Dying For a Cupcake: A Devereaux's Dime Store Mystery

by Denise Swanson

  “Right,” Ronni agreed, a bemused look on her face. Regrouping, she glanced around the table and frowned. “I wonder what’s keeping Harlee.”

  “Oh. Sorry,” I apologized. “I forgot to tell you that she called me and said that she isn’t going to come after all. She tried to contact you and couldn’t get through, so she asked me to pass on her regrets.”

  “Then we’re all here except for your business partner and assistant,” Ronni said to Kizzy. “Are they going to be able to make it?”

  “They should have been right behind us.” Kizzy checked her phone. “Just as we were leaving, I got a message from a delivery service saying they had a package for me and would be at the B and B in ten or fifteen minutes. Fallon volunteered to stay behind and sign for it, and Lee offered to wait with her so she wouldn’t have to drive on unfamiliar roads alone.”

  “I hope they didn’t get lost.” Ronni glanced toward the door. “The one-way streets can be a little confusing around here.”

  “They’d have called if they needed directions.” Kizzy shrugged. “Let’s go ahead and order.”

  “I’m sure no one minds waiting for them,” I said, ignoring my hunger pangs.

  Kizzy bared her teeth in a fake smile; then when everyone around the table finished expressing their willingness to wait, she said, “Devereaux, how sweet of you to offer your opinion on the matter. I love that you have your own idea on the issue.” Her smile faded and she narrowed her eyes. “I just don’t want to hear it.”

  Seriously? Why was Kizzy so hostile? I’d never met her before, so it couldn’t be a past grudge. Still, she was the star of our little weekend, so I bit my tongue and kept quiet.

  Kizzy beckoned to a nearby waitress and said, “We’re ready.” After placing her order, Kizzy turned to Ronni and commented, “I’m sure Lee and Fallon will arrive soon. After all, what could happen to them here in Shadow Bend? It has to be one of the safest spots on earth.”

  I shivered and traded looks with Poppy, who raised a delicate eyebrow. Evidently, Kizzy didn’t keep in touch with old friends from the area who could have filled her in on Shadow Bend’s recent spate of crimes. She obviously didn’t subscribe to her hometown paper, either. The Banner had made sure everyone was fully informed on all the gruesome details.

  Ronni must not have told Kizzy that Shadow Bend wasn’t the same little town that the cupcake mogul had moved away from so many years ago. Not that I blamed Ronni for withholding that little tidbit. No way would a shrewd businesswoman like Kizzy want to hold her big promotional kickoff in a place that had had two homicides in the past four months.

  The table was still placing their orders when Lee Kimbrough arrived a few minutes later. She was an attractive woman in her mid- to late forties who reminded me of Lauren Bacall—tall, cool, and elegant. She even had Bacall’s husky voice and languid mannerisms.

  After Lee was introduced, and told the waitress what she wanted to eat, she explained, “The delivery service called and said that they’d be another ten or fifteen minutes, so Fallon offered to wait and told me to go on ahead.”

  “I wonder what’s in the package.” Kizzy frowned. “I’m not expecting anything.”

  “Maybe it’s a good-luck gift from one of your friends,” Lee suggested.

  “Maybe,” Kizzy agreed.

  Just as our food was served, Kizzy got a call and answered it by pressing the speaker on her cell phone. We could all hear Fallon identify herself.

  We listened as she said, “The delivery driver finally showed up, but now I don’t feel well, so I’m not coming to the restaurant. I’m going to lie down and see if the nausea goes away.”

  “Fine.” Kizzy’s lack of interest in the conversation was evident in her voice.

  “I have a really bad taste in my mouth,” Fallon went on, even though Kizzy didn’t encourage her. “I feel headachy and dizzy. Maybe I’m getting the flu.”

  “Uh-huh.” Kizzy listened to all this with a distracted air, then said, “Whatever, dear.” She quickly disconnected, gave the rest of us a bright smile, and said, “Let’s eat.”

  I was a bit surprised that neither Kizzy nor Lee seemed concerned about their employee’s health. On the other hand, perhaps Fallon tended to be hypochondriacal and her headaches were common occurrences.

  Now that Fallon’s whereabouts had been accounted for, we all relaxed. The food was delicious and Kizzy entertained us with the story of starting up her business. She took a sip of her lychee martini, then continued. “So when I finally was able to submit my resignation and devote my full attention to Kizzy Cutler’s Cupcakes, the owner of the bakery said to me, ‘Running your own company is a lot of work. You won’t have time for a personal life. You know that money can’t buy happiness.’”

  “What did you say?” Ronni asked.

  “I told her that whoever had started that vicious rumor simply didn’t know where to shop.” Kizzy laughed.

  We all chuckled and I relaxed. There was a generally optimistic vibe about the success of the cupcake contest weekend and I felt hopeful that the event would be the financial boost we all were counting on.

  The dinner meeting broke up around nine thirty, and by the time I got home, Gran was already asleep. The lights in Dad’s apartment over the garage had been on, but I still wasn’t comfortable enough with our relationship to stop by for a nightcap or a father-daughter chat. After twelve years apart, we were still tiptoeing around each other. We weren’t at ease enough for the casual rapport we used to have, but we had too much history to act as reserved as we truly felt. It was an odd situation to be in and neither of us was sure where we stood with the other.

  Shoving the issue of my precarious relationship with Dad aside, I headed to my bedroom. I was tired and it wouldn’t be a bad idea to turn in early. Tomorrow would be a busy day—at least I hoped it would—and I wanted to be on my toes to handle the increased foot traffic in the store. The last thing I recalled after washing my face and changing into my nightshirt was slipping between the crisp sheets and briefly wondering if I had remembered to set my alarm.

  I was having a wonderful dream involving Jake and Noah. The two men were fanning me with palm leaves, feeding me grapes, and assuring me they loved me enough to share me so I didn’t have to choose just one of them, when the strains of the sickeningly sweet and thoroughly annoying “Cupcake Song” blared from my bedside table. Struggling to wake up, I swept the nightstand with my palm, trying to locate my cell phone and quiet the grating music.

  Ronni had insisted that Poppy, Winnie, Harlee, and I make this cloying little ditty sung by Pinkie Pie of My Little Pony fame the official emergency ringtone for the contest weekend. I pushed my hair out of my eyes and peered groggily at the glowing numerals of my clock radio. It was three a.m. Why was she calling me at this ungodly hour? The competition hadn’t even started yet. What kind of crisis could there be before dawn? Had she butt-dialed her phone?

  Fumbling my cell off the nightstand and sweeping my finger across the answer icon, I mumbled, “Hello.”

  “Oh, my God!” Ronni’s voice screeched into my ear. “Thank goodness you answered. Fallon’s dead! You have to get here right away.”

  “What?” I tried to clear my sleep-fogged brain. “Are you sure?” I sat on the edge of the mattress. “Have you called an ambulance?”

  “Yes.” Ronni drew in a deep breath, then said, “The EMTs came and were taking her to the hospital, but she died before they got there.”

  “That’s awful.” My mouth suddenly dry, I got up and stumbled into the bathroom in search of a drink of water. “But why do you need me to come over? There’s nothing I can do about the poor girl’s death.”

  “Kizzy is demanding an emergency meeting of the contest committee,” Ronni explained. “I already got ahold of Poppy and Winnie, and they’re on their way, but Harlee isn’t answering her phone.”

  Ro
nni paused and I could hear a voice that sounded like Kizzy’s shout, “Tell her to swing by Harlee’s place and pick her up.”

  I put my cell on speaker and set it down next to the sink as I pulled on jeans and a T-shirt. “Doesn’t Kizzy have to handle Fallon’s death?” A part of me was appalled that the cupcake queen was able to think about the competition at a time like this. But another part of me, the one that wasn’t as nice, understood what it took for a woman to prosper in a competitive business and admired Kizzy’s single-minded pursuit of success.

  “Lee is taking care of that end,” Ronni answered, then whispered, “Kizzy didn’t think anyone needed to go with the poor girl, but Lee grabbed the car keys and followed the ambulance. She’s keeping us informed, but when I offered to drive Kizzy to the hospital to join her, our esteemed CEO nearly bit my head off.”

  “Informed about what?” I homed in on the important piece of info as I scraped my hair back into a ponytail. After it was secured, I snatched the phone from the bathroom counter, then dashed into the kitchen. I needed to leave Gran a note in case I wasn’t home when she got up. She’d worry if I wasn’t there for breakfast.

  “We’ll discuss all that when you get here.” Ronni reeled off Harlee’s address and added, “Hurry up. Kizzy is driving me insane.”

  Ten minutes later, I pounded on Harlee’s front door. When she didn’t answer, I tried again, but after the third round of knocking, I gave up, hopped in my car, and drove over to Ronni’s place. Either Harlee slept like the dead or she wasn’t at home, and I suspected that neither possibility would satisfy Kizzy.

  When I arrived at the B & B, Winnie and Poppy were huddled around Ronni’s kitchen table, cradling mugs of coffee. They barely acknowledged my presence as I took my seat. Both looked as if they had dressed in the dark, pulling on whatever clothing had been nearest their beds. Poppy had on a leather miniskirt, gray sweatshirt, and neon pink flip-flops. Instead of their usual artful disarray, her platinum curls stood out from her head like corkscrews and there were mascara smudges underneath her gorgeous amethyst eyes.

  Winnie had on black yoga pants, some sort of polyester floral blouse, and bunny slippers. Her gray hair frizzed around her face like a dandelion gone to seed and she had tiny round glasses with lavender lenses perched on her nose. She must have been too groggy to put in her contacts. Winnie’s expression reminded me of a child who had begged for a sip of her father’s beer—reluctant to swallow the bitter brew, but unwilling to spit it out and admit she didn’t like it. Clearly, the universe had let Winnie down.

  Ronni was still wearing the dress she’d had on at the Golden Dragon. But instead of the nude patent leather Jimmy Choo platform pumps she’d worn at the restaurant, she was barefoot. Her chocolate brown waves were now knotted in a messy bun on the top of her head, and any vestige of the carefully applied makeup she’d had on at dinner was long gone. Her blue-gray eyes were bloodshot, and after she handed me a cup of coffee, she collapsed onto her chair as if all the bones in her body had instantly liquefied.

  I took a sip of the hot ambrosia, then asked, “Where’s Kizzy?”

  “On the phone with Lee,” Ronni answered. “Evidently, when someone who is apparently healthy dies suddenly, the cops are called. Since the ambulance was still within the city limits when Fallon passed, the Shadow Bend Police Department is in charge. Lee is waiting for Chief Kincaid to arrive at the hospital.”

  “Oh.” I took another mouthful of caffeinated goodness, then said, “Tell me what happened.” No one answered, and I prodded, “Start from the beginning. I know that Fallon said she had a headache when she called, but there really wasn’t any indication that her illness was serious. When did she start to get so sick?”

  “When we got home from the restaurant, Lee went to check on Fallon. She discovered her in the bathroom, vomiting.” Ronni buried her face in her hands, and her voice was muffled as she continued. “Lee found me and asked the location of the closest urgent care center. I told her the nearest one was forty miles away at the county seat.”

  “That really is a problem.” Winnie spoke for the first time, the social crusader inside her overcoming her shock. “Now that he’s hired a second doctor, Noah needs to extend the hours of his clinic so the community has medical resources available within a reasonable time frame.”

  Ronni ignored Winnie’s outburst, and continued. “When I went upstairs with Lee, Fallon was sweating and seemed sort of hyper. She also seemed really ticked off at us, but I couldn’t figure out why. Then all of a sudden, she crumpled to the floor and started to have what I was pretty darn sure were convulsions. I ran downstairs and called nine-one-one, but by the time the EMTs got here, she was unconscious. They loaded her in the ambulance and took off for the hospital. When Lee arrived, the EMT told her that Fallon had died a few minutes after they left the B and B.”

  “Any idea what happened?” I put down my empty mug. “You said she was healthy. Did Kizzy or Lee tell you that or did you just assume it from her age and appearance? She could have had some sort of medical condition that wasn’t apparent to the untrained eye.”

  “Kizzy said that all of her employees had just had their yearly physicals and Fallon had passed with flying colors,” Ronni answered. “From the hyper way she was acting and the rest of her symptoms—the vomiting and sweating—my best guess would be some kind of drug overdose.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous. All of the Kizzy Cutler’s Cupcakes personnel are required to submit to monthly drug testing,” Kizzy snapped as she stalked into the kitchen and glared at Ronni. “Whatever her past issues with drugs had been, Fallon was now clean and sober. She’d turned her life around. She was a fine, upstanding young woman. The company will mourn her loss.”

  “Of course,” Ronni acquiesced. “I certainly didn’t mean to imply otherwise.”

  “Good.” Kizzy smiled insincerely. “I’m sure the pathologist will tell us it was some sort of undiagnosed medical condition. A tragedy, but unavoidable.” Kizzy poured herself a cup of coffee, sat down at the table, and said, “Now let’s discuss how we’re going to handle the situation in light of the recent misfortune.”

  “Perhaps we should cancel the contest out of respect for Fallon’s passing,” I suggested, knowing full well that Kizzy would reject my recommendation, but wanting to see how she wiggled out of it without appearing like a coldhearted witch. “Or at least reschedule it. Right before Thanksgiving might work.”

  From her recent actions, it was clear that Kizzy was not about to inconvenience herself over something as inconsequential as an employee’s death. And I’d bet money that she had no intention of postponing the big introduction of her new cupcake line.

  “Fallon wouldn’t want that,” Kizzy assured me with a dismissive glance. “She was a trouper and would feel awful if everyone who put so much time and effort into making the cupcake contest weekend a huge success ended up losing money because of her.”

  “Right.” I marveled at how confidently the cupcake magnate spoke for her dead assistant. “How silly of me to think otherwise.”

  Ronni shot me a silencing glare and I mimicked zipping my lips. Once I shut up, Kizzy outlined the story that would be given to the press and who would be responsible for the tasks previously assigned to Fallon. For the next couple of hours we drank endless cups of coffee, nodding and taking notes as Kizzy talked and gave orders.

  Ronni’s grandfather clock had just chimed six times when the doorbell rang. The police had arrived in the form of Chief Eldridge Kincaid and two of his crime scene techs. Both Chief Kincaid’s heavily starched khaki uniform and gray buzz cut made me itch to salute him, but I resisted the urge. He demanded flawlessness in himself and all the people around him, which was a problem when his daughter was the self-professed town bad girl. I imagined his obsession with perfection wasn’t much fun for his officers, either.

  The chief ignored Poppy and she returned the favor, but
he greeted me and asked how my dad was doing. Once my father was paroled and released from prison, he and the chief had resumed their previous friendship, something for which I was eternally grateful. Most of the townspeople had accepted that Dad had gotten a bum rap, but there were enough who, despite the evidence, refused to believe that he had been framed. I was sure that the chief’s public willingness to remain pals had helped those who were on the fence come down on my father’s side of the issue.

  Once it became clear that Poppy, Winnie, and I hadn’t been at the B & B when Fallon got sick, and had never met the girl, the chief lost interest in us. He asked us a few questions, but since we didn’t have any firsthand knowledge of the situation, he allowed us to leave. Actually, allowed wasn’t the right word; he ordered us to go. It was clear he couldn’t wait to get rid of us, especially his daughter, who had answered his inquiries with as few words as possible, glowering at him during the entire encounter.

  As I was on my way out the door, I overheard the chief say to one of his techs, “Make sure you get a sample of the victim’s vomit and bag anything that she might have ingested.” Chief Kincaid glanced at me as I stood in the foyer obviously eavesdropping and he said, “Dev, is there something you need?” I shook my head and he asked, “Something you want to add to your statement?”

  “No.”

  He motioned toward the exit. “Then it’s best if you leave. You don’t want to get caught up in the investigation and be late opening up your store.”

  The chief had hit my Achilles’ heel, so I nodded and hurried away. Since I’d already been a reluctant participant in two of his prior cases, the last thing I needed was to get involved in a situation concerning another dead body.