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

by Denise Swanson

  “About thirty minutes southwest of the city,” a delicate woman on GB’s other side answered. “My daughter lives in the next suburb over.” She tucked a light brown curl behind her ear and said, “I’m Lauren Neumann from Des Moines.” She blinked her soft green eyes and added, “Iowa. Oh, and I’m also one of the contestants.”

  We exchanged pleasantries, and then her husband introduced himself as Russell. We paused to pass around the carafes of dressing. Bowls of salad had already been on the table when we arrived. Once everyone had selected either ranch or Italian—our two choices—and the basket of bread had been circulated along with the butter dish, I glanced at the remaining young man and woman.

  The guy was tall and thin with a neatly trimmed goatee and bulging blue eyes that seemed to throb. He was perched on the edge of his chair, almost as if he was about leap up at any moment. Although he was sitting, his hands and feet were in constant motion.

  After swallowing a bite of lettuce, I smiled at the pair and said, “Sorry. I don’t believe I caught either of your names.”

  “Dirk Harvey.” The man mumbled around the piece of Parker House roll he’d just stuffed in his mouth. He jerked his thumb at the woman. “This is my sister, Q. We both work for the Dessert Channel.”

  “Q?” GB asked with a puzzled look. “Is that short for something? My initials stand for Gerald Bartholomew.”

  “Nope,” the young woman answered, fingering the iron bar between her eyebrows. “Just Q. Like on the Star Trek shows, The Next Generation, Deep Space Nine, and Voyager.” When we all looked confused, she sighed and explained, “He’s from the Q Continuum.”

  “Really?” Realizing that her responses weren’t going to get any more enlightening, I answered for the rest of the group, “How remarkable.”

  “Yes.” Q nodded, and the four steel studs over each of her eyebrows winked in the fluorescent light. “He was by far the most fascinating of the noncrew characters. He was omnipotent, you know.”

  “Wow. That would be useful.” It was time to change the subject before Q launched into the whole story line, so I asked, “What is it you and your brother do for the network?”

  “Dirk’s the cameraman and I do makeup, hair, and styling,” Q answered.

  “Nice.” I was running out of adjectives but couldn’t think of any other responses. I mean, seriously. This woman was the show’s stylist. She looked as if she had a curtain rod running across her forehead. All she needed was a sconce on either temple to make the image complete. Forcing myself to come up with something positive to say, I added, “Both your jobs sound wonderful.”

  Thank goodness Kizzy chose that moment to stand and clap her hands for silence, because I was completely out of small talk. Once she had everyone’s attention, Kizzy said, “Welcome, contestants, judges, and everyone who has assisted me in bringing this wonderful event to my beloved hometown.” After a round of applause, she continued. “When I came up with my flagship cupcake recipe, I never dared to dream my company would become such a huge success. I knew that the recipe was awesome, and that I would need to work hard to bring my vision to fruition. Now, on the brink of introducing a second line of cupcakes and doubling my business, all I can say is that I’m proud to be a Shadow Bender.”

  There was some polite applause, and then as soon as Kizzy sat down, the Marthas started bringing out the entrée. Dishes of fried chicken, scalloped corn, and mashed potatoes were slipped in front of us and we all focused on the food. It might not be the gourmet fare seen on cooking shows, but it was all kinds of yum and I eagerly picked up my fork.

  As we ate our way through the main course, talk turned to the various hometowns, casserole recipes, and the contestants’ children—all of whom were beautiful and brilliant.

  While the others chatted, I turned to Poppy and asked, “How are things going between you and Tryg?” Tryg Pryce was Poppy’s boyfriend du jour. He was an Illinois attorney whom she’d met a few months ago when he came to Shadow Bend to defend our friend Boone against a murder charge. Tryg had lasted longer than most and I suspected it was because he lived in Chicago. Unlike me, Poppy felt distance was a good thing in a relationship.

  “I don’t know.” Poppy shrugged. “He can be a real jerk sometimes. He’s arrogant and I think he’s seeing other women when I’m not there.”

  “You seem to date a lot of men like that,” I said. “Maybe that’s a mistake.”

  “True.” Poppy sighed, then giggled. “But some mistakes are too much fun to only make once.”

  I rolled my eyes, knowing she was serious. “How about going out with some nice guys instead? Maybe someone who’s a little bit more monogamous even if he is a little less wealthy.”

  “Nah.” Poppy shook her head. “If there’s one thing I’ve learned, it’s that regardless of how good a relationship is in the beginning, that warm, fuzzy feeling fades, and there had better be a lot of money to take its place.”

  Considering my own messed-up love life, I let the subject drop. Soon afterward the head Martha announced that the dessert table was in the rear of the room and we could help ourselves. The out-of-towners proceeded to do so in a leisurely fashion, but the Shadow Benders made a mad dash. We all knew the good stuff would disappear fast and all that would be left would be Mrs. Cormac’s store-bought angel food cake with icing straight from a can of frosting.

  I nabbed the last piece of Gran’s marshmallow chocolate chip pie, and gave Poppy a thumbs-up when she outmaneuvered Mayor Eggers and snatched the final brownie from the batch Vera Thom had baked. Vera was famous in Shadow Bend for the best brownies in town and they were always highly sought-after at these kinds of dinners. Happy with my own prize, I took the long way back to my seat so I could get an idea of how the event was going. No one was discussing Fallon’s death, which I took to be a good sign.

  From Kizzy’s introductions in the village square that afternoon, I recognized all the contestants and deduced that the people seated next to them were their plus ones. The other unidentified diners, I assumed, were the folks on the Dessert Channel crew.

  Of course, I knew all the committee members and most of their guests, and I smiled and nodded my way through the maze of tables until my gaze collided with Gwen Bourne’s scowl. What in the hell was she doing here? Gwen wasn’t on any of the committees—Ronni didn’t like her, and since she was organizing the Cupcake Weekend, she had taken pains not to invite Gwen to help. Which meant that Gwen had to be someone’s date. But who had succumbed to the socialite’s fake charm and phony smiles?

  I looked to her left and right to see which guy was the unlucky fellow. Knowing her penchant for successful men, I figured it had to be Vaughn Yager. He and I had been high school pals, but the boy he’d been back then was an entirely different person from the man he was today.

  Nerdy, and the son of the custodian, he’d been tormented throughout his adolescence. But after using his amazing mathematical skills, as well as a genius for tactics and strategy, to make a fortune playing professional poker in Las Vegas and Atlantic City, he’d become Shadow Bend’s wealthiest entrepreneur.

  It didn’t hurt that he now had muscles, a straightened nose, and a jutting chin—the latter two features owing to the wonders of plastic surgery. Transformed into the handsome prince, he’d returned to town, where he purchased a nearly bankrupt factory that he built into a thriving business. All of this made him one of our community’s most eligible bachelors. I loved the quirk of fate that had turned the bullies of his high school years into the sycophants who now were his entourage.

  I flashed Vaughn a grin, both because we had been buddies at the bottom of the teenage hierarchy and because it would drive Gwen nuts.

  He beamed back at me, tilted his head toward his date, and stage-whispered, “Me with a homecoming queen, who would have thunk it?”

  Hoping Gwen wouldn’t use and abuse my starstruck friend, I smiled at him and mov
ed on. Just before reaching my chair, I glanced at the head table. Geoffrey Eggers was leaning close to Kizzy and whispering in her ear. Kizzy’s demeanor was easy to read since she wasn’t trying to hide that she was bored out of her skull. But Lee’s expression was tougher to figure out. Was it concern that her partner would be rude to the mayor or something else?

  Could it be jealousy? It had to be hard always to play second fiddle to Kizzy. While Lee was attractive in a quiet sort of way, her business partner was stunning. Tonight, while Lee had on a nice pair of khaki slacks with a white blouse and cream jacket, Kizzy’s full-skirted green and white polka-dot dress was cinched in the waist with a velvet ribbon. Her trademark blond French twist was perfect, as was her polished pink fingernails.

  As I neared the coffee urn, I saw GB O’Rourke and his wife, Millie, filling their cups. Their backs were to me and I heard Millie say to her husband, “If that witch suggests one more time that your recipe isn’t the real McCoy, we’re going to need to take care of her.”

  I paused. Was the “her” Millie referred to another contestant?

  “Ms. Cutler says she knows she’s seen my cupcake somewhere before.” GB’s voice was tense. “I made up that recipe, but she warned me that she’s got one of her employees searching the Internet, and if she finds proof it isn’t an original creation, she’ll kick me out of the contest. What if someone else thought of the same recipe before me and she finds it?”

  “That can’t happen,” Millie snapped. “Even if you’re completely innocent, your congregation wouldn’t forget an accusation like that.”

  Evidently, GB was a minister. I tucked the piece of data away, making a note to myself to avoid the preacher and his wife in the future. It always seemed to me that people who wanted to share their religious views with me never wanted to have me share mine with them. When I noticed Millie staring at me, I nodded and quickly continued on to my table.

  Taking my seat, I whispered to Poppy, “Did you see that Gwen’s here?”

  “It was hard to miss her.” Poppy giggled. “She made a big deal about moving her aunt’s lame angel food cake to the front of the dessert table.”

  “She could have put that dried-up piece of crap on an illuminated pedestal and offered to pay people to eat it, and it still would be the last item of bakery left.” I rolled my eyes. “Mrs. C always buys her pastry contributions from the day-old shelf, and everyone around here knows it. Her only hope of getting someone to take a slice is that one of the out-of-towners forgot his or her glasses and can’t see how shriveled up it is.”

  “Yep. People in these parts take their food seriously.” Poppy took a bite of her brownie. She moaned at the chocolaty goodness, then said, “And it’s the ultimate humiliation to have your contribution to the potluck dinner be the platter that’s still full.”

  “Too true.” With the edge of my fork, I cut into Gran’s chocolate chip marshmallow pie. “I doubt city folks would understand, but in a small town, it’s a matter of pride to be thought of as a good cook.” I brought the delectable morsel to my lips. “I’ve seen sweet old ladies who normally wouldn’t harm a fly ready to slit their neighbor’s throat with a cake knife when they suspected that their secret family recipe had been stolen or replicated.”

  We finished our desserts in companionable silence; then as Poppy scoured her dish for crumbs, she said, “I just realized that I haven’t seen Harlee today. I know she didn’t answer her phone when Ronni tried to contact her about Fallon and she didn’t come to the door when you went by last night, but was she at the village square this afternoon for the Cupcake Weekend kickoff? I didn’t notice her up on the bandstand with Winnie and the other committee heads.”

  “I don’t think so. But we weren’t up there, either.” I craned my neck and scanned the church hall. “It doesn’t look as if Harlee’s here.” My chest tightened. “You don’t think anything has happened to her, do you?”

  “Surely Ronni’s been in touch with her,” Poppy said, frowning. “She’s called and texted me a bazillion times today to make sure Gossip Central is all set for the after-hours party tonight.”

  “Yeah. Ronni’s on top of things and she certainly would have said something if Harlee was AWOL.” I scanned the room one more time but still didn’t see Harlee anywhere. “There’s a full house for the fashion show. We sold the last pair of tickets for the show by three o’clock.”

  “Mystery solved.” Poppy’s brow smoothed. “Harlee probably was too busy getting everything ready for the show to come here for dinner. I was amazed that she managed to talk the school board into letting us use the high school auditorium.”

  “That was quite a coup.” I sat back and sipped my coffee. “The board doesn’t usually allow groups to rent out the school facilities.”

  “The hefty donation that Kizzy Cutler’s Cupcakes made probably was more persuasive than anything Harlee said at the meeting.” Poppy smirked. “I heard that even the superintendent was impressed.”

  “I wonder why Boone isn’t here.” I didn’t have to look around. If Boone St. Onge had been at the dinner, he would have been sitting with Poppy and me. The three of us had been best friends since childhood. “He was invited, wasn’t he?” Boone was one of only three attorneys in Shadow Bend and had done all the legal work for the contest weekend, so he should have been given a ticket for the dinner.

  “It’s his folks’ fortieth anniversary. The three of them were going to Kansas City for dinner and a show,” Poppy explained.

  “Seriously?” I asked. “Mr. and Mrs. St. Onge celebrate their anniversary?” Except for a brief time when Boone was falsely accused of murder, his folks hadn’t spoken to each other since he was five. They were still married and still lived together in the same house, but they only communicated through notes. The invention of e-mail and texting had saved both Boone’s sanity and a couple of dozen forests.

  “What can I say?” Poppy shrugged, not much for incongruity. “They must figure if they’re still married, they’ve earned an anniversary celebration, even if Boone has to go along as their private interpreter.”

  “I suppose.” Now that everyone was accounted for, I glanced at my watch. It was seven thirty-five. “We should start to head over to the high school. The fashion show starts in less than half an hour.”

  “Speaking of missing in action,” Poppy said, picking up her purse and standing, “have you heard anything from either of your hot hunks lately?”

  “No.” I shook my head. “But Noah just left this morning and it’s hard for Jake to call.”

  “So you subscribe to the theory that if you love someone, you should let him go?”

  “Unfortunately, I didn’t seem to have a choice in the matter.” I shrugged. “At least if they return to me, they’re mine.”

  “Or”—Poppy grinned—“if they come back to you, maybe no one else wanted them.”

  “How comforting.”

  Poppy strolled toward Ronni, who was standing with Kizzy and Lee at the front of the church hall. “But it might be time to find a guy who isn’t too busy to be around for you.”

  “My thoughts exactly.” I followed Poppy. “If a relationship is going to grow into something long-lasting, the two people involved need to share the same geography more often than not. Although some absences are more understandable than others.”

  “Possibly.” Poppy stopped and turned to look at me, her expression serious. “But everyone makes choices, and just because those choices are noble ones doesn’t mean that you have to accept them.”

  Before I could respond to Poppy, Ronni announced to the crowd, “Those of you attending the fashion show should begin to make your way over to the high school now. Afterward, there will be a party at Gossip Central with music and munchies. Everybody’s invited.”

  Poppy and I were standing right near the head table, and just then we overheard Lee call out.

  “
Oh, shoot!” she said, looking up from digging through her purse. “Can one of you give Kizzy a ride? I forgot something at the B and B.”

  “She can ride with me,” Ronni offered. “If that’s okay with you, Kizzy.”

  “That’s fine with me,” Kizzy answered, then turned to her business partner and asked, “What did you forget, Lee?

  “My pills.” Lee took off at a trot. “Thanks, Ronni! See you all there.”

  A few minutes later, the rest of us headed toward the exit. The mayor trailed us like a lost puppy until one of his constituents beckoned him over. As Kizzy reached the door, her cell beeped, indicating she had an incoming text. She was a few paces ahead of the rest of us and continued to move as she gazed down at her phone. I was watching her, wondering how she could walk without tripping, when she stepped onto the asphalt of the parking lot. At that exact moment, a car with its headlights turned off sped toward her.

  We all froze, staring at Kizzy, who was apparently so engrossed in reading her message that she didn’t seem to notice the three tons of steel hurtling toward her. Without thinking, I made a flying tackle. The cupcake tycoon and I soared through the air, landing hard on the blacktop. As the car roared past, I swear I could feel the bumper kiss my rear end.

  CHAPTER 9

  “Really, I’m fine,” I repeated for the fiftieth time, brushing bits of gravel and dirt from the knees of my white slacks. “Is Kizzy all right?” I didn’t remember seeing the cupcake queen after Poppy yanked me to my feet and led me over to the sidewalk.

  “She seemed okay. She complained that you ruined her dress and messed up her hair, so once Ronni was sure you weren’t hurt, she drove Kizzy back to the B and B to change.” Poppy took my hands and gazed at the scrapes on my palms. “That woman makes me want to high-five her . . .” Poppy paused dramatically. “In the face . . .” Another dramatic pause. “With a baseball bat.”

  “Yeah.” I snickered at the image. “Me, too.”

  “Why in the hell did you throw yourself in front of a speeding car for that self-centered witch?”