by Carol Durand
Confused, she responded. “I went to a dinner party at Francesca’s house to celebrate making it to the final round, stayed there until around 1:00 a.m., then came back here and went to bed, why?”
Ignoring her question, the detective continued to probe. “So you immediately left the studio and went to the dinner party?” he asked skeptically.
“No, of course not,” Missy smiled at the absurdity of his question. “We had just been through an emotional wringer, so we came back her to change, freshen up and recover a bit before we had to socialize. Simon and I tried to console Penny, but she was so miserable, poor thing. She just threw all of her things into her suitcase and climbed into a cab to get out of here. She didn’t even wait for our driver.”
“Did you ride to the party alone?” Fernandez persisted.
“No, Simon and I went over there together so that the driver didn’t have to make two trips,” she explained.
“Did anything of significance happen at the party?”
“Significance? Umm…no, not that I know of. It was mainly a time for everyone to unwind and relax a bit after a very intense day.”
“Were any of the judges present at the party?”
“All of them were for a bit, but they left pretty early as I recall.”
“Did you speak to any of the judges at the party,” he asked, leaning forward.
Missy caught a whiff of expensive cologne. Apparently Fernandez had Chas’s taste in male grooming products. The intoxicating scent made her homesick, and distracted her for a moment. “I’m sorry…what was the question?” she asked, leaning back a bit so that she could focus.
“The judges…did you speak to any of them at the party?” the detective asked again, more slowly this time.
“Oh, right. Yes, I believe I spoke with each of them. Just a “Hi, how are you?” kind of a thing. They don’t really want to have long, involved conversations with us right before the final competition, you know?”
The detective nodded, seeming to try to size her up.
“What sort of relationship do you have with Kelvin Michaels?” he asked.
“Relationship? I wouldn’t say that we have any relationship at all – he’s just one of the judges. He doesn’t seem to like me much,” she mused.
“What makes you say that?” Fernandez sat back, seeming almost conversational.
“Well, he’s always been somewhat moody, as far as I can tell, but he really humiliated me on the show yesterday. I may not have been sent home, but I certainly thought that I was going to be after he was done yelling at me and accusing me of attempting to murder him with a cupcake,” she shuddered, remembering.
“Murder?” the detective repeated, a strange look passing briefly over his features.
“Yeah, it seems to me that Kelvin is a bit overly dramatic. He choked on one of my cupcakes and personally, I think he just swallowed the wrong way, but he didn’t want to admit it, so he blamed the hot pepper in the recipe,” she sighed. “Which is ridiculous, I worked really hard to balance the heat with the sweet,” she shook her head in frustration.
“I see,” Fernandez nodded slowly, his thick, black hair catching the light. “Well, I think that’s all for now,” he closed his notebook and stood. “I’ll be in touch if I need anything further,” he said, exiting quickly enough that Missy never had a chance to ask what was going on.
When the door closed behind Fernandez, Simon came trotting down the stairs. “Coast clear?” he asked, looking around.
“Yes, they’re gone. I wonder what on earth happened,” Missy said, hands on hips.
“You mean you didn’t get the text?” Simon sounded surprised.
“No, I haven’t checked my phone since this morning, I was out at the pool, why?”
“Oh man, I hope you didn’t say anything incriminating…” he frowned.
“Incriminating? What are you talking about?” Missy’s heart skipped a beat.
“Kelvin Michaels was found dead this morning, and apparently the cops are looking in your direction.”
Chapter 9
“I wish I could get away and come do some investigating,” Chas’s frustration was evident, even over the phone. “But I just can’t, sweetie. And so far, I’m getting nowhere trying to talk with the LAPD. They seem to be a really tight-lipped bunch,” he sighed.
“Oh Chas, what should I do?” Missy worried. “They won’t let me leave the state, but the final show had been postponed indefinitely until they can find out exactly what happened to Kelvin Michaels.”
“Don’t do anything,” he advised. “Stay put and let the police do their jobs. Fernandez may be difficult to communicate with, but he seems like he knows what he’s doing, so for now, just stay out of his way. I’ll be doing what I can on this end to try to find out what’s going on,” he promised.
Missy’s eyes filled with tears. “I miss you,” she said, swallowing past the lump in her throat and trying desperately not to cry.
“I know, sweetie. I miss you, too. Just be strong for a little while, so we can try to get this figured out, okay?”
“Okay,” she managed to choke out, as tears rolled down her cheeks.
**
The two of them talked for a few more minutes, Chas not wanting to hang up until he was sure that she’d be okay, then said their goodbyes, with him promising to do all that he could. Despite the seasoned detective’s many warnings, Missy’s mind whirled as she tried to think of ways that she could try to figure out what exactly had happened to Kelvin Michaels.
After a handful of texts explaining that filming was on hold and that Missy and Simon would continue to occupy the “Bake House” during the course of the investigation, Francesca had simply stopped communicating. That being the case, Missy knew that she’d have to find another source of information – someone with whom she could strike up a conversation without having them regard her with the cool suspicion that had been evident in Francesca’s texts.
Sitting down to a dinner of Chinese delivery, Missy pushed her noodles around on her plate and looked up to see that Simon was doing the same. Feeling her gaze, he glanced up from his food and attempted to smile.
“This sucks,” he sighed, dropping his fork with a clank onto his plate.
“Simon…you realize that I didn’t do this, right?” Missy asked, her eyes pleading for understanding.
“Yeah, I’ve never thought it was you,” he replied easily. “But I can’t figure out who snuffed him.”
Missy wilted with relief. At least her housemate didn’t suspect her of murdering the judge. “I know,” she nodded. “I wish there was some way that we could figure this thing out.”
“Well, I don’t know about you, but solving murders isn’t exactly my thing,” he admitted. “Just the thought of messing about with that stuff makes me want to crawl under the covers and lock the door.”
“I hate to say it, but I’ve actually run into this kind of thing before, and I can’t just sit back and leave my fate in the hands of a detective who doesn’t know me,” she crossed her arms, determined.
“So, what are you going to do?” Simon asked, impressed with her feisty and self-sufficient attitude.
“I’m going to figure out who I need to talk to,” she mused, mulling over the prospects.
“Good luck with that,” he replied dismissively. “No one wants to talk to you right now. Sorry, just being honest,” he shrugged.
“Maybe not,” she said with a sly grin. “But I’ll bet they’ll talk to you.”
Chapter 10
Simon flopped into a living room chair, disgusted. “I’ve talked to Kelvin’s boyfriend, his chauffeur, the housekeeper, and even the pool boy. No one knows anything. Kelvin was having some relationship problems, which is probably why he was so darn cranky all the time, but his lover, Roger, didn’t strike me at all as being violent, and he seemed genuinely devastated at the loss of his mate. He didn’t owe anybody money, he didn’t have any affairs going on, and he was more than gainfull
y employed. There is literally nothing in this man’s life that would make someone want to kill him,” he sighed, giving Missy the run-down.
“Strike three,” she murmured, shaking her head.
“Don’t tell me you’re defeated?” Simon raised an eyebrow at her.
“No, there has to be some clue, somewhere, as to what happened,” she insisted. “We just have to figure out a different approach.”
“What if he offed himself?” he speculated, leaning his head back in the easy chair and swiveling on the rotating base.
“Well, if there was no reason for anyone in Kelvin’s life to kill him, how likely would it be that he killed himself?” Missy asked rhetorically.
“Good point,” Simon nodded. “So now what?”
“Good question,” she sighed, rubbing her forehead in frustration.
“Put your thinking cap on, Sweets, I’m headed for bed,” he said, standing and stretching.
“I will. Hey Simon,” she called out as he started up the stairs.
“Yeah?” he replied, over his shoulder.
“Thanks for trying,” Missy smiled sadly, her shoulders slumped.
“No worries. We’ll figure it out. Sleep well,” he waved, trotting up the stairs.
**
Clarence, Missy and Simon’s driver, had arrived early to take the pair to the mall, just as an excuse to get them out of the house for a while. They both wore hats and sunglasses to disguise their identity. Kelvin had a huge fan base, and since Missy was indirectly implicated in his murder, she’d already received hate mail and direct threats to her safety. The police had told her that it was best if she stayed in the house or yard rather than venturing out, but she was going stir crazy having nothing to do but obsess over who might have killed Kelvin Michaels, so Simon suggested an outing. They were traveling quite a distance to go to a mall in a remote suburb, in hopes of not being recognized.
Missy had been wearing the same seven outfits since her arrival in California and was very much looking forward to spending some of her performance money on new clothing, just for a change of pace. She also planned to purchase a few books to help pass the time, and, at the moment was just enjoying seeing the palm trees whipping by as Clarence eased onto the freeway, mercifully encountering no traffic. Southern California was absolutely beautiful and all Missy had been able to see of it was the inside of the Bake House and the inside of the studio.
She and Simon shopped gleefully in a nearly deserted mall, not recognized by anyone, and piled their purchases into the trunk, feeling carefree and relaxed for the first time since Kelvin’s demise. Buoyed by her newfound freedom, Missy asked Clarence if he would stop briefly so that they could at least walk on the beach and put their toes in the ocean. Holding her hat to keep it from flying off of her head in the warm breeze, Missy thrilled at the sound of the waves, the salty-scented air, and the sun on her limbs. For a few minutes at least, she was able to forget about death and lies and all of the negative things with which she’d been dealing, allowing herself to just get lost in the experience of a blue California sky on beautiful day. Nature soothed her, and she breathed deeply taking it in.
When they arrived back at the Bake House, Missy had the strangest feeling that something was wrong. She couldn’t put her finger on it, but somehow, something felt…off. Walking slowly up the stairs to her room while Clarence brought her bags in from the SUV, she opened the door, gasping at what she found.
The feather pillows from her bed had been torn to shreds and feathers covered every horizontal surface. A giant X had been sliced into her comforter and ripped through the mattress as well. Foul words were scrawled on her mirror in her favorite shade of blood-red lipstick, and every piece of clothing that she owned had been thrown out of her open window. There were pieces that had been tossed into the pool, and a light sweater hung from a palm tree just outside the window. Missy backed out of the room, horrified, nearly crashing into Simon, who had run up the stairs when he heard her gasp.
“Simon, who would do this? Why would someone do this?” she asked, shaking her head and trembling with fear.
“It’s a weird, wicked world, Missy, and some sick soul has taken things a bit too far,” he replied quietly, gazing at the mess.
“Did this happen to your room?” she asked, and Simon shook his head.
“I don’t feel safe here,” she whispered.
“Understandable. Let me call Francesca and see what needs to happen,” he offered, pulling out his phone. He first called the police, who arrived in minutes.
Officers spoke with Missy while a team of investigators collected evidence, but they seemed to have already decided that the damage had to have been done by one of Kelvin Michaels’ fans who was trying to send a message because they thought that Missy had murdered their idol. She was frustrated and afraid, feeling like the police were going to be of no help whatsoever.
The results of Simon’s phone call to the producer were somewhat disastrous. The studio had decided to give up the idea of a final showdown between Missy and Simon indefinitely, since apparently the police hadn’t made significant progress in finding Kelvin’s killer. This meant that the studio would no longer be responsible for putting up the two bakers, protecting them, or providing transportation. Simon was advised to leave the area, since he was not a suspect, leaving Missy on her own, with no accommodations, no transportation, and no protection. She wasn’t allowed to leave the county, which meant that she had to find a place to stay and a way to get there.
In a daze, Missy packed the few items that she had purchased at the mall into her suitcase, which had mercifully been left untouched. Simon called a cab for her before Clarence drove him to the airport, and she asked to be driven to a somewhat secluded hotel in the suburbs, where she would wait for a breakthrough in the case. Hugging the young man who had been her only friend in California one last time, she climbed into the waiting taxi, alone and afraid, as police swarmed the Bake House, collecting evidence.
Chapter 11
“How are things going?” Penny Mathers asked in a hushed tone. The static on the line made her think that her co-conspirator was wandering around in a basement or something.
“Perfectly,” Francesca Childs purred, smoking a clove cigarette and sipping a dry martini, on a lounger by the pool. “These bumbling gumshoes out here think that our little Southern-Fried chick is the bad guy. “Kelvin handed them a suspect on a silver platter by cursing her out so profoundly in the last round,” she snickered.
“Well, that’s good news,” Penny sighed with relief. The heavy Minnesota accent that she’d adopted for the show had disappeared without a trace. “So when can I get my hands on the contest money?” she asked. Francesca was supposed to have declared Missy and Simon disqualified from the competition due to suspicious circumstances, which would make Penny the winner of the prize money, as well as the contract for a baking show of her own.
“You’re just going to have to be a bit more patient on that one,” Francesca warned. “There are some legal loopholes that have to be finessed before I can just get them to write you a check,” she explained, her good humor dimming a bit.
The “Midwestern” woman paused before responding. “We had a deal you gothic snake,” she hissed. “I want my money and I want my show and I want it yesterday, get it?” The plump, grandmotherly-looking woman was infuriated to hear a soft laugh on the other end of the line.
“Well, dearest…you’re really not in a position to make demands, now are you?” Francesca snarled with great satisfaction, blowing a smoke ring and smiling at the perfection of it.
“Oh, but I am,” Penny returned in a deadly voice. “You see, I’m the one who knows what you did. I know who doctored Kelvin’s drink to make him barely coherent, I know who invited him to stay since he “wasn’t feeling well,” and I darn sure know who held his head under water long enough for him to “mysteriously drown,” despite being a strong swimmer, which puts me actually in an enviable position to make
demands, doesn’t it, my dark one?” she finished ever-so-sweetly.
“Go back to Minnesota, you miserable wretch,” Francesca suggested, just as sweetly, before hitting the End button.
Stabbing out her cigarette and putting her phone back into the rear pocket of her slim-fitting black jeans, the producer sighed, wondering if making a deal with the devil (also known as Penny Mathers), had been worth the headache. She had misrepresented the amount of money that Penny would get from winning the contest so that she could keep more than half for herself. It had been a gold mine when Frannie found out that the determined Ms. Mathers had paid Kelvin Michaels a significant amount of money to sway the contest in her direction.
When Kelvin went rogue and decided to renege on his deal with Penny, the diabolical producer had suggested to the scheming sow (who was from Orange County, not Minnesota) that a convenient “accident” could solve their problem. On the night of the final showdown celebration dinner, she had drugged the unsuspecting judge with a strong sedative, offered to let him spend the night because his oh-so-jealous lover was out of town, and drowned him in her Olympic-sized swimming pool, calling the police when she “found” him in the morning, and concocting a story about having last seen him chatting with the innocent little hayseed from Louisiana, Melissa Gladstone.
Being well-known, and quite frankly, highly admired, in the industry had its advantages. The police bought Francesca’s story, hook, line and sinker, and she even had a bit of fun flirting with the Erik Estrada look-alike detective. They glommed on to poor, unsuspecting, Missy Gladstone like Velcro after that, and never for a moment suspected that the real culprit sat smugly in their midst. Penny had only pretended to flee back to Minnesota in disgrace, but had actually just gone home to the OC, where she spent her days (ironically) watching reality TV and calling to pester the producer who was now seriously considering causing an accident to befall the her obnoxious partner in crime.
