of the best I’ve ever tasted.”

  Edith put a comforting hand on Charlotte’s shoulder. “Do you ladies have any ideas? Maybe you can remember something that will help identify him. Did he have any phone calls or visitors that ring a bell? His referees, maybe?”

  Clair shook her head.

  “Good point,” Liam chimed in. “Maybe his referees said something you remember.”

  Charlotte picked up an orange-choc cupcake and peeled the casing off. “No,” she said, biting into the moist-looking sweet treat. “He did travel down to Sydney once or twice a month, but he never spoke about it. I just presumed he was visiting family. But now, I’m not so sure. I mean how observant can we be, but we didn’t even know he was seeing Olivia Boothman. We’ve managed to solve at least three murders, but we can’t even pick out who is dating whom in a town this size.”

  “What about his referees?” Mason asked.

  Clair huffed. A definite sign of frustration. “We only rang two. I mean, they were so good that we figured the rest would be the same. They both raved about the man. His professional manner. His experience—”

  Charlotte butted in. “His pastries and how he’d cooked at some of the best cafés in the world. What were we supposed to think? And if we’re realistic, he never did anything to hurt either CC’s Simply Cupcakes or CC’s Cupcake Haven. In fact, I’d say he helped raise our reputation and image.”