Death by Chocolate Cake: A Bakery Detectives Cozy Mystery

by Stacey Alabaster

  Justin.

  I frowned and wondered whether I should answer it or not. After all, the whole reality show casting thing was all on hiatus now...wasn't it?

  It would be stupid of me to think he was calling to tell me that I got on the show. Obviously that's not his priority right now, I told myself.

  But what if it is about the show and my place on it, and I don't answer his call?

  I pressed 'accept.'

  "Rachael?" His voice sounded hurried and desperate, not that unusual for Justin, but it was missing its usual air of superiority mixed in.

  "That's my name, don't wear it out." Boy, I was really saying some dumb stuff that day.

  "Rachael, where are you right now?"

  "At work," I said flatly. "Where else would I be?"

  "You work?" He sounded momentarily flummoxed.

  "Yes. As a baker! You know that!"

  "Oh." Justin paused. "I thought that was just made up for the TV show. You're an actual baker?" He let out a little surprised sound. "Most of the time, the people on the show can't even bake, they just get cast because they're good for TV and then we put them through a two week intensive course to bring them up to speed. Otherwise, we just get someone else to bake the stuff for them." I could practically hear his disaffected shrug from the other end of the line. It hadn't taken him long to go from desperate sounding to dismissive.

  "Justin, why are you calling me?"

  He seemed to remember and the desperation returned to his voice. "You've got to leave work. You've got to come here immediately."

  "I can't just leave work." I stared out the window and sighed. "Literally. I'm trapped here. But even if I wasn't, I can't just up and leave."

  "Rachael, I need your help."

  He always needed something from me, but usually it involved me sitting in a makeup chair for hours or memorizing an asinine script. Something told me this was a completely different matter, though. "Why, Justin?" I instinctively lowered my voice so that Pippa and Bronson couldn't hear me. "What's going on? Where are you?" I turned so that my back was to the others. Pippa is a pretty good lip reader. Luckily, she still hadn't grown tired of talking about how great Marcello was.

  "I'm in my hotel room," he whispered, as though he also had someone waiting nearby on his end that he didn't want overhearing the conversation. "I'm hiding."

  "What are you hiding from?" I whispered back.

  "Take your pick," he whispered, exasperation entering his voice. "The press, the production crew, the police." He gulped. "Rachael, they think I did it."

  Chapter 4

  "Hey, where are you going?" Pippa turned, the jingle of the door giving me away before I could escape.

  "I have to go get some change. For the register."

  Pippa stomped over to the window. "But the press are blocking the bank." She looked me up and down. "Besides, they didn't seem to like you."

  "Yeah? What was that about? Anyway, I'm sure they'll make some room. I just really need to get to the bank." I tried to push past her.

  "Hold up." Pippa stared at me sternly. "I recognize that look on your face." Her eyes went wide. "You're going off to investigate."

  "Shh," I said, checking to see if Bronson was overhearing us. "I am not. I'm going to the bank."

  "Ohhh, shoot," Pippa said, pointing out the window. "Your boyfriend's on his way over."

  "Who?" I looked to see Jackson striding towards the bakery. "Very funny, Pippa. Don't call him that." I undid my coat buttons, suddenly feeling hot and flustered. I'd blame it on the sun that was rapidly rising and melting away the dew if anyone asked.

  He at least did the courtesy of knocking on the door, even though Pippa and I were both frozen there in the window like statutes.

  "Detective. I wasn't expecting you."

  "I did tell you one of us would be by to take a statement." Jackson glanced down at Pippa and asked if he could speak to me alone.

  "Sure, I guess."

  "Do you have somewhere else more important to be?" There was no hint of humor or amusement in his voice. I glanced at Pippa for help.

  "No," Pippa said. "She was just heading to the bank. Isn't that right, Rach?"

  "Right," I muttered. "Nothing more important than that. Why don't we go sit in my office then?"

  Ever since I'd expanded the bakery by purchasing the shop next door, I'd been able to spread out a little more. The extra space meant a big kitchen, larger cool room, more space for stock, and even a little room for an office. Not that it looked like an office per se, it was really just a desk cluttered with unopened bills and unwashed coffee cups with a mini fridge shoved next to it. The whole thing was really no bigger than a cabinet, if I was honest.

  "Sorry," I said, trying to shove the piles of bills to one side as I quickly hid the dirty cups. "It's a bit messy in here."

  Jackson glanced up at the ceiling and nodded. "It's good to see you've expanded, though. You never had an office before. Next step will be to franchise out."

  "Not quite up to that point yet," I said, sitting down. I was surprised by how casual and friendly he was suddenly being, compared to how serious he'd been in front of Pippa.

  My phone flashed. A text from Justin.

  Where are you???

  I quickly turned the screen face down. Time to get this interview over with, quickly.

  Jackson didn't seem to be in any hurry to get to the point, however. He was twiddling his thumbs and shifting in his seat, trying to get into a more comfortable position. I didn't blame him. It was plastic and from the thrift store. Still.

  "I didn't see anything," I volunteered, hoping that might move things along more quickly.

  Jackson frowned. "Well, that's not a very good start, unfortunately."

  I supposed it wasn't, but he was confusing me. From my experience—and I had a lot of it—the cops usually do most of the questioning in these situations. But it was me that had to ask Jackson what exactly was going on.

  That's when I saw it. The faintest of eye rolls and a look on his face as though he'd rather be anywhere else, asking anyone anything else other than what he was about to ask me.

  Suddenly, I got it.

  But I wanted to hear him say it.

  "Rachael," he started to say, every syllable dripping with reluctance. "This has to stay quiet, you understand? Unofficial."

  "What does?" I still needed to know what he was 'unofficially' asking me.

  Jackson swallowed. "Any...involvement, of yourself. In this case."

  I opened my eyes wide, acting like I was shocked by the proposition. "You want me to be involved in the case?"

  "As I said. Unofficially."

  I leaned back in my seat. I could barely control the satisfaction emanating from me. "Well, well, well. This is a first." I leaned forward and stared at him, a little more serious now. "Does anyone else at the station know that you are asking me this?"

  Perhaps it was going to be our little secret.

  "Emma does," Jackson replied. "Detective Crawford," he added, in case I was confused about who he was referring to. I wasn't. "It was actually her suggestion."

  Oh.

  I was feeling slightly less satisfied. "I will have to think about it."

  Jackson looked surprised. Not just surprised. Disappointed. "You seemed pretty happy about it a second ago."

  Even with the screen face down against the desk, I could see it flashing every couple of minutes with a new text. I had to go see Justin.

  Jackson didn't need to know that I was already investigating the case. In that moment, I didn't want to give him the satisfaction of saying yes. Especially when it had been his girlfriend's suggestion. I mean, I knew it was petty, but in my opinion, he was being petty as well—even pointing out that it was Emma's suggestion. Couldn't he at least have pretended that he was on board with the scheme?

  I stood up and pulled on my coat. Big mistake. The mercury was already rising. It was hot in that cramped office even in just a blouse, let alone a he
avy coat. But I needed to show Jackson that I needed to leave.

  "I'll have to think about it," I said.

  Jackson stood up after me. "What is there to think about?"

  I shrugged. "I don't know if I want to get involved in all this stuff again. Especially with my reality TV career about to start."

  Jackson just stared at me. "Is this really what this is about? You care more about being famous than helping us catch a killer? You care more about your image than justice?"

  I placed my hands on my hips. He wasn't right, of course—I was lying—but I didn't like his self-righteous indignation considering I was pretty sure I knew why he was there. "It's a bit rich to accuse me of caring more about image than justice when there's only one reason you're here, begging me for my help."

  "I'm not begging!"

  "And that reason is that you are concerned about the image of the police force. Especially with yet ANOTHER killer running around." I waited for him to dare to argue with that.

  He let out a little scoff. "And you think that you running around solving this crime is GOOD for our image? If I really cared about any of that, why would I be asking you for help?"

  "Secretly asking me," I pointed out. "Unofficially."

  His neck seemed to tense up. "Like I said, it's not a good look."

  Fine. So he was happy to ask for my help as long as no one knew about it. "And if I solve the crime?" I asked. "I suppose all the credit goes to you."

  Jackson rolled his eyes just slightly again. "Solve the crime? No one is expecting you to do that. We just thought you might be able to offer a few crumbs of help, considering you were at the audition yesterday."

  "You know what?" I asked, sweating in my red coat now but unwilling to take it off. "I have thought about it. And my answer is no."

  Jackson's mouth dropped open as I pushed past him.

  "Now, you'll have to excuse me. I've got some important business to attend to."

  As soon as Pippa and I were back in the car, I yanked my coat off and cranked up the air conditioner. "Geez it's like a heat wave."

  "It is when you're wearing a winter coat." Pippa looked me up and down. "Now, are you going to tell me where we're going?"

  I glanced in my rearview mirror waiting until Jackson became the size of an ant. "We are going to go talk to Justin."

  "Who is Justin again?"

  "The producer of Baking Warriors." I still had my eyes trained on the rearview mirror. "He was the one who discovered Pierre's body."

  "I knew it!" Pippa gasped, slapping her hands together. "I knew you were going to investigate!"

  I turned to face her. Deadly serious. "Not a word of this to Jackson, understand? In fact, not a word of it to anyone." I leaned back in my seat. "All I'm doing is talking to Justin. I can't make any promises about what will happen after that."

  But Pippa wasn't listening to me, she was already bouncing up and down in her seat with excitement. "I thought life back here in Belldale might be boring after my travel adventures. Especially now that I'm old and married."

  My eyes widened.

  "But investigating the death of a reality show judge?" Pippa shook her head. "Rach, this is far from boring."

  "Just stay calm, Pippa," I tried to say. "I can't guarantee anything."

  "Come on, Rach. You KNOW you're gonna do it."

  I sighed and looked at her.

  "Pippa," I said. "If I take on this case, and I do mean IF, will you help me?"

  "Are you kidding me?" she exclaimed. "The bakery detectives, back together? Just try and stop me."

  Chapter 5

  "Wow, this place is pretty flashy," Pippa murmured as we stood in front of the Glassview Hotel. "I didn't even know Belldale had a place like this."

  "I don't think production spares any expense," I said. "On the crew at least." I'd already had a sneak preview of the dormitory I'd be sleeping in if I actually got selected to go on the show. I'd be sharing a room with another contestant, and a bathroom with another four. At least during the first weeks of shooting. If I managed to remain until the end, the herd would thin out a bit and I might get my own room.

  But it was nice to see that Justin was staying in luxury.

  "Who is it?" he whispered from the other side of the door.

  "It's me, Rachael. Who do you think it is?"

  He yanked the door open. "It took you long enough." He stopped when he saw Pippa standing next to me. "Who is this?"

  "This is my best friend, Pippa. She helps me when I do this sort of stuff."

  Justin sighed and made a show of looking down both sides of the corridor. "People have been after me all day.” He pulled us both inside the room and double-checked the door was locked before heading over to the mini bar.

  "Vodka," he announced once he'd found what he was looking for. He didn't offer me or Pippa anything as he took a drink from the tiny bottle. I supposed they were expensive. "Believe me, honey, I need to drink after the twenty-four hours I've had."

  "Justin, are you going to tell me what’s going on? You said that you were a suspect, but you're not being held at the police station."

  Justin began pacing back and forth across the carpet. "No, but I am being held prisoner in this hotel room." He stopped and stared at me. "The press are all pointing their fingers at me, Rachael." He walked over and shook me by the shoulders. "You gotta help me. I know that you’re an expert at this kind of thing. You solve murder cases." He flung his arms up in the air. "Well, you gotta solve this one! You gotta help me prove that I didn’t do it, otherwise my career is over."

  I shot Pippa a look and settled into a chair. "And of course you want justice to be served... You want your good friend Pierre's murder to be solved."

  Justin waved his hand. "Yeah, yeah."

  Pippa was staring back at me. I couldn't read her mind, but I could read the look of suspicion on her face. She seemed to be saying to me, But how do we know Justin DIDN'T do it?

  I gave her a slight shrug. I know.

  If anything, Justin would have been at the top of my list of suspects. He was the one who found Pierre's body. Clearly, the media had leapt to the same conclusions.

  And I didn't want to do that. Jump to conclusions, that is.

  "Justin," I said gently. "Calm down for a moment. Take a seat."

  He gulped down the rest of his vodka and took a seat at a table by the window overlooking the lake.

  I stood and joined him. "Take a few deep breaths." Sitting down, I asked him, "Now, do you have any idea who MIGHT have done it."

  Justin began to bite the nail of his left thumb. After a few seconds of deep thought, he nodded. "Really, it could have been anyone who was there that day."

  Of course.

  "But I'm pretty sure..." Justin glanced up at me. "And don't take offense to this, Rachael."

  I leaned back. "I won't."

  "But I'm pretty sure it was an auditionee."

  I gave him a long stare. "Do you think I did it?"

  Justin shook his head. "No, no. Of course not. You were in the green room, after all."

  I sighed. "Who then? Do you have any names?"

  "Wait here a second." He went and fetched his beloved tablet from the top of his bed. I tried not to groan at the sight of that thing.

  It took him a few minutes to find the auditionee list.

  "Here," he said, sliding it in front of me. "Here is a list of all the potential contestants who got up close and personal with Pierre yesterday."

  I leaned over. "Why are some of the names highlighted in pink?"

  Justin raised his eyebrows. "They are the people who acted the most suspicious. Rachael, I had to deal with the whole bunch of you all week, you know. Put up with everyone's tears and tantrums, assure you all you were doing all right, that your hair and makeup looked fine, and that you were definitely going to wow the judges."

  Not exactly how I remembered events. Anyway.

  "So, I saw everyone. Saw their best, and worst." Justin sat down a
nd stared at me. "I know how desperate some of these people were to get on TV." He didn't break the stare. "Desperate enough to kill."

  I felt a little chill go down my spine.

  He pushed the tablet closer to me. "There you go, Rachael. Those names in pink. They are the people you need to be talking to."

  Justin had narrowed the list down to two prime suspects. The first one was a woman named Renee, a struggling single mother with five kids under twelve who would have been an almost certainty to make it onto the show—unless someone else had a better backstory than her.

  I was worried that person might have been me.

  Justin had told me that Renee was desperate for the $100,000 prize money. She'd talked about little else during the pre-audition phase, apparently.

  "Pretty good motivation," I said to Pippa as we stood in the front of Renee’s house. I glanced guiltily at the front of her house. It looked like the money really could come in handy. The house wasn't just a little rundown. It would take more than just a fresh coat of paint to get this place looking nice. Or even livable. There were planks of wood falling off the exterior and the porch groaned as we stepped on it. I was afraid I was going to fall right through it.

  I knocked on the door.

  A woman, looking nothing like I was expecting, pulled the door back. "Sorry," I said. "I was looking for Renee Austin?"

  "I'm Renee," she said.

  "Oh." I stared at the young, perfectly dressed woman in front of me. I tried my best to hide my confusion. I certainly didn't want to be rude, but I desperately wanted to ask how the heck she was so young--or looked so young at least--with so many kids.

  And how did she afford to dress so well if she was apparently so desperate to win the prize money? She wore a crisp floral dress in pink and green and her hair was pulled back with a matching headband. She looked the picture of the perfect homemaker. Not someone struggling to put food on the table.

  "Can we come in?" I asked, still trying to hide my look of surprise.