Mango Cake and Murder

by Christy Murphy

  Mom began to tell Celia all about Charles and how he was the killer. Celia was so relieved.

  "It’s a shame everybody doesn’t know I’m not the killer," Celia said. "I know people have been talking. Even people at my church!"

  "Don’t worry. We’ll take care of it," Mom said. "We’ll get dressed up, go down to Main Street with our heads held high, and spread the true gossip like there’s no tomorrow."

  "Do you think that will work?" Celia asked.

  "We’ll have dinner at Wenling’s and then go next door for ice cream. We’ll have home court advantage."

  Celia looked a little scared. She’d been suspended from her job pending the investigation, and I’m sure she missed her kids. We’d had our differences, but she didn’t deserve to be shunned. "Mom’s right,” I said. “We’ll show everyone. You’ll be the most popular person in town. Maybe even the newspaper will come down and get your story."

  Celia got excited. "I’ll change into something nice. Everybody will be looking," Celia said and dashed down the hallway.

  "I think I’ll change, too," I told Mom.

  "I’ll feed the cat," Mom said. I’d almost forgotten we had a cat.

  "Ice cream is on me! I’m going to inherit a half a million dollars, soon!" Celia called out from my room.

  I didn’t have the heart to tell Celia that it would take awhile before she got her inheritance, and besides, why give up on free ice cream? I opted to wear my baggier jeans so I could order a double scoop after dinner and hoped Mom was right about convincing the town that Celia was innocent.

  * * *

  Mom told me to park on Main Street at one of the open meters instead of parking in the back. "We want everyone to see we’re not sneaking around.”

  "Right," I said feigning confidence I didn’t have. I worried this plan might backfire, and, of course, I wasn’t a fan of parallel parking. There was a spot on the end of the street, and after nicking the curb a mere three times, I parked the van. If Mom wanted to make sure everyone saw us, the loud noise of the van’s hubcaps scraping against the curb and me grinding the gears aided our cause considerably.

  I glanced over to Mom seated on the hump of the van, and then to Celia by the window. "Ready guys?"

  Celia flipped down the vanity mirror, checked her hair, and said, "Let's do this."

  Mom and I nodded, and we all got out of the van. As we made our way up Main Street, Mom spotted Todd Fletcher from the paper.

  "Todd! Thanks for coming!” Mom called out. "Have we got a scoop for you!"

  Celia held her chin high, and I smiled. Mom must’ve texted Todd while we were getting dressed. I could almost hear the collective head snap of everyone on the street.

  Mom being confident enough to shout out to the editor-in-chief of our town paper made everyone take notice. Todd was a well-respected man in the community. He’d been a top reporter for a national wire service before choosing to retire back here in Fletcher Canyon. His great, great grandfather founded the town back in 1892.

  Todd followed us inside Lucky Dragon, and I could feel Celia’s reputation rebuilding with each step.

  Instead of our table in the back, Mom asked Jennifer if we could eat at the table in the front widow. Celia sat down first in the seat closest to the window. A few minutes later, Jess entered the restaurant with a few other women. Celia smiled and waved. They waved back, but then whispered amongst each other. Celia stayed strong.

  Wenling joined us after putting our order in, and Mom, Celia and I told Todd everything. Some of the big daily newspapers in Los Angeles tried to get Todd to work for them, but he always turned them down. Despite our little town paper only coming out once a week, Todd covered his beat so well, he scooped the dailies from time to time, and he was going to do it again with this story.

  "This is great," Todd said after all his questions were answered. "I put the paper to bed an hour ago, but it looks like I’ll go back in and wake it up. Now, I just need to get confirmation from someone at the police station."

  "Detective Cooper is meeting us here to celebrate," Mom said.

  "He is?" I asked.

  "I texted him when you guys were getting ready. He just texted me back, he’ll be here soon," Mom said.

  "Great," Todd said and ordered a green tea with no sugar.

  I wished I’d put on some makeup and regretted wearing my fat pants.

  "Here he is!" Mom said as the detective came inside. The entire restaurant turned to look.

  Detective DC Coooper was wearing a light gray shirt that brought out his blue eyes and hugged his shoulders in all the right places. I wondered if he’d worn it for me.

  "Come here and celebrate with us!" Mom said.

  His face went from smiling to serious. "There may not be cause to celebrate," he said.

  Mom’s plan had worked perfectly. The restaurant had packed with people who wanted to get the gossip. Although, now the plan looked like it would backfire on us.

  "Nonsense,” Mom said. “You have the killer. He confessed. He wanted to marry Edna, but thought Harold Sanders would marry her. Even though she wasn’t interested in either of them.”

  "Yes, but there is still a detail we need to clarify regarding your niece," the detective said looking around. "Maybe we can do this somewhere more private."

  Celia’s face reddened, but she kept a smile plastered on her face. I caught Jess’s smirk in my peripheral vision.

  "Nonsense," Mom said. "Ask away!"

  "It’s a matter of the medication," DC said. “I’m afraid Celia is still on the hook for tampering with Harold Sanders’ medication."

  Oh no! That’s the detail I’d forgotten.

  The restaurant was silent except for the whispering at Jess’s table. People didn’t bother to hide their eavesdropping. Everyone’s eyes fixed on us.

  Mom shook her head. "She didn’t tamper with Harold's medication," Mom said.

  "I didn’t!" Celia said. "He’d try to skip it, but I’d never let him."

  "But the fact remains that all the pills in his prescription bottle had half, if not almost all, the medicine poured out of them, and then recapped," DC said. "And your niece and Harold’s fingerprints are the only ones on the bottle. They’ve both handled it so many times even the pharmacy employee’s prints were smudged off."

  "There’s a perfectly logical explanation about his medication," Mom said, allowing her voice to carry throughout the restaurant.

  DC smiled. His dimples made him look even cuter when he smiled. I’d never noticed them before. "I'll bite, Jo. Who tampered with Harold's medication?"

  "Harold Sanders did it himself," Mom said.

  "Harold?" DC asked. “Do you have proof he was suicidal or something?"

  "No, he was getting ready for what the thought was his upcoming honeymoon," Mom answered.

  I smiled when it hit me where Mom was going with this. Celia smiled, too. It made total sense.

  DC noticed me smiling and said, "I guess I'm the only one who doesn't get it yet."

  "He was taking Altonquin," Mom explained, "and if you ask Googles what the side effects are, you'll find it's something a man would want to do on his honeymoon."

  I could hear the sound of eavesdroppers reaching for the cell phones to search out the effects of the medication. Judging by the titters, they’d discovered what side effect the medicine had on Mr. Sanders.

  DC gave a slight chuckle and nodded. "But can you prove it, Jo?”

  "I bet if you fingerprint the capsules, you'll find most of them have Harold's prints on them and very few will have Celia's."

  "And how do you figure that?" DC asked.

  "She only gave him medicine when he need to take it. She didn't need to touch every pill in the bottle, only the pills he would swallow. He knew she'd insist on taking his medicine, but he didn’t want the side effects to derail his honeymoon fun. So he poured out most of the medicine to lower his dosage, putting his fingerprints all over those pills. The poor man probably didn’t even kn
ow he was poisoned. He likely thought he’d taken too little of his medication. So when he first felt the symptoms of his death, he reached for his medicine to take some. That’s why the pills were spilled all over the floor."

  Celia burst into applause. "That was just like Sherlock Holmes!" she said. At first I was taken aback, but she was so confident with her clapping Wenling joined her and soon the entire restaurant applauded. I glanced over to Jess. Her friends clapped, but she didn’t. I looked over to Celia, and she raised her eyebrows and smiled at me. She’d noticed, too.

  Mom reached over my lap, took her purse out of the chair next to me, and motioned for him to join our table. DC smiled and sat down. He leaned over to me and said, "Your Mom's an impressive lady."

  "I know," I said back.

  "It runs in the family," he said and winked. It is a rare man who can pull off a wink without looking cheesy, and DC Cooper was that man. My heart jumped into my throat, but I think I played it cool.

  Todd excused himself to write the story, and we all had dinner.

  "Ready for dessert?" Mom asked. "Celia’s buying ice cream."

  "You know what I could go for," DC said. "Another slice of that mango cake. You gave me a slice at the party to take home, and I’ve been craving it ever since."

  "That’s a good idea," Celia said, happy to get out of buying us all ice cream, I’m sure.

  I hadn’t had one slice of mango cake since I’d moved back home. "I’ll go get it from the kitchen," I volunteered.

  "I’ll help," Wenling said.

  We both headed for the kitchen to grab plates and cakes. Wenling sent a busboy over to refill the drinks and clear the dinner dishes.

  "Such a fun night!" Wenling said to me. "Your mother has a head for mystery."

  "It’s like a party," I said. Then it struck me that Wenling might know something about the briefcase. “Does Mom suspect there was foul play regarding Aunt Lalaine?"

  “She does,” Wenling said.

  "I thought Aunt Lalaine died in a car accident."

  "No accident," Wenling said. "Your Mom thinks it has to do with the family inheritance."

  "Grandpa was an artist. We didn’t have an inheritance," I said.

  Wenling shook her head no. "Your grandmother’s family was very rich. She died when your Mom was young. Your mother’s aunts cheated her, and your Aunt Lalaine and Mom were suing them. Then just before the case went to trial, which took years, your aunt died. Your mother doesn’t think it was a coincidence."

  "She never told me," I said.

  "You were too young," Wenling said.

  "Why didn’t Mom pursue it later?" I asked.

  “The judge was paid off. Some important documents went missing. Money was too tight for your mother to travel all the way back to The Philippines to solve it. Then, your father got sick. She just couldn’t afford to follow up. She says she might do it when her pension checks kick in."

  "Or if we make a go of the catering business," I said.

  Before Wenling could say anything, Mom came into the kitchen. "What’s the holdup? Everyone wants some mango cake! Even the other customers."

  "Looks like we might sell out," Wenling said with a smile, as we carried out one cake for our table and handed the waiters slices for the customers.

  We all ate, drank, and made merry, now that the murder was solved.

  One of the restaurant patrons stopped at the table. She looked familiar, but I didn’t know her name. Naturally Mom knew her.

  "Jo," she said, “I think I could use your help. I think someone in our office has been leaking information to –"

  "That sounds like a matter for the police," DC interrupted. "These ladies are not licensed investigators."

  "It’s just a hunch. It’s too early to get the police involved, but I guess your right,” she said.

  Mom looked disappointed, and even though DC was right, I was mad at him for spoiling Mom’s fun. The woman nodded and headed for the door, when an idea hit me. I got up from the table and rushed to catch her.

  "Excuse me," I said. She stopped. "We might not be licensed investigators, but we are licensed caterers. Perhaps, if you were to throw an office party, it would give Mom and me an excuse to look around, and a way to interview your employees without them knowing. We couldn’t guarantee anything, but—"

  "That’ll work. I’m desperate, and the last company I worked for hired an investigator, and then the investigator sold information. Not to mention what kind of message hiring an investigator would send to our board," she said, shuffling in her purse. "I’ll make up an excuse for a party and you two can come in." She pulled her business card out of her purse and handed it to me. "Call me to set it up tomorrow, and we’ll set it up. Budget isn’t an issue. I need to get to the bottom of this."

  I returned to the table. DC was giving me the side eye.

  "What’s up, kid?" Mom asked.

  I looked down at the card and said, "Barbara Turing of Turing Tech is having an office party she needs us to cater."

  I avoided eye contact with DC, and Mom smiled. And that’s how we got our second case.

  Even though DC wasn’t too happy with me for getting that catering gig, he still smiled at me before he left. Celia drove her car home to sleep in her own bed for the night, and Wenling had two of the staff stay late to clean up, so she didn’t need our help.

  Mom packed up the leftovers, and we headed home in the van.

  I pulled up to our house, and I realized for the first time in over six years, I felt like I was home. "Great job tonight, Sherlock," I told Mom.

  Mom smiled and unlocked the front door. "You’re the Sherlock," she said.

  We walked into the house, and I tripped over our new cat.

  "That cat is out to get me," I said, as Mom crouched down to pet him. I folded my legs and scooted over to the cat. I got two pets in before his ears went back. "What are we going to call him?” I asked.

  "Moriarty," Mom said. "Because he’s your nemesis."

  I laughed. My furry nemesis might be named Moriarty, but deep down I knew Mom was the Sherlock of our crime duo.

  I wanted to ask Mom about Aunt Lalaine, but she looked so content petting Moriarty. I vowed to give Barbara a call tomorrow and make sure she ordered a lot of food. Whatever was going on with the suitcase in the closet, more money would help.

  “Kid,” Mom said, not looking up and continuing to pet the cat. “I know you feel weird about moving back home, but it’s true when I tell people you’re helping me.”

  I didn’t bother asking Mom how she knew how I’d been feeling. I’d figured it out. Mom knew so much about people because she paid attention. I needed to do that more.

  * * *

  More Mom and Christy Mysteries!

  Mom and Christy have another case! All they need to do is find out who is selling secrets to Turing Tech’s competitor. And being caterers, a party is the perfect cover for snooping (and a legal way to get paid). There’s just one problem.

  Their prime suspect winds up dead, and their new client, Barbara Turing, is arrested for his murder. Can they prove she’s innocent? Find out how they crack the case in Apple Pies and Alibis.

  CHAPTER NINE

  A Note from the Author

  In Dipolog with Mom

  Mom and I finished running errands, and we popped into Denny’s for a quick lunch.

  "I’m working on a book about a daughter and her Filipina mom who solve mysteries," I told her. "The mom’s named Jo, and the daughter’s named, Christy."

  Mom laughed. "You should write a book about the manangal. Make it like Stephen King. People like Stephen King."

  Mom ordered her eggs and lamented that we hadn’t gotten to Denny’s before they stopped serving grits. I ordered a burger. The waitress dropped off Mom’s coffee, and my diet soda.

  Mom told me more about the manangal, a creature from Filipino folklore. He’s a pretty scary dude, who doesn’t have a body. He’s just a floating head with intestines hanging fro
m his head.

  "He’ll beat you with his intestines," Mom explained. She talked about being on a camping trip and thinking the mosquito net would protect her from the monster, but her friend told her the manangal can go through the net like a ghost. The manangal didn’t show that night.

  I told her about the mother and daughter in my book. "The mom watches crime shows, and the daughter has a very accurate memory."

  "Your memory isn’t that good."

  "It’s fiction like Sherlock Holmes, but there’s cake and stuff."

  Mom thought about it for a minute and took a sip from her coffee. "So you’re Watson, and I’m Sherlock."

  "Why can’t I be Sherlock?"

  "Watson is the one that writes it down."

  I laughed. Then my mind flipped back to all the things my mother has figured out over the years–all the little mysteries in life. And then I remembered the big mysteries she solved and wondered how I’d never written about an amateur detective Mom sooner. Every mother is part detective!

  Much like the character in my book, I’ve realized Mom is always right. So, I may have to write a book about the manangal. In the meantime, I’ll continue writing about how fictional Mom and I solve mysteries.

  For the record, I have an older sister (whose cat Puddin’ looks and acts a lot like Moriarty) and a younger brother. Being the middle child, I didn’t give them big parts in this first book because I wanted to hog fictional mom’s attention.

  I hope you enjoyed this short, introductory mystery. Reviews help other readers decide if they want to buy a book, even short ones. Please review this book if you if you can. If you want to know more about upcoming books and find out how to get free advanced copies of new cozies, special discounts, fun extras (like cute pics of the cat that inspired Moriarty), and more.

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