Never Trust a Skinny Cupcake Baker (Death by Cupcake Book 1)

by D. E. Haggerty

  I nearly laugh. Yeah, right. For some reason, logical thinking is missing from the detectives who should be investigating the murder. “Can I bring the sample by this afternoon? I know it’s Friday, but it’d be a great help.”

  “No worries. I’ll be in until four.” I thank him and hang up. I quickly text Ben with the time and location before standing to tell Anna she’s going to miss the appointment as we don’t have any other workers coming in this afternoon.

  ♥♥♥

  Ben is already waiting outside of the social sciences hall when I arrive on my bike. He meets me as I lock up my bike. “Hi, sweetheart,” he whispers as he kisses my forehead.

  I smile up at him and grab his hand. “Come on. Andy’s only here for another half an hour.” We walk to the building, and then climb the stairs to the third floor where Tanner’s office is located. His office door is closed when we arrive and I’m about to knock, but Ben stops me with a pull on my hand. I turn to question him, but he doesn’t give me a chance to speak. Instead, he kisses the life out of me. Only when I’m completely breathless does he release me and smile.

  “There, now we can go see your admirer.” He smirks. I shake my head at his caveman display.

  I knock on the door and then push it open when I hear someone yell, “Come in”. A disheveled man stands up from his overflowing desk and smiles.

  “Hi, Callie! I’m glad you called,” Tanner says and walks around his desk to shake my hand.

  “Hey Andy. This is Ben.” I shake his hand and nod towards Ben.

  “Her boyfriend,” Ben insists when I don’t indicate why he’s here with me.

  I roll my eyes. “Stop saying that!”

  “Did I or did I not just kiss you breathless in the hallway?” His eyes heat up, and I blush.

  I clear my throat and decide to not bother replying to Ben’s caveman displays. I open my backpack and pull out the photocopy of the postcard, which I supposedly wrote. “This is the writing I was talking about.” I hand him the card, and he moves off to a corner desk containing a large magnifying glass.

  “Can you write the exact same message for me?” He asks and hands me a pen and piece of paper.

  “Sure.” I move the papers covering his guest chair and sit down to write. I don’t need to look at the postcard. I have the text memorized. Sorry about your car, Callie. I quickly scribble the words before standing and handing the card to Andy. He places the cards next to each other on his table and projects them onto the opposite wall.

  Ben moves to study the projections on the wall and looks at the samples. “I’m not an expert, but even I can tell that this isn’t Callie’s handwriting.”

  Andy continues to study the samples. “Let’s not get ahead of ourselves,” he mumbles. “You’re sure this is one of your postcards?”

  “Yeah,” I nod at him although his eyes are still concentrated on his table. “I saw the original when the police questioned me. It was the same colors and type of paper.”

  “I think it’s safe to assume the card came from Callie’s bakery. She doesn’t deny that. But she didn’t write that,” Ben speaks with absolute confidence and a butterfly or two may flutter in my stomach at his belief in me.

  I stand next to Andy and peer over his shoulder. “So how does this work?”

  “I’m looking for differences in the individual characteristics of the handwriting.”

  I look at Ben to see if he understands, but he just shrugs at me. “What are individual characteristics?”

  Andy looks up from his desk and puts his glasses on top of his head. “How a letter is formed. For example, the curves, slants, size of the letters, slope of writing, and use of connecting lines.” He walks to the projection on the wall and points to my sample. “If you look here, you can see your letters slope slightly to the left, which indicates that you are most likely left-handed.”

  I nod. “But you knew that already.”

  Andy turns to me and smiles. “Yes, I did, but apparently whoever wrote this note did not.”

  “What?”

  He turns back to the projection and this time points to the original note. “Whoever wrote this note is most definitely right-handed. See here,” he points to the l’s in Callie. “This is a most distinctive slant to the right. A left-handed person would only slant his letters like this if she was trying to forge someone else’s writing.” I think about it and imagine myself writing my name with a right slant. Andy’s right, it would be awkward and uncomfortable.

  “You said she. Can you tell the gender of the person who wrote the note?” Ben asks.

  Andy looks at Ben and raises an eyebrow. “Interesting question. Before we were all attached to digital devices twenty-four seven, it was possible to determine someone’s gender by looking at a handwriting sample. These days,” he shrugs, “it’s not as easy.”

  Ben turns back to the samples. “How come I get the distinct feeling that the person who wrote this is a woman, then?”

  “Because this person is probably born in a time when handwriting was still part of daily life. I’d guess at least forty.”

  “So this is definitely a woman’s writing?” I hold my breath waiting for his answer. This could be a big break in the case.

  Andy shakes his head. “Not necessarily. The writing certainly looks female, but it could be simulated.”

  “You mean faked?” Ben asks, and Andy nods.

  “Is there any way to tell if it is faked?”

  Andy turns back to stare at the projected handwriting sample. “It’s difficult, but there are things I can look for. Shaky lines, dark and thick starts and finishes for words, and lots of pen lifts. These characteristics indicate a person slowly and carefully formed words instead of writing naturally.”

  “Do you see any signs of that?”

  Andy shrugs. “I really need the original to make an accurate assessment. And these things take time. I can’t just look at a handwriting example and make judgments. It needs careful and scientific study. Otherwise, it won’t be admissible in court.”

  I nod. “What about the writer being right-handed? Is that admissible?” I’d like to walk away from here with at least a bit of good news.

  Andy smiles. “I haven’t done a careful analysis, but I’m fairly certain that the writer is right-handed. Why don’t you leave the samples with me, and I’ll take some time next week to have a closer look?”

  I nod because I don’t really have a choice. Did I really expect to walk away with definitive proof that I didn’t write the note? The note is the only evidence the homicide detectives have. It would be great to say that there’s not a chance in the world that I wrote the note, but it doesn’t look like that is how things work.

  Ben sees the downturn in my mood and steps up to me to wrap his arm around me. He squeezes tight, and I lean my head against his shoulder. He kisses my hair. “This is good news, Callie.” I nod because he’s right. It’s just not the great news I was hoping for.

  Chapter 15

  I can’t solve my problems with cupcakes, but it sure makes me feel better.

  I try to stretch and roll over only to find I’m stuck. What in the world? I’m lying on my side with a heavy band across my stomach trapping me in place. I open my eyes to survey the situation. Instead of snuggled under my comforter in bed, I’m lying on the sofa. I look down and see I’m still wearing my clothes from yesterday. I’m trying to put the pieces of the puzzle together when I feel someone kiss my hair. “Good morning, sweetheart,” Ben mumbles in a sleepy voice which, if I were being honest with myself, is sexy as all get out.

  What’s going on here? I remember Ben following me home from the University. He came up to my apartment, and we ended up watching chick lit movies while gorging on sushi. I must have fallen asleep on the sofa at some point. I turn to Ben who is scrunched between me and the back of the sofa. “Why didn’t you wake me?” Oh wait, that’s not the imperative question. “And why are you still here?”

  He gives me that dazz
ling smile with the one dimple; not looking one bit chastised. “No way I was going to give up the chance to spend the night with you in my arms.” He leans down and gives me a hard closed-mouth kiss while he pets my hair. I don’t even want to think about the tangled mess my hair must be now.

  Wait! Why can I see Ben’s face? It should be dark out. I never wake up after the sun has made an appearance. Even though we open an hour later on Saturdays, I still should have been downstairs by five. “Oh no,” I try to pull myself off the sofa, which is a pretty monumental task as my legs are entwined with Ben’s, and his arm is holding me across the waist like a steel band. “I’m beyond late. I need to get to work.”

  Ben’s not cooperating at all. His arm tightens around me, and he pulls me even tighter against his chest. “I called Anna last night. She said she’s got everything covered.”

  What? “When did you do that?”

  Ben chuckles. “After you fell asleep for the third time.”

  I blink but can’t think of a response to that. It’s actually super sweet. I turn to check the time on my DVD player and see it’s approaching seven. “I really need to get up and help Anna open the store now,” I insist as I wrestle Ben’s arm from around me.

  Ben allows me to get up and pull away but when I’m nearly in the hallway, he speaks. “I plan to spend as many nights as possible with you wrapped in my arms. And some day…” He turns and hits me with those chocolate eyes. “It’s going to be every night.”

  I have no words. I stare at him until he motions for me to get my act together. Yeah, like that’s possible after Detective Hottie declares he wants to spend his nights with you.

  ♥♥♥

  At 1:45 p.m. I grab my purse and yell at Anna I’ll be back in an hour or so. I’m rushing to sneak out the back door when I’m tackled by the pink pixie. “Where do you think you’re going?”

  “Um...” I shrug and try to buy time by reaching down to grab my purse from the floor where it fell when Anna tried to take me down. “Just an appointment.”

  Anna plants her hands on her hips and the toe of her right foot starts tapping. “And would this just happen to be a gynecological appointment?”

  Shoot! I didn’t tell her about my appointment with Dr. Abrahams today, but she’s not obtuse. She knows I called his office and couldn’t get through to him. I sigh. There’s nothing for it. “Yes, I’m going to see Dr. Abrahams, but you can hardly join me on a trip to the gyno.”

  “I miss all the good stuff,” she pouts.

  I raise my eyebrow at her and stare. “Seriously? Going to the gyno is the good stuff? Because I’d rather get a dozen root canals than go to the gyno.”

  Anna rolls her eyes at me. “Geez, Callie, it’s not that bad. Sometimes you’re such a prude!”

  “I’d love to stand here and discuss the history and development of prudishness of the American people versus the Europeans more laissez faire attitudes towards sex, but I don’t want to be late to my appointment.”

  Anna shoos me away. “Fine! Get out of here before you bore me to death, but I expect a full report tonight. Drinks at Callahan’s!”

  I pedal like a maniac to the University Medical Center. I abhor being late. It’s rumored that I actually lock the doors to the lecture hall during my classes to deter tardiness. I’ll never tell, but in case you’re wondering, the doors totally lock. I arrive at Dr. Abrahams’ office a few minutes before two. I check in, and the receptionist hands me a stack of forms to fill out.

  I sit with the forms and that’s when I realize that I haven’t thought things out very well because right there on the first form is a questionnaire asking why I’m visiting today. Blast! I can feel my cheeks heating up and can’t help but be grateful that Anna is nowhere in the vicinity to poke fun at my Puritanism.

  “Ms. Muller,” a nurse in pink scrubs yells from the front of a hallway. Saved by the bell!

  I stand and follow the nurse to an examination room. “Go ahead and get undressed and put the gown on.” Yeah, like that will be happening. “The doctor will be with you in a moment.”

  Left with no other choice, I climb onto the examination table – fully dressed. I try to think of a plan of attack while I’m waiting but apparently Dr. Abrahams runs a tight ship because I wait no more than five minutes before he appears. I study him as he washes his hands in the sink. He’s middle-aged. I’d guess somewhere around fifty with a few streaks of gray appearing in his short, black, curly hair. He’s a bit chubby around the middle but otherwise seems in decent shape. I can’t guess how tall he is since I’m sitting on an elevated table. He turns to me and smiles.

  “So, miss, what can I do for you today?”

  I take a deep breath and jump in with both feet. “Actually, it’s doctor. Doctor Muller.”

  I carefully watch for a reaction to my name but don’t notice any change in his demeanor. I guess he hasn’t been following the news of Dolly’s murder. “Okay, what can I do for you Doctor?”

  I jump right in. “Do you know Dolly aka Claire Horne?”

  He flinches ever so slightly and then turns to leave. “We’re done here. Tell my wife I’ll talk to her about this latest stunt tonight.”

  “Wait.” I stumble as I climb down the examination table. “Your wife didn’t send me.” I grab his arm as he reaches for the doorknob. “Please, hear me out. I’ve been accused of Dolly’s murder, but I didn’t have anything to do with it.”

  He stares at my hands on his arm, and I immediately release him. He turns to me and stares at my face for a while. Finally, he nods. “You’ve got two minutes.”

  “Well, it’s just that I heard that you and Dolly were… um… lovers.” I clear my throat. “I was wondering if you have any idea who would want her dead.”

  “Lovers?” He snorts. “Is that what you young kids are calling it today?” I look at him in confusion, and he sighs. “Yes, I’ve had sexual relations with Dolly, but we were hardly lovers.” Isn’t that what having sex with someone means? That you’re lovers? He shakes his head at my obvious confusion. “You really need me to spell it out for you, don’t you? I paid Dolly for sex.”

  I feel my eyes widen and try to control my surprise. “So, did she … ah … do that kind of thing more often?”

  “Have sex for money, you mean?” The good doctor is now smirking at me. He shrugs. “I’m not an eyewitness or anything, but I’m pretty sure I wasn’t the first man to pay her to be with me. The woman got around, if you know what I mean.” He turns back to the door. “I think you’ve wasted enough of my time, Doctor.” He opens the door and breezes out as if he hadn’t just told me he paid a woman to have sex with him. Okay, I’m definitely a prude.

  Chapter 16

  I wish I could lose weight as easy as I lose my mind.

  “What’s going on?” Ben roars.

  “What are you doing here?” I ask without raising my head from the table where it landed minutes ago after my crying jag petered out.

  “Pinkie called me.”

  I lift my head ever so slightly to glare at Anna, but the effect is probably not what I intend as my eyes are puffy from crying and most likely bloodshot from a few too many beers last night. Ben pulls my chair out from the table and kneels in front of me. “What’s going on, sweetheart? Why are you crying?” He gently cradles my face with his hands, and I suddenly have to blink quickly to stop the tears from falling again. I fail – epically.

  Tears stream down my face, and I take deep gulps of air to stop myself from hyperventilating. I let out all my frustrations. “It’s been a week and we’ve got nothing. Tweedledee and Tweedledum are still convinced – for reasons I cannot fathom – that I am guilty of murdering a stupid, inconsequential pole dancing teacher slash stripper slash prostitute. Are they even trying to find some of her johns to see if any of them had a motive for her murder? No! Because it’s not like a majority of hookers aren’t killed by their clients or anything?”

  Ben gently pulls me into his arms before lifting me up a
nd sitting back in my chair. He cradles me in his lap and rocks me. He kisses my hair and tries to soothe me. Suddenly, he’s still and he lifts my head so I’m forced to look at him. “What are you talking about hookers for?”

  “Uh oh,” I hear Anna mutter from the kitchen area. At Anna’s utterance, Ben’s eyes scrunch up, and he stares at me.

  I sigh in defeat and make my confession. “We kind of went to Dolly’s other job and found out who her boyfriend was but when I went to see him yesterday, it turned out it he wasn’t her boyfriend but a client.”

  “You went to Dolly’s other job? At the strip club?” I’m not sure if Ben is surprised or mad. His face is completely blank.

  Anna giggles. “Not only did we go to the strip club, but Callie got a job as a stripper.” She raises her hand to give me a high five, but I glare at her. I grab my glasses from the table and put them on. I need to concentrate for this conversation.

  Ben grabs my chin and turns me to face him. “You got a job as a stripper?”

  I don’t dare answer but there’s no need, Anna is perfectly happy to fill him in. “Yeah, she auditioned and everything. She was totally awesome.” She fans herself. “Sexy!”

  I can see from the way Ben’s jaw has frozen and the ticking of a muscle above his eye that he’s about to explode, but I beat him to the punch. “How did you know Dolly was working at the strip club? Why didn’t you tell us?”

  If a six feet tall, 200 plus pound man can look sheepish, that’s how Ben looks now. He rubs one hand over his face before finally daring to look at me. “I’ve been trying to find out some information about the investigation through back channels since no one can officially share with me.”

  “But why didn’t you tell us?” This hurts. I don’t know if you can call his actions a lie, but I still feel betrayed.

  “Because I didn’t want you to run off half-cocked to a strip club, but I guess that ship has sailed.” He takes a deep breath and closes his eyes for a few moments before continuing. “Okay, what have you found out so far?”