by Polly Holmes
Dead Velvet Cupcakes
Polly Holmes
Western Australia
Chapter One
“Don’t even think about it, Pierre,” Margarete snapped, her insides ablaze with frustration. Her chef’s knife, dripping in roast lamb juices and maple glaze, waved frantically in front of Pierre’s nose. “The agreement was this kitchen is mine until dessert. You were supposed to cook your cupcake creation at CC’s Simply Cupcakes.”
Pierre huffed, folding his arms across his perfectly pristine white uniform. His gaze drilled into Margarete. “Yes, that was the plan, but things changed when our lovely council decided to accidentally cut through the water pipes in the alley out the back of the shop. I was halfway through the bake when they informed me that they would be turning off the water to fix their mistake. Now, I have to finish cooking the rest here.”
Finish here… Are you serious? She shook her head.
“No. No, absolutely not. I am not going to let the McCorrson’s down. This isn’t only their thirtieth anniversary dinner, it’s also my chance to establish myself in this town as a professional caterer and not just the woman who runs the local café.”
“Oh my gosh. Margarete, your cheese fondue is a massive hit,” Savannah said as she blew through the kitchen and plonked an empty seafood platter on the counter. “I’m not usually a carb eater. But one of your freshly-made bread rolls dipped in that fondue? It’s to die for.”
“Thanks, Savannah, but you really should be serving the food, not tasting it.”
“Call it research,” Savannah said, grinning like a child caught with their hand in the cookie jar. “What if someone asks me what it tastes like? I have to know the answer. Right?”
Margarete rolled her eyes and returned to cutting the main proteins for the meat platters. Roast lamb, slow cooked brisket and pork studded with delicious apples. “Now, if only I can avoid any more distractions, maybe I’ll have this dinner out on time. Pierre, that was a polite way of hinting that I’m under the pump and need to get back to work. Now, if you’ll excuse me. How are those baked potatoes and glazed veggies coming, Antony?”
“Delizioso.” Antony puckered his lips and put his fingers to his mouth making a kissing action. Just as she’d seen Italians do so many times on the television.
She hadn’t believed her luck when the McCorrson’s asked her to design and cook for their anniversary dinner. Charlotte, Clair and Cassidy, the happy couple’s three daughters had stepped back from the kitchen for the night. Even though they ran two successful cupcake businesses, they’d enlisted her skills for entrée and main course. She’d offered to do all three courses, but rival chef Pierre worked with Charlotte at CC’s Simply Cupcakes and he’d already been promised the dessert course, including the cake.
“Unbelievable.” Pierre threw his hands up in the air and glared at Margarete, clearly ignoring the hive of activity surrounding him. “Do you mean to tell me, Margarete Becker, that you are banning me from this kitchen until after the main course?”
Margarete spun, fury burning through her. “You can have it when I’ve finished serving dinner. Now, kindly leave or so help me, I…will…make…you.”
Pierre’s chocolate-brown eyes widened, and his jaw hit the floor. “Well, I never. You’ll pay for this, mark my words. If my red velvet cupcake masterpiece is a flop, it will be all your fault.” He spun on his heel toward the door, huffing as he left.
Thank goodness.
A continual stream of sweat trickled down Margarete’s temple. Dinner service was manic. Her staff worked like a well-oiled machine but feeding sixty hungry guests was taking its toll. Thankfully, she’d only had to leave the kitchen for a few times to lend a hand and manage a quick toilet break. “Giving up” was a phrase not in her vocabulary. “This has to be the longest dinner service in history,” she said as she filled more trays with scrumptious food. She barely noticed Charlotte and Clair McCorrson pop into the kitchen.
Charlotte wrapped her arms around a surprised Margarete. “Thank you. Thank you. Thank you. You have certainly outdone yourself. We knew you were a great cook, but this food is simply divine.”
Clair chimed in, her smile stretching from ear to ear. “We couldn’t have planned a better meal ourselves. It’s perfect, and Mum and Dad are absolutely blown away. This is the most perfect anniversary dinner ever. And I’ve never seen guests eat so much food before.”
Margarete couldn’t wipe the smile from her face. Earning the girl’s approval was ten times better than winning the lottery. “I owe it to you ladies for giving me a chance.”
“Your food is wonderful. And I happened to spot one guest out there who’s pretty delicious looking, too, if I do say so myself,” Charlotte said, her hand flying to her mouth to cover a cheeky grin.
“Charlotte!” Margarete said, pausing momentarily. “What on earth are you doing looking at gorgeous men, even if they are the spitting image of Dr. McDreamy, when you have the likes of Liam Brady hanging off your arm?”
“Ah-hah,” Clair said as if she’d just solved the secret of the Easter Bunny. She pointed her finger directly at Margarete. “I knew it. I knew it. You did notice him.”
Margarete rolled her eyes and sighed. “Well, of course, I noticed him. Who wouldn’t? He is kinda cute.”
“Kinda? Kinda?” Charlotte raised her eyebrows as Margarete’s nonchalant tone. “He’s almost better looking than Patrick Dempsey himself.”
Yes, Charlotte. That fact has not escaped me.
“Margarete, we need more sour cream for the baked potatoes,” Savannah said, rushing through the door. “You’d think they haven’t eaten in months with the way they are devouring the food out there. Looks like you did it. I bet you’ll have catering bookings flying in after this evening.”
Savannah’s words excited Margarete. Her insides bubbled with pure exhilaration. She silently prayed that Savannah was right. “You’ll find more sour cream in the cool room. Right hand side on the second shelf. I’m just about finished with these trays, so once you have replenished the sour cream can you come back and take these out?” Savannah nodded, zooming past the other waitress, who was heading out to the floor again.
Charlotte subtly picked up a bowl of pork crackle pieces. “Anyone for crackle?”
“Hey,” Margarete said, slotting the last of the sticky pork belly bao buns on the platter. “I was saving that for when service is done. My little treat for when it’s all over.”
Charlotte shrugged and held the bowl toward Margarete. “Why wait?”
“Yes, why wait?” Clair said popping a piece in her mouth. “Surely you can take a five-minute break?”
Margarete sighed and wiped her forehead with the back of her hand. She had been working full steam since she’d walked into the kitchen that morning. A smile spread across her face. “Five minutes, that’s all.” She popped a square of crackle into her mouth. The bursting, sweet, caramelised crackle crunched in her mouth.
“Oh gosh, that’s good,” Charlotte mumbled behind a warm giggle.
“Mmmmm.” Clair added, licking salt from her fingers, her mouth still full of crackling. “Best pork crackling, e-v-e-r.”
They giggled and chomped away. Margarete wondered if this was what it was like to have sisters.
An alluring male voice rang out from behind them. “Um…excuse me.”
She spun. Her eyes widened and her stomach dropped as she stopped, frozen, face to face with McDreamy himself.
Oh my gosh. How embarrassing. You would have to come in at the exact moment I take a break and my mouth is stuffed full. Definitely not my best look.
Margarete smiled and slowly chomped her crackle, but it didn’t stop her insides fighting against every piece she swallowed. Sh
e cleared her throat. “Sorry. Cook’s prerogative to taste the food before it leaves the kitchen. Can I help you?”
He smiled and her heart melted, but then again it did that every time she watched an episode of Grey’s Anatomy. He edged his way into the kitchen and was standing in front of her in seconds. He extended his hand. “Logan Hunter.”
Margarete’s gaze dropped to his hand hanging in mid-air. She slid hers in his and he squeezed. Shock waves bolted up her arm and she held on. “Margarete Becker.” She paused as they shook, before asking again. “Can I help you with something?”
“I was just confirming that there were no nuts in the food tonight. I’m highly allergic. I was told it was all nut free and since everything was prepared so beautifully this evening, I thought I’d come in and ask the chef herself.”
Margarete swallowed the knot in her throat and nodded. “Of course. All my food in nut free, Mr Hunter.”
“Call me Logan.”
Savannah poked her head out from behind the cool room door. “Margarete, are you sure there is sour cream in here? I can’t seem to find it anywhere.”
“Try the back cool room outside,” she said without moving her eyes from the gorgeous man in front of her.
He smiled and Margarete’s insides did a double flip. “That’s great to know. I guess I should let you get back to work. Nice to meet you, Margarete Becker.” He turned and left, leaving her wondering if the heat rising in her body was caused by the ovens in the kitchen or the sexy McDreamy look-alike.
She turned her gaze back to the girls and they stood, arms folded, inquisitive gazes strewn across their faces.
“That guy is seriously into you, Margarete. Did you see the way his eyes stuck to you and only you?” Charlotte said as she popped another piece of crackle into her mouth.
Into me? As if.
“Pfft, don’t be ridiculous.” Break over. Margarete brushed Charlotte’s comment aside and refocused, her heart sinking a little. She was in Ashton Point to re-establish her career, not to let men get in her way. “He was just checking if there were any nuts in the food.”
“Yeah, he did that already. Why come in here, specifically, and ask again if he already knew?” Clair asked. “To meet you, that’s why.”
Charlotte let out an excited squeal. “Let me help you. I am the best match maker. I will have him eating out of your hand in no time.”
Mortification hit Margarete square in the chest. It was as if she’d been transported back to high school. “No. Absolutely no. Promise me you won’t, Charlotte.”
Margarete let out a giggle at Charlotte’s playful pout. “But–” The electric chit-chat in the kitchen was shattered by a chilling, high-pitched scream.
“Was that Savannah?” Margarete asked as she bolted toward the back cool room. Charlotte and Clair were not far behind. Her heart plummeted and she stopped dead when she came face to face with a shaken, pale-faced Savannah against the outside wall of the cool room. Margarete’s pulse raced and her stomach was turning a hundred miles an hour.
What is going on?
“Savannah, what’s wrong? What happened?” Margarete asked, fear scampering up her spine. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”
A shallow whimper escaped Savannah’s lips. “I… I…”
“You what?” Charlotte asked. “Are you okay? What happened?”
By now, everyone in the kitchen had crowded into the tiny alcove that housed the outer cool room. They were waiting for the result of the commotion.
Savannah opened her mouth to speak, but nothing came out for several seconds. Her jaw opened and closed like a silent toy chatterbox. “It’s awful. I… I… I…it’s… Oh my God.” Her voice faded out and she held her shaky hand out. She pointed toward the entrance of the cool room.
Margarete held her breath. She edged herself toward the cool room door, her gut cramping at what she might find. She pictured a wild boar devouring the contents, or worse, dead or poisoned, with its innards splattered all over the inside of the cool room.
Margarete pushed the door open and stepped inside. Her startled gaze fell to the floor. She gasped and her hand flew to her mouth to stifle bile that had rushed from her stomach to her oesophagus. No, no, no.
She shook her head and her jaw dropped open. She’d never seen a dead body, let alone that of someone she knew. “Pierre?” All the air rushed from her lungs as if she’d been punched in the chest. Her knees turned to jelly, and her pulse began hammering the side of her temple. Pierre’s body lay distorted on the cool room floor, surrounded by squashed and flattened red velvet cupcakes. A knife jutted from his.
Savannah gasped behind her, her breath skimming the back of Margarete’s neck. “It’s really him, isn’t it? He’s really dead.”
Charlotte nodded. “Yes, it’s Pierre.”
Clair groaned. “And unless you can stab yourself in the back, someone helped him. As in murder.”
Charlotte, Margarete and Savannah gasped. Then they spoke in unison. “Murder.” Muffled mutterings blended behind them like white noise.
“Wait… Margarete, isn’t that your chef’s knife sticking out of his back?” Savannah asked in a shocked whisper.
Margarete’s heart pummelled her ribcage. Her skin flushed as heat consumed her body. “Yes, it is.” She turned to face a gang of inquisitive eyes. “But I didn’t put it there, I swear.”
Chapter Two
Clair placed her hand on Margaret’s shoulder. “Well, of course you didn’t put it there, but someone did.”
Margarete grabbed her stomach. Nausea bellowed deep in her belly at the sight of Pierre’s stiff body. “I think I’m going to be sick.”
Margarete almost jumped out of her skin as Charlotte placed her arm around her shoulders. “It’s going to be okay. Why don’t you take a seat for a moment?”
A seat? I think I’m going to need more than a seat. Margarete thought, her legs swaying as she teetered toward the chair by the exit door.
Charlotte turned to Clair. “I think now might be a good time to see if Kayne is available.” Kayne Pendleton was Ashton Point’s newest policeman. Clair had been so thrilled for her best friend, Alexandra, when Kayne had helped her out of a dangerous situation last Christmas and stolen her heart in the process. A murder would definitely be a buzz kill for his evening.
A haze washed over Margarete and Clair’s sweet voice now seemed a hundred miles away. “Yes, of course. I’ll be right back.” She turned toward the door. “Everyone, until I get back can you all please stay here and keep the situation well…um…within the kitchen? If I’ve learnt anything in this town, it’s how quickly rumours can start.”
The blood drained from Margarete’s face. “Rumours? Great, that’s all I need. For everyone in this town to think I’m a murderer. Just because it’s my knife sticking out of his back doesn’t mean I put it there.”
“No-one believes that for one minute.” Savannah piped up. “I can’t believe someone could do that to poor Pierre. He was here earlier this evening and now he’s…”
How could this perfect evening turn so horribly wrong so quickly? Searing pain bombarded Margarete’s forehead and she squeezed her eyes shut. She dropped her head into her hands and rubbed her temples desperately trying to ignore the hurried, muffled, patter of shoes around her. “This isn’t happening. This isn’t real.”
“Oh, it’s real, I’m afraid.” Kayne’s stern tone broke her stupor as he exited from the direction of the cool room. His gaze found hers. “I don’t suppose you know what happened here this evening?”
Tears threatened to break through the barrier Margarete fought hard to maintain. She shook her head. “No, I have no idea. He came in earlier because the council had burst a pipe out the back of CC’s Simply Cupcakes and had to shut the water mains down to fix it. Which meant he couldn’t finish his cupcakes there.”
Charlotte and Clair gasped in unison. “What? Really?” Clair said, surprise lacing her words.
Charlotte grunted.
“Nice of the council to let us know, since we’re the owners of CC’s Simply Cupcakes.”
“I thought you knew. I assumed Pierre would’ve told you.”
Clair shook her head. “No.”
Kayne cleared his throat, pulling his phone from his jacket pocket. “It doesn’t really matter now. We have bigger fish to fry, like finding a murderer hidden among seventy guests and workers before they all disappear into the darkened night.”
Margarete’s chest tightened under the weight of his words. If the guests disappeared, the real murderer would get away with it, leaving her holding the bag. Kayne paced the kitchen as he chatted on the phone. “Darn it,” he said, ending his call.
“What wrong,” Charlotte asked.
“I was hoping to get Clint before he left for the weekend on a training course, but no luck, I’m afraid. Looks like it’s going to come down to Robert and myself to solve this one. He’s on his way.” He turned toward the two red-headed women as they stood on either side of Margarete. “Will one of you ladies please go and see if Mason and Liam are around? I have a feeling we may need their help.”
Clair nodded, spinning on her heel, her red locks swishing as she went.
Kayne grabbed a notebook from his inside jacket pocket. “I’m sorry this has spoiled your parent’s anniversary celebrations.”
“It doesn’t have to,” Charlotte said, her eyes pleaded with him for understanding. “We can keep the party going. No-one really needs to know what’s going on in here. You can do your police thing and we’ll make sure the guests have enough food to keep them occupied.”
“You know I can’t do that, Charlotte.” Kayne stood his ground against Charlotte’s intimidating stance.
Kayne sighed and Margarete sensed his unease. The tension between them could have been sliced with a knife—if the thought weren’t so ironic in her current predicament. Margarete hadn’t even realised Antony was still there until she caught his movement out of the corner of his eye.
“I have an idea, if anyone is interested.”
