by Amy Saunders
~ * ~
That afternoon, Belinda pulled the Cake Diva truck up to one of their usual spots inside one of the wharves in downtown. Instead of sailors trading their faraway goods like spices, dozens of small shops hawked everything from sweatshirts to harbor cruises. And though Belinda imagined the scene was a little different in the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries, the clothes for one, she fancied it wasn't quite so different as one might think.
As soon as she jumped out of the truck to open the outside window, journalists attacked her from behind. She nearly whacked her chin on a cell phone when she turned around. A handful of other phones were in her face or being held up like they were recording, along with maybe one old school handheld recorder.
No one was interested in taking turns asking questions, so she only caught one here and there in the mix of voices.
"How do you feel after finding a murder victim?"
"Did you know Elena Campos?"
"Will you continue to use Portside House Cleaning?"
Belinda pursed her lips and did what her lawyer and her nana told her to do. She ignored them, despite her natural impulse to make eye contact and talk back, and squeezed alongside the truck and escaped inside. They herded against the window, shouting their questions through the opening. Belinda breathed deep and got to work, doing her best to ignore them.
But every time she glanced out, she saw people in the background shying away from forming a line. These idiots were interfering with her business. Could she rightfully call the police on them? She was seriously tempted to try and see what happened. But before she had the chance, several of them checked their phones and took off. Curious, or discouraged, the stragglers finally followed suit.
Before they had the audacity to come back, Belinda ran outside and announced they were open, smiling and waving hesitating patrons over, tempting them with free samples. Soon enough, she had a line to focus on, little girls pointing to the Princess Cupcake, part of a new marketing experiment. They had the Princess Cupcake and Superhero Cupcake that each came with a matching wrapper and plastic decoration/toy. It was an idea that crossed her mind when she saw all the young kids having sugargasms over the cupcakes. Wicked of her, probably. But they had plans to expand the concept–and maybe not just for children.
Belinda waved through the glass peekaboo to the little girl with orange ringlets. The girl squealed and hopped up and down as Belinda grabbed the Princess Cupcake. She smiled to herself–at her cleverness–but also at the peachy face of the cupcake's recipient. She wondered if Victoria's child would have hair like that.
They wrapped up a few hours later, until time to come back and nab the after-dinner strollers to try and make up for the loss of a Saturday because of the wedding. Belinda shut the outside window, locking it into place. The technical ins and outs of dealing with the truck were getting easier, just like Bennett promised when they started.
"Seen the news about the body you found?"
Belinda spun around. Female Reporter stood next to her in a sleeveless blouse, no mic or cameraman in sight, a gleam in her eyes. Belinda couldn't discern their color. Or why she was so pleased with herself.
"If you're here about the phone," Belinda said, "I already told you I'll have a check for you this week." She'd quickly regretted her decision to toss the reporter's phone into the street.
"I'm not here about that. I was just curious what you thought of the news. They say it was a possible theft gone wrong, hinting that it might be connected to those other house thefts."
"They? Don't you mean you?"
"I'm looking into other versions of what happened."
"You don't like the theft story?"
The reporter rolled her eyes heavenward. "I'm thinking bigger. Any updates for me?"
Belinda raised her eyebrows. "Isn't that your department?"
"I can't do this job entirely on my own. I'm not psychic, you know. Or telepathic. And you have an in with the detective working that case."
Belinda shrugged, thinking she said "in" funny, and wiped icing from in between her fingers. The last few weeks after working, she'd found icing in the most interesting places. "I only know what I learn from the news."
The reporter didn't buy it. She tilted her head down, giving a "c'mon" look. "I know that detective is more than just your boy toy's BFF. He's your friend, too. And since you've helped with two different cases now, I'm betting you always know more than we do."
"Flattering, but untrue." She was exhausted, and still wasn't done for the day, and this little whatever-it-was needed to end. "I can't help you. You'll have to try someone else closer to the investigation."
The reporter didn't look satisfied, and stared at her silently for an uncomfortable minute as if sizing Belinda up. Then she slipped a card from her pocket. "Call me if you learn anything new."
Belinda didn't even look up from her cleaning, but the reporter refused to retract her hand until Belinda took the card.
Female Reporter gave a bemused smile and strutted off. Belinda's eyebrows knitted up in consternation. Why was this woman suddenly asking her for news tips? And come to think of it, why wasn't she in the swarm harassing her earlier? Belinda sighed and tossed the business card in the trash.
Belinda and Mia finished the funtastic job of cleaning the cupcake truck and went their separate ways, Belinda going home.
Well, to the new home.
Her grandmother still owned the house Belinda's mother had spent some of her childhood summers in, and she'd offered to rent it (cheaply) to Belinda and Kyle. They agreed the carriage house was shrinking, and Kyle admitted (though he'd been such a good sport about it) that he was tired of not having a real bed.
The two-story shingled house came furnished, and her grandmother even insisted on including a house cleaner in the rent after seeing the carriage house. It was on a side street just a few turns away from her favorite beach and her family home, lumped in with a lot of other smallish houses, some of them rentals. And the house even had a small turret. So there wasn't much Belinda could say except yes. After their argument at the inn, she dearly hoped she wouldn't regret it.
She did regret their adopted kittens experiencing post-traumatic stress from the move, and leaving all sorts of biologicals around the house (including one smack in the middle of her furry white rug). Poseidon and Aria seemed to be acclimating now, though they were still in hiding most of the time, and much harder to find in a two-story house than a loft. The other two kittens had found homes with Bennett and Jonas.
The wedding had consumed most of the past week, and Belinda had stuff to do. It was her turn to write a blog post for the Cake Diva site and she was completely blank. She also needed to order more supplies for the truck. But right then she just wanted to crash and leave it till the next day.
She plopped next to Kyle on the couch in the living room. It was traditional inside with hardwood floors and Victorian touches on the white moldings and stained glass window by the stairs. Belinda liked it immediately. Even barren of keepsakes, it was still comfy and felt lived-in. Maybe that's why her grandmother held onto the place. Maybe it still felt like home.
Belinda stroked her white kitty with the gray splotches until the only boy from the litter, with a light gray blanket over his white fur, woke up and realized he was missing the action. Kyle had some show about Alaska on, but it was too late. She'd sat down and was now disinclined to stand up again.
"We have brunch with Mom and Dad tomorrow," she said, stifling a yawn. "Don't forget about it."
Kyle grunted. "Nervous?"
"Should I be?"
"They haven't mentioned Bennett yet. So, yeah, maybe you should be. The wedding's over, so I'm betting they're going to want to talk about it."
Belinda frowned. Perfect. "Thanks."
"Just sayin'. Prepare yourself."
She wasn't initially dreading brunch with them, but now she was. "It can't be much worse than Gram, I guess."
Kyle twisted his neck to see her. "Gram?"
>
"She cornered me last night to tell me I can't date Bennett."
"What did you say?"
"Nothing." Belinda ran her fingers through Aria's fur. "I had some choice words in my head, but I said nothing. I didn't really know what to say. She threatened him, and I think she meant it."
"Like, she's going to physically assault him?"
"I think she meant his livelihood, or something. She wasn't specific. I just know I can't let that happen. He's got enough problems." She told him about Bennett's new car.
"Bummer. He didn't tell you?"
"No. And I don't think that's the only thing he hasn't told me. I'm worried."
"Things'll get straightened out. You'll see."
As usual, Kyle had unshakable optimism about the future. If only she shared it.
She finished her day of cupcake selling after dark, and came home and went to bed. First thing next morning she had two tasks: wake up and go to brunch with her parents. But before she left, she had to solve the mystery of the strange woman in her kitchen.
"Hello?" Belinda said, unbuttoning her cardigan when she realized she'd done it wrong. She stopped on the stair landing, where the stairs changed direction to form an L. "Who are you?"
The woman yanked the vacuum out of the storage closet, looking around the door in surprise. "I'm Christina from Portside House Cleaning." Her voice went up at the end like it was a question. She had brown hair pulled back from her face in a tight bun that gave her a mini face lift.
Belinda helped Christina disentangle the vacuum from the other cleaning implements in the small closet off the kitchen.
Once they dealt with the vacuum and Christina got a good look at her, her eyes went wide. "You're the one who's been on the news!"
Perfect. Belinda fought to hide her annoyance. "Yep. That's me."
"Wow. You're practically a celebrity."
Another annoying observation.
Christina shook her head, leaning on the vacuum handle. "What a week. Who knew I'd be cleaning for a local celeb at the same time the company makes news for a murder?"
"Murder?" Belinda crossed her arms. "Elena Campos worked for Portside House Cleaning?"
"Yup." Christina leaned in like what she was about to say was top secret. "We're all freaked out by it, so forgive me if I'm a little jumpy."
Belinda felt that was perfectly reasonable under the circumstances. "I'm sure you're all safe, though. It was probably something personal."
"But we clean that house. I mean, I don't, but a couple of the girls do."
"Did Elena?"
Christina shrugged. "I don't know. I mean, was she killed cleaning it?"
"No, no. She was killed way too late for that. She must've been there for some other reason."
Christina pursed her lips.
"Are you okay?" Belinda said.
"Well...what you just said. I could think of a reason. You know those recent house thefts?"
Belinda nodded. She thought Bennett had mentioned something about that being on the news.
"Some of our clients blame us," Christina said. "I've heard clients have dropped us and everything. Even people who weren't robbed. Some of the girls think the company will go belly up."
Belinda thought quickly if she had anything easy to steal in plain sight, then felt guilty about it. "I wouldn't take what the rumors say as the hard truth. And some people are quick to place blame. I'm sure they won't just up and go out of business."
"Maybe not." Christina looked up at the ceiling thoughtfully. "But the news said Elena may have been involved in a robbery. People will find out she worked for us."
"I wouldn't panic just yet. There may be another explanation." Belinda remembered Female Reporter saying she didn't care for the theft angle. Belinda wasn't sure she did either. The Wolmans weren't in their Portside home right now. What would they even have around to steal? "Do you need anything else?"
"No. I think I've got it." Christina was checking her phone, but slid it back into her pocket quickly, flashed a big smile, and started rolling the vacuum into the living room. "It was really nice meeting you, Mrs. Kittridge!"
Belinda frowned. Mrs.? She dearly hoped this girl didn't think she was married to Kyle.
Chapter 4
Bennett stared at the floor of his living room. He was sitting in the middle of the couch, his head against his hands, trying to understand how he'd gotten into this mess.
He'd come back from his lawyer's office with depressing news. Though his lawyer had been confident they could get the charges dropped, it wasn't working out that way.
Now Bennett was facing sentencing, which could mean a lot of unpleasant options. He guessed, based on what he'd witnessed as a police officer, that he'd end up on probation. But that still meant the death of his livelihood, and with his current record, how would he find a decent job?
Tempest, the kitten he'd taken from Belinda's adopted brood, planted herself between his feet, meowing up at him. Belinda had named her because of the kitten's soft gray fur, and she thought Tempest sounded better than just Storm.
"What am I going to do?" he said to Tempest. "I have no job, I'm running low on money, and now I may have lost my chance at escaping sentencing."
She meowed pathetically and stared up at him with round eyes.
Bennett scratched her head, and she took that as her cue to leap onto his lap and settle in.
He'd wondered in passing if he should've left the whole situation alone. Left Mrs. Sykes on Belinda's boat. If Belinda had been caught, she might have escaped the entire situation without much damage.
Or her life could've been ruined forever.
And Mrs. Sykes did attempt to kill Belinda. He couldn't overlook that fact, no matter what he was dealing with.
"I knew what I was doing." Tempest purred in response. "I can't complain about the consequences, and I'm glad I protected Belinda." He sighed. "I'm also talking to a cat."
He was about to get up and do something–anything–but sit there and wallow, when someone knocked and interrupted his review of what he hadn't cleaned yet.
It was Jonas. "So, what happened with the lawyer?" he said, examining the house. He looked back at Bennett with concern.
Bennett reluctantly repeated what had happened. Jonas' face fell at first, then he looked confused, then angry.
"Do you know what's going on?" Bennett said.
"Well, no. But I'm suspicious something else is at work here. You have a terrific lawyer and no record. It doesn't make any sense."
Bennett rubbed his forehead. "That's no guarantee."
"I guess Belinda's pretty upset."
Bennett looked away. He did feel guilty about not telling her, but he thought it was for the best.
"You haven't told her yet?" Jonas said. "I'm surprised she's not here herself."
Bennett avoided his eyes. "I never told her I was meeting with the lawyer today."
Jonas looked like he wanted to comment on that, but chose not to. Bennett didn't want to worry Belinda. Considering the verdict, he was now relieved she didn't know about his meeting.
"She's going to worry no matter what." Jonas apparently decided to comment after all. "But I promise she'll worry more if you don't tell her anything. In fact, she may start thinking it's much worse than it is."
"I don't know; it's pretty bad."
"Tell her." Jonas enunciated both words slowly, straightening his jacket and tie. "I can't hang around to console you, so I suggest you call Belinda."
"Any leads?" Bennett asked to be polite, but he didn't really care right then.
"Mostly just questions." He shook his head like trying to hold off an incoming list of things to figure out. "We have the alleged thefts. But other than what we found on Elena's body, which we can't corroborate belongs to the Wolmans because we haven't been able to contact them, we can't prove Elena was a thief. There's nothing in her apartment, no sign of unusual activity with her bank account, and no weird contacts except for the one with the p
repaid phone."
He shrugged. "Hence why I'm leaving you."
Bennett and Tempest followed him to the door, Jonas yelling for him to call Belinda on his walk to his car. It was either too hot to ride his bike or he was afraid to muss his new clothes.
Tempest meowed a reply, and Bennett ushered her back inside and closed the door. He looked over at the phone and stared at it blankly for a good thirty seconds before making up his mind. He passed right by it on his way to the spare bedroom. He hadn't cleaned out the back closet since he moved in.
~ * ~
Belinda escaped brunch with her parents with minimal damage, other than some disapproving glances from women she passed in the parking lot. They'd eaten on the yacht at the marina, and Belinda wondered if her parents were given the cold shoulder all the time. They never mentioned it.
They did bring up Bennett, like Kyle swore would happen, expressing concern, but it wasn't nearly as deadly as dealing with her grandmother. She knew they were sincerely worried about her welfare. With her grandmother, she wasn't so sure. She promised things weren't what they seemed, and her parents, albeit with reservations, agreed to trust her judgment.
But her mom did shed light on her grandmother's animosity. Her grandmother had been snubbed by the upcoming hospital fundraiser. A fundraiser she had supported generously for decades. Belinda couldn't imagine what this would accomplish. Her grandmother would give them lots of money, and she was in no position to steal from the fund. But the embezzling scandal had to be why they didn't invite her.
Instead of making Belinda sympathetic, it made her mad. Again, the bigger problem here was really Belinda's scandal–not Bennett's. Even if she did break up with him, it wouldn't save them.
She'd also learned more about the family who lived in the house Elena Campos died in. She thought she knew the owners, and she did. Belinda had been around the Wolmans here and there, but she mainly knew Gary from the annual hospital fundraiser. He, along with her grandmother, was one of their biggest supporters.
After talking to Christina about Elena's murder, and reading more in-depth news reports about it, Belinda felt positive the text message Elena received the night she died was from either the killer or an accomplice.
