Banana Muffins & Mayhem

by Janel Gradowski

  "It is a glorious morning, isn't it? This sunshine feels wonderful after all of the long gray days this winter," Amy replied as she squinted up at Chuck. His black hair, slicked into a slim ponytail, gleamed like a raven's wing in the bright midday light. She used her hand to make an improvised sun visor. "How is Aubergine doing? There certainly was a packed house for her beginner's calligraphy class. I had so much fun, and I think everybody else did too. She's a fantastic teacher."

  He pulled the bottom of his shirt up and used it to wipe the sweat off his forehead. Amy caught a glimpse of six-pack abs. Even though he was no longer a mixed martial arts fighter, Chuck was still staying in very good shape. He leaned over slightly, planting his hands on his knees. "It was nice to see her so happy last night. She loves teaching. This stuff with the TV star has really gotten her down. No matter what I say, I can't seem to ease her guilt over arranging for that awful woman to come here." His eyes narrowed. "Before the event began, she had tracked down Aubergine to complain, blaming her for ruining the weekend by bringing her to 'stupid Kellerton.' How ridiculous is that? It's not like Aubergine held a gun to the whacko's head and made her come. The planning committee booked an appearance through a publicity agent. If she didn't want to come here, she shouldn't have agreed to the contract. I figure she just got her jollies off of being mean and nasty. And you can't throw that kind of karma out into the world without having it come back around."

  He kicked a softball-sized rock in the flower bed next to the bench. Amy held her breath as the stone took flight for several feet then rolled down the embankment and landed with a plop in the river. Her foot throbbed in sympathy for Chuck's toes. The anger-induced punt had to have hurt. Despite the glare from the sun hanging behind his head, Amy could still see the intense expression on his face. The rage radiating from him made her shiver. She had never seen him react so intensely to anything, even when someone had been trying to blackmail him the previous summer.

  "I know you want to help Aubergine feel better. I do too. Maybe she would cheer up if you brought her some sweet treats." She pointed at Riverbend, directly across from them on the other side of the river. "I made some raspberry and white chocolate brownies at the café this morning. They may even still be warm."

  Chuck's scowl softened. "That's a good idea. I bet she would like that. Thank you for the suggestion." He nodded at the notebook, which was wobbling on her shaking knees. "I'll let you get back to your writing. Have a good day."

  She watched Chuck jog across the bridge then disappear into Riverbend. Apparently, he had liked her idea on how to improve his sad wife's mood. For a few irrational seconds, Amy had thought he might pick up the bench she was sitting on and throw it, along with her, into the river in a fit of fury over his wife taking a hit from Phoebe's bad attitude. His caveman soccer player impression had been an unexpected show of anger from the usually gentle giant. Amy put away the notebook and fished her phone out of her purse. She now had more important things to brainstorm beyond blog posts.

  Half an hour later, she pulled her Mini into the driveway Carla and Shepler shared with their townhouse neighbors. Amy always made sure to stay on the right side of the cement pad to make sure her parking habits didn't cause problems for Carla. Vengeful neighbors were the last things the harried momma needed to deal with. Taking care of a very opinionated munchkin twenty-four hours a day was more than enough of a challenge.

  Outraged screeches filtered through the front door as Amy walked up the path to the entrance. She pressed the doorbell. The baby noises stopped for a few seconds then started again with more feeling and greater gusto. The dead bolt clicked, and the door swung open. Amy took a step backward.

  Carla's short chestnut-colored hair stuck out in random, oddly-shaped clumps. The front of her oversized, white T-shirt sported a giant brown cow spot, most likely coffee but possibly originating from the baby. She squinted at Amy. "I'll answer your questions after I take a shower."

  Before she even had a chance to protest, Amy found herself in the living room alone with an unhappy baby. "So what am I going to do with you?" she asked Macy. The baby responded by balling her hands into tiny fists and doing an impression of a boxer pummeling an invisible punching bag. Being put in charge of an upset miniature pugilist was not what she had expected when she called to ask if she could come over.

  Amy extracted Macy from the infant swing and tried bouncing the baby on her knee. She had seen Carla do the bouncy-knee move many times. Macy smiled for a few seconds then her face contorted into a grimace. She momentarily resumed her shadow-boxing match but stilled when Amy felt a warm vibration originating from her diaper.

  "Oh, no. You didn't just do what I think you did." She looked at the smiling baby. An ominous gurgle came from deep inside the diaper as the heat on Amy's knee intensified. She gingerly lifted up the infant and turned her to the side. A mustard-colored stain was blooming on the back of her onesie above her leggings. Amy glanced at the stairway which Carla had disappeared up. An answer to her silent plea for help came in the form of the sound of water running through pipes in the nearby wall. Carla had just turned on the water to start her shower. So Amy was on her own. She held the giggling baby out in front of her as she hurried to the nursery. "It's just you and me, kiddo. Let's work together on this, please."

  Watching Carla and Geri changing the baby dozens of times still didn't prepare her for the ordeal of a cataclysmic diaper blow out. The scene when she unlatched the tabs on the diaper made her swoon. Then, Macy magically transformed into a miniature ninja, repeatedly blocking Amy's advances with the baby wipes using perfectly timed kicks and jabs. How often did messes like that happen? And why was Macy smiling and giggling?

  Carla's timing was impeccable. She walked down the stairs just as Amy emerged from the nursery. "Did you need to change her diaper?" she asked.

  "And her outfit. I hope you don't mind that I put her in a sleeper." Amy shook her head. She'd had no idea that changing a diaper could be that harrowing of an experience. The mess had somehow migrated upward until it was even smeared in Macy's armpits. "I think I used half of the tub of wipes cleaning her up."

  Carla laughed. "Don't worry about the wipes. I buy them in bulk. I'm sorry to traumatize you."

  "You obviously needed a break, so it was the least I could do." She wasn't going to burden her friend by telling her that she had been so frustrated with the diaper bomb fiasco that she had started crying. Or that her hands shook so badly that she could barely fasten the snaps on the clean, thankfully one-piece sleeper she had managed to wriggle Macy into. There was no way she could've managed putting on a onesie, leggings, and socks like the baby had been wearing. The brief babysitting stint had left Amy's nerves more jangled than competing in a live-audience cooking contest. Did other women feel that way about babies, or was she an oddball? Amy took a deep breath and said, "It looks like the shower helped."

  "Definitely. Interrupting my shower is Macy's superpower. It's like she senses whenever I get shampoo in my hair. Within five seconds of me lathering up, she begins fussing probably ninety percent of the time. Do you know how long it's been since I've had a long relaxing shower on a weekday? Usually, I have her in the bathroom with me, sitting in her bouncy seat. It isn't easy to lather and rinse while playing peekaboo with the shower curtain. So, thank you."

  Amy smiled as she imagined Macy dressed in a tiny spandex superhero costume. "She's the Shower Avenger. Saving you from the evil shampoo bubbles."

  "Something like that." Carla took Macy from Amy and settled the baby into her swing. "You have no idea how much I appreciate the shower today. I actually scared myself when I walked past the mirror in the hallway. So…when you called, you said you needed to ask me something."

  She had completely forgotten about why she had stopped by. Diaper blowouts were rather mind-blowing, at least for Amy. She settled onto the end of the couch, happy to be relieved of baby wrangling duty. "Could a head injury from a mixed martial arts fight affect a person's
personality?"

  "Head trauma, no matter how it happens, could affect personality. It just depends on what area the damage is in and how severe the injury is."

  Amy nodded. "Could the effects last for a long time after the initial injury?"

  "Sure. There's always a chance of permanent damage." Carla flipped a switch, and the swing began to sway back and forth. "I might be able to help more if you can give me some details of what's happening."

  "I'm wondering about Chuck, the guy who owns The Inkwell. He was behind the counter the other day when you stopped there with me. He's always been so calm and nice, but I saw him get upset today because he was worried about his wife. The change was startling. I know he used to be a fighter, so I was wondering if there could be a connection."

  Carla shrugged. "Nice people can get mad too. Bad days happen. Everybody loses their temper sometimes, especially if they're upset over a loved one. An uncharacteristic outburst doesn't mean there's brain damage. Maybe his coffee maker broke this morning."

  "Good point." Yet Amy couldn't shake the odd vibes Chuck had been giving off at the park. There was a coldness in his tone, despite the heat of anger. He'd been upset because Phoebe started whining to Aubergine immediately after arriving in Kellerton. What if he had become so upset over the diva tirade directed at his wife that he snapped?

  * * *

  The knife sliced through the wedge of cabbage and thunked on the wooden cutting board. A thick, chunky soup was more winter than spring fare. But when comfort food cravings hit, Amy heeded the call. So she and Alex would be having stuffed cabbage roll soup for dinner with her favorite tapioca pudding, flavored with caramely dark brown sugar, for dessert. The quick and easy version of her favorite Polish food had popped into her mind as she drove home from Carla's house. After so many things went wrong at that visit, from reconfirming without a shadow of a doubt that she had zero maternal instincts to finding out that Chuck's former hobby could be currently affecting his life in a very bad way, she craved something good to balance out the not-good parts of the day. And for her, many of the good things in life were food related.

  Amy moved the cutting board covered with chopped cabbage onto the counter beside the stove. She stirred the ground sirloin and onions sizzling in the soup pot. Cooking stimulated all of her senses, from hearing the hiss of the onions crackling in olive oil to seeing the bright-red tomato juice, which would go into the pot next. She adored getting lost in the meal-making process. Meditation was supposed to quiet a person's chattering "monkey" mind. Cooking was her favorite way to settle down her internal chatter—giving the thought monkeys a bunch of bananas to keep them quiet.

  The thump of a car door caught her wandering attention as she scooped rice into a measuring cup. She turned to look out the breakfast nook window. Alex was home from work early. The cooking Zen evaporated. Not only did he rarely arrive home before dinnertime, but she could also see from his expression that he wasn't happy. A scowl traced over his handsome face as he walked up the path to the porch.

  She quickly poured the tomato juice into the pot then stirred in the rice and cabbage. Those were the last ingredients that needed to be added so she could concentrate on her husband and not worry about ruining dinner. The door opened as she was wiping her hands on the blue gingham apron she was wearing. "Hey, honey. You're home from work early."

  He deposited his briefcase on the breakfast nook table and strode across the kitchen. Pogo, their gray fuzz ball of a dog, orbited around him, yipping and squeaking in a canine version of a welcome home greeting. Alex wrapped Amy in a hug and planted a kiss on the top of her head. "I haven't been working for over two hours. Figured I might as well call it a day and come home to see my gorgeous wife."

  Amy tilted her head back and looked into his sky-blue eyes. While she loved the compliments and attention, she had been married to him long enough to realize they were diversions. She focused on what he said first. "Why haven't you been working? What's going on?"

  He smiled, but there was no happiness apparent in his expression. "I've been down at the police station looking at security camera footage taken at The Shamrock Bar. Phoebe Plymouth was there during the time she was supposed to be at the party at Riverbend Café."

  "She was at The Shamrock?" Amy couldn't quite wrap her mind around that. Her thought monkeys were going crazy, screeching and flinging banana peels. So much for chilling out via making soup. The Shamrock was the poster child for a dive bar, complete with wood paneling walls and scary, sketchy customers. Definitely not trendy, high-end, or chic. "Why? From what I know of her, that seems like one of the last places in town where she would want to hang out."

  A button on the front of Alex's polo shirt brushed Amy's chin as his chest expanded from a deep inhale. He backed away from her and went to his briefcase. As he handed her a piece of paper, he said, "She went there with this guy. He was wearing a Quantum Media shirt."

  Amy's gaze bounced between the logo embroidered on her husband's shirt and the one on the shirt the man was wearing in the grainy photo Alex had given her. They certainly looked like they could be the same. He and the other employees wore the casual shirts when they didn't need to dress up in suits for meetings. The business name was surrounded by intersecting ovals, to represent neutrons orbiting around the name—a nod to quantum physics. "Are you sure it was your logo?"

  "Yes. There's no doubt in my mind. Plus, the bartender remembered waiting on the couple. Since he was so focused on the pretty blonde, he couldn't recall any details about the guy, other than that he was wearing a red shirt with what the bartender called an atomic energy symbol on it. All of the Quantum Media shirts are red, and that was a pretty apt description of our logo."

  "So one of your employees is now being investigated for the murder?" The homicide case's oven door had been opened up while the suspect soufflé was baking, deflating the hope that nobody at Quantum was involved in the crime.

  Alex shook his head. "I don't know. The guy wore a baseball cap. There was never a shot of his face—it was always in shadows. I can think of quite a few people at Quantum who look similar to him. At this point, I have no idea who the man is, and neither do the police. I voluntarily turned over all of my employee records to Detective Foster. I want to catch the killer as much as she does so that life can get back to normal. I have nothing to hide."

  He didn't have to convince her of that. Alex's picture could go in the dictionary as an example of integrity. But his moral standards couldn't extend to everybody at his company like a force field. Or what if the person wasn't with his company? "Maybe someone donated a shirt to a charity clothing store, and the guy at the bar bought it."

  He raised an eyebrow. "It's a possibility. I hadn't thought of that, but I have a feeling the shirt isn't a coincidence."

  "Why?"

  Alex pulled open the refrigerator. He disappeared behind the door as he bent to peer inside then emerged with a bottle of beer. "Because about an hour before Detective Foster called to have me come down to the police station, I got an odd email. It was a rant about how Quantum Media had ruined that person's life, and now the company was going to pay."

  Holy guacamole! The day was the loaded nachos version of troublesome developments. "That's insane! Did you tell the police about it?"

  The bottle hissed when Alex twisted off the cap. Amy felt the same way. She could almost feel the steam escaping out her ears as though she were an enraged cartoon character. Watch out! She's going to explode! Over the past summer, a cyber thug had terrorized many businesses in downtown Kellerton. Even though the perpetrator was in prison, the thought of Alex receiving a threatening email brought back the frightening memories of that time.

  "I told Detective Foster. She has a computer expert trying to track down where the email came from, but I suspect that will lead to a dead end. It isn't very difficult to set up untraceable accounts." Alex picked at the bottle's label. When he looked at Amy, his eyes had turned glassy. Was it fear or despair?

>   "If the company supposedly ruined this person's life, then it's probably a former employee, don't you think?"

  "Yes, that's the most logical reason for the threat. Only two people have been fired from Quantum, but there are over a dozen who have left for various reasons. It's going to take a while, I would think, to look into all of them. On top of that, we have no idea if the threat is connected to the murder or not. Could be two totally unrelated events that were coincidentally happening at the same time. I get the idea that's what Detective Foster is thinking."

  Amy gave the soup a quick stir. Then she wrapped her arms around Alex's waist. He was her rock. But now, more than ever, he needed her help—to figure out who was threatening his company. He had worked so hard to make it successful. There was no way she would let somebody drag Quantum, and all of the employees, through the muck of murder and revenge. At least, not if she could help it. Amy laid her forehead on Alex's chest. She didn't just want to make the situation better. She would make it better. Considering Foster was tackling her first murder case as the lead detective, Amy probably had more experience solving homicides.

  But there wasn't much she could do at the moment except try to make her husband feel better. She stood on her tiptoes and reaped two benefits from the action—a foot stretch and a kiss from her husband. Pleasures for her soles and soul. She smiled at her internal dialog's play on words. Alex arched his eyebrow at her. "What are you smiling about?"

  Alex wasn't a fan of word games, but she did know something else that he enjoyed. She held up her index finger before spinning around to lower the heat under the soup pot. When she turned back to face him, she looped her fingers through the belt loops on the front of his black slacks. She tugged him toward the doorway leading to the staircase. "I just thought of a little activity that would relieve some of your stress. But we have to go upstairs to the bedroom in order to do it."