The Cupcake Capers Box Set

by Polly Holmes

  Margarete floated down the hallway her mind still back on the porch with Logan. Her mind was jolted back to the present by the melodic shrill of the landline. Picking up the pace, Margarete hastened toward the kitchen and grabbed the phone before the answering machine kicked in. “Hello.”

  “Margarete? Hi, it’s Katie. Hope I haven’t got you at a bad time?”

  “Hi, Katie. No, not at all,” she said, her words contradictory to her thoughts. Heading into the lounge room, Margarete dropped Edith’s magazines on the coffee table, tucked her leg underneath her backside and flopped down on the couch. “What can I do for you?”

  “I was hoping to arrange a time for that exclusive interview you promised me.”

  Oh yeah, that. Margarete cringed at the mere thought of being interviewed, but she did make a promise and she never went back on her word. “How about you pop into the café at lunchtime tomorrow? Savannah can take care of things while we pop into my office and chat.”

  “Sounds perfect. Thank you, Margarete. I know we’ll be able to set the record straight with this story. I promise you won’t regret talking to me. See you tomorrow.” Katie’s enthusiasm was a little disconcerting. It’s was only an interview after all, and Margarete was still unsure about whether or not it was the right thing to do.

  “Bye.” She dropped the phone in her lap and pinched the bridge of her nose. A sharp, stabbing jolt of pain ran across her forehead from temple to temple. This blasted murder was like the most annoying jigsaw puzzle. Each piece taunting her like a recurring nightmare.

  Refusing to let it spoil her entire evening, she kicked off her shoes and reached for the television remote on the opposite armchair. Snuggling in for the night, she pointed it at the blank screen.

  “Right,” she said as the DVD player roared to life. “Let’s see what you’re up to tonight, Veronica Mars.”

  Margarete watched as Veronica went about her daily business, solving one mystery after another for her fellow schoolmates at Neptune High. As the clock ticked, it wasn’t long before her mind wandered back to Kayne’s earlier comment.

  So, Pierre was an imposter and no-one knows who this Ryder Stone guy is? She had a good mind to question the man herself. Kayne would probably just tell her to keep her nose out of police business.

  “What would Veronica Mars do? In today’s age, she is the ultimate sleuth.” Margarete racked her brain, and it was as if a flash bulb ignited in her head. “Do all she can to find the information she needs.”

  Margarete bolted upright. “Maybe I could do a Veronica Mars.” Within seconds, her deflated body flopped back down on the couch. “Except, I promised Kayne I’d leave the sleuthing up to the professionals.”

  Margarete watched Veronica move through her paces. Helplessness consumed her. “What good is it sitting at home twiddling my thumbs?” She picked up one of the interior design magazines and began flicking through it. Her gaze staring blankly at each page while the words blurred before her.

  “This is crazy,” she said, closing the magazine and dropping it on the couch beside her. Maybe she could just help find out where this guy was staying and then she could leave the confrontation up to the police.

  Without wasting a second, Margarete Googled the number of the Ashton Point Country Club and hit dial. Her stomach began to knot. Was it really sleuthing, if you were helping the police find the truth? A truth that would keep her butt out of a lifetime jail sentence.

  Not according to Veronica Mars. She was all for proving innocence.

  “Thank you for calling the Ashton Point Country Club. How may I help you?”

  Margarete swallowed around the anxious lump in her throat and put on her best Southern Belle American accent. “Well, good evenin’ there, young lady. My name is Delta, Delta Stone, and I’m hoping to God you can help me.”

  “I’ll try my best, madam. What can I do for you?” she asked once more.

  “I’m lookin’ for my husband, Ryder Stone. I’m so worried about him. He was supposed to let me know where he is staying while in town. I wanted to call and surprise him, but he never gave me a call and now I’m worried out of my mind. Please tell me my husband has checked in there?”

  “We’re not really supposed to give out client information, madam.”

  Margarete froze. Who was she kidding, she was no Veronica Mars. What was she supposed to do now? Either hang up or take it up a notch. “He is, isn’t he? And I bet he has some floozy with him. That’s why he hasn’t called me. That lying bastard. I’m going to march myself down there right now and find the cheating, no-good sod, even if I have to search every room. If he thinks he can get a hold of my fortune, he’s got another thing coming—”

  The woman’s voice hiked up a decibel or two. “Madam? Please calm down.”

  Adrenaline coursed through Margarete’s system and her days as the leading lady of her drama club came flooding back. “What do you mean, ‘calm down?’ He’s there, isn’t he? The fact that you won’t tell me proves it.”

  “No, madam, he’s not. I’m not supposed to tell you, but I can hear it in your voice how upset you are. There is no Ryder Stone checked in here at the country club. I’m sorry.” Her fast-paced, quivering voice echoed her nervousness over disobeying the rules.

  “Well, in that case. You have a great night, ya’ hear.” Margarete said as she ended the call and dropped the phone on the lounge. Her body was on fire. She paced, shaking her hands in an effort to calm her nerves. “I can’t believe I just did that.” She fist pumped the air. One down, many more to go.

  Snatching the phone up again, Margarete Googled the number for the Seaside Hotel. “Wait a minute. If I didn’t want anyone to know who I was, would I really stay in Ashton Point where anyone could find me? I’d probably stay in the most unlikely place I could find in a nearby town.”

  Margarete’s brain ticked each hotel, motel, guest house and BnB over in her mind. “Got it. Watson Creek Hotel. Not the most up-to-date establishment, but certainly a place someone trying to avoid attention might visit.” It was located on the outskirts of Watson’s Creek, far away from prying eyes.

  She took up position on the arm rest and dialled the number. Channelling her inner Blanch DuBios she sucked in a deep breath and prepared for another award-winning performance.

  “Watson Creek Hotel.” The burly male voice said down the line.

  Margarete raised the pitch of her voice to damsel-in-distress mode. “Good evenin’. I hope you can help me, kind sir.”

  “Good evening, what’s wrong ma’am?”

  “I’m lookin’ for my husband, Ryder Stone. I’m supposed to meet him here and I’ve searched almost every place in town, but I can’t find him anywhere. Please tell me he’s checked in at your establishment. I’m worried sick. The only place left to try is the hospital.”

  “Okay, let me see what I can do. What did you say his name was?”

  “Ryder, Ryder Stone. I’m Delta, his wife. I have Ryder Jr. with me, and he so desperately wants to see his father.” Margarete paused before she got too carried away with the role.

  “Yes, ma’am, we have a Ryder Stone booked into room ten. Would you like me to connect you?”

  So much for client confidentiality. “Oh, thank goodness I found him. Yes, if you would, put me through. Thank you, sir. You’re an angel.”

  “Connecting you now.” The staccato beep of the dial tone registered in her head, instantly sending a wave of fear through her.

  Oh no, what if he answers? What am I going to say… I can’t very well tell him I’m his wife.

  The familiar male voice took her by surprise. “I’m sorry, Mrs Stone, but he doesn’t seem to be answering. Would you like me to take a message for when he returns?”

  A message? Yes, tell him I’m going to let the police know where he is. “No, that’s all right, sir. You’ve been most helpful. I think I’d rather keep my arrival a secret. It’ll be much more fun that way.”

  “As you wish.”

  �
�Thank you and goodnight,” she said ending the call. Just jumped up and punched her fist high in the air. “Yes, success.” Remembering Kayne had finished at the station for the night she dialled Alexandra’s Cohen’s mobile hoping she was still with Kayne. Frustration fed her anxieties as it rang out. She tried again. No luck.

  “Now what?” A hundred different scenarios played out in her mind, but the one starring on repeat was Kayne walking up to the Watson Creek Hotel tomorrow only to be told Ryder Stone had checked out. Could she take that chance?

  “I think it’s time the little missus did a little spying on her pretend husband. After all, if he is the murderer, what better evidence to have than Ryder Stone doing something incriminating?”

  Chapter Eleven

  As Margarete slid down behind the gumtree on the far side of the Watson Creek Hotel car park, the flaky bark peeled away against her fingers. The perfect hiding place to keep door ten in her sights. In fact, she could see every door of the hotel from her vantage point. Dressed like a ninja and sporting a black beanie, she was sure she could lurk in the shadows of the night undetected. Just like Veronica Mars. She’d have to make Kayne understand.

  “Okay, Ryder Stone, where are you and what are you up to? No-one knows why you’re in town, so I’m guessing it can’t be good,” she muttered as she scanned each door through the zoom lenses of her SLR camera. Her sister had brought it for her birthday a few years back, primarily to take professional photos of her culinary creations. Who knew it would come in so handy?

  “Well, well, well. What do we have here?” Margarete couldn’t believe her eyes. It wasn’t Ryder Stone, but the next best thing. Exhilarated by her find, she eased up onto her toes and perched the lenses of her camera on a protruding branch and began snapping pictures. “Charlie Colbert, you sly dog. Seems you have more secrets than you let on.”

  Margarete’s finger was running hot, snapping pictures of Charlie and a mystery woman standing just inside the open door of room fourteen, locked in a very compromising position. Charlie’s body blocked the woman’s face, but it was clear to Margarete they were on extremely intimate terms.

  Gotcha, Charlie. Maybe now, you’ll share your alibi with me now.

  Slight movement out of the corner of her eye nabbed her attention and all thoughts reverted to her original objective. Ryder Stone. In the flesh and up to no good, judging by his suspicious jittery movements.

  Checking that the coast was clear, Margarete followed his trail as he headed along the road toward St. Edwards Point. Thanks to the dense trees and shrubbery she had plenty of places to hide along the roadside. Her chest heaved, the night air burning her throat as she sucked in deep breaths. She doubled her pace just to keep up with Stone’s long strides. He was obviously in a hurry, but why?

  Margarete stopped every few meters to take a few shots. They’d just turned down a gravel track leading to the lighthouse, passing the sign a few meters back. Even though the track was getting more uneven with every step, she was starting to slot into a comfortable rhythm. Out of nowhere, Ryder Stone stopped dead in his tracks and looked to the right.

  Oh no, my cover is blown. Her heart racing a gazillion miles an hour, Margarete held her breath and darted behind the closest tree, slamming her body into the rock-hard eucalyptus trunk. Her footing slipped and excruciating pain ricocheted up her leg as her right ankle twisted beneath her and she went down like a lead weight.

  Margarete’s jaw dropped and an impending shriek of pain began to rumble deep in her chest. Simultaneously, her right hand flew to her mouth to muffle her scream, and her left made a tight fist.

  Aw, aw, aw. No, no, no. Holy cow. This is just what I need, a damn sprained ankle. Every muscle in Margarete’s body began to seize and she leant against the tree trunk, waiting to be caught by Ryder Stone.

  Nothing. She waited. Still nothing. Had he gone? A chilling silence fell on the dense bush interrupted only by the eerie calls of the wildlife. Her heart jumped into the back of her throat. “This cannot be good,” she whispered.

  The longer she sat with her backside glued to the hollow of the tree trunk, the more her mind raced and her ankle throbbed. An icy chill set in her bones and she shivered against the nightfall. A good twenty minutes had passed. If he hadn’t found her by now, surely, he had gone.

  Margarete braced her back against the trunk and prepared to haul her injured body off the damp ground. “Okay, you can do this. It’s not sprained, it’s not sprained,” she recited to herself as she began to move.

  Edging her body up the tree, she pressed her right foot down on the ground. Agonizing pain ran up her leg and it gave way. She landed flat on her backside once more.

  She pursed her lips together, frustrated she’d injured herself at such a crucial time in the investigation. “Now I’ll never know who Ryder was meeting or where he was going.” A shiver danced up her spine and goose bumps coated her torso. She scanned her surroundings and the depths of her unfortunate predicament hit home like a sledgehammer.

  “I also can’t stay here all night, and I certainly can’t walk back to my car.” Digging her phone out of her shoulder bag, she dialled Savannah’s number. Margarete hung up after Savannah’s answering machine picked up the call. Her fingers began to shake as she punched in the McCorrson’s number. Again, no answer. Margarete dropped her head back against the tree and sucked in calming breaths. There was someone she could ring, but would he believe her?

  By the time she explained her location to Logan, he was understandably anxious, and her stomach began to knot. After all, she was a woman alone, out in the middle of the bush, surrounded by goodness knows what. A sitting duck for whatever animal decided to pay her a visit to acquire their evening meal. She wasn’t looking forward to the impending confrontation with Logan.

  “This is ridiculous,” she said, her mind full of horrible images of her demise at the claws of a wild beast. “Since I’ve lived in Ashton Point, there have been no deaths by animal attacks and I’m sure they won’t start tonight.” Keeping her mind occupied was the key. She tried dialling Alexandra Cohen’s number once again.

  “Hello, Alex speaking.”

  Thank goodness. “Alex. Hi, this is Margarete Becker and I was hoping Kayne might still be with you,” she asked, doing her best to cover the quiver in her voice.

  “Sure, hang on a sec.”

  “Kayne Pendleton speaking.”

  Margarete swallowed hard. “Kayne it’s Margarete Becker and I have some information on Ryder Stone.”

  “Ryder Stone?” He paused, annoyance seeped through his words. “What have you been up to, Margarete? I thought I told you to leave the policing to the professionals.”

  Yes, I know, but I couldn’t exactly get in touch with you earlier and I couldn’t take the chance of missing this lead. As if she hadn’t had a bad enough night., Her shoulders heaved as anger flared inside her chest. “No problem, I’m happy to keep my information to myself, if that’s what you want, but I was just trying to help. Sorry to interrupt your evening.” She was just about to hang up when Kayne’s voice called out.

  “Wait. I’m sorry.” His voice softened. “I just don’t like it when women put themselves in unnecessary danger. It almost killed me when that lunatic went after Alex. I’d hate to have anything happen to you.”

  “I’m fine.” As long as you don’t find out what happened this evening. “I just wanted to let you know that Ryder Stone is staying at the Watson Creek Hotel. Room ten.”

  “And how do you know this?” he asked.

  Because I followed him dressed like a spy, and now I’m sitting in the hollow of a tree with a sprained ankle waiting for Logan to rescue me. Like that’s going to work.

  “Um… I was in the area visiting a friend and happened to see him exit the room as I drove passed. I think I may have seen him walking toward St. Edwards Point. I just thought it could be useful information.” The pulsating whirr of a car engine signalled Logan’s approach and her back stiffened. “Okay, th
at’s all. Have a great rest of your evening. Bye.”

  ****

  Logan smiled as he pushed his empty dessert plate to the centre of the table. “I’m stuffed,” he said rubbing his oversize belly. “That sticky date pudding would have to best the best I’ve ever tasted.”

  Elaine’s hearty laugh warmed him. “I agree, but I’m not sure my waistline will thank me for the second piece I devoured.”

  Logan made a shushing sound with his fingers. “I won’t tell if you won’t.”

  “Deal,” said Elaine.

  The vibration of his phone tickled his backside and he jumped. His eyes widened and a smile turned his lips up when he saw it was Margarete. “Excuse me, do you mind if I take this?”

  “Of course not. We’re finished anyway.” She shooed him away with her white lace handkerchief. “You go have some fun. I’ll see you in the morning.”

  Logan nodded and moved over by the door, out of earshot of inquisitive guests. “To what do I owe this pleasure?” he asked expecting a warm greeting.

  “Hi, Logan, its Margarete. I was just wondering, if it’s not too much trouble… I could use your help.”

  His body stiffened at the distress in quivering her voice. “What’s wrong? Are you all right?” Before she’d finished explaining, he was on the way to his car, keys in hand. “Stay put. I’m on my way.”

  He’d managed to make it to her location in record time, praying the whole way he wasn’t pulled over by the police for speeding. If he’d known she was going to go galivanting off to chase criminals, he would have cancelled his dinner with Elaine and joined her. Leaving the headlights pointed towards the bush, he jumped out and headed down the gravel track, his heart beating inside his ribcage like a marching drum.

  “Margarete,” he called.

  Silence.

  “Margarete,” he called again, this time a little louder.