Devil's Food Cake

by Josi S. Kilpack

  Suddenly the stage area was cleared except for the manager and the podium. An expectant hush fell over the crowd, and the manager looked out at the room of people as if just remembering they were there. After straightening his suit coat, he made his way to the podium, which was so tall that the microphone pointed over his head. He reached up both hands to adjust the snakelike microphone holder so that he could speak into it. However, when his mouth moved, the microphone failed to pick up the sound.

  Is there a problem with the entire sound system? Sadie wondered. After all their work to pull off this dinner, she would be really, really mad if it all fell apart now.

  Mr. Ogreski continued to wrestle with the microphone, which seemed to be stuck. He pulled it free from the holder, but the wire, which should feed through the hole in the podium didn’t have much give and he couldn’t seem to hold the microphone close enough to his mouth. After a few more seconds, Mr. Ogreski clenched his jaw, adjusted his grip on the microphone, and yanked it toward him, presumably to free the cord that seemed to be tangled within the wooden podium. It didn’t budge. He took a breath and planted his feet, poised to pull again.

  Sadie let her eyes drift closed, grateful to give herself up to the chocolate ecstasy in her mouth instead of focusing on what was happening onstage for the moment. There were only a few bites left.

  In the next instant, a shotgun blast echoed off the walls of the ballroom. Sadie choked on her cake as the people in the room screamed in horror.

  Devil’s Food Cake

  1 cup sour milk (1 cup milk + 2 teaspoons white vinegar or lemon juice OR use 1 cup buttermilk)

  2 cups flour

  2 cups sugar

  2⁄3 cup unsweetened cocoa

  1⁄2 teaspoon salt

  2 eggs

  1 cup vegetable oil

  1 teaspoon vanilla

  1 cup boiling water

  1 teaspoon baking soda

  For sour milk, mix milk and vinegar in a small bowl. Set aside for five minutes.

  In a large bowl, mix together all ingredients except the water and baking soda. Mix until batter is smooth. Add the soda to the boiling water (kids love this part because it bubbles). Add soda/water mixture to batter. Mix well—batter will be thin.

  Pour batter into a greased and floured 9x13-inch pan and bake at 350 degrees for 35 to 45 minutes or until middle is set.

  If using round cake pans, grease pans very well and cut a round of wax paper to fit inside the bottom of the pans to prevent cake from sticking when removed. Let cake cool five minutes in pans before turning out onto a wire rack.

  Serves 12.

  * Shawn (i.e. Mint-aholic) likes a teaspoon of mint extract added to the batter.

  Chapter 2

  By the time Sadie stopped coughing cake from her lungs, the room was in chaos and Pete had disappeared from his seat beside her. Frantic dinner guests had flipped tables on their sides as barricades and a few people ran for the doors. Sadie jumped to her feet and scanned the room, looking for Pete.

  “Stay where you are!”

  Sadie wheeled around in time to see Pete jump onto the stage and turn to face the audience, looking like James Bond in his tux. “There is not an imminent threat,” Pete continued, his voice booming through the room. He held one hand out, palm down. His other hand was in his jacket—likely on the pistol he kept in a shoulder harness most of the time. There might not be an imminent threat, but Sadie knew he wasn’t taking chances. “Someone call 911,” he yelled.

  A hundred cell phones were whipped out of pockets and purses and Sadie put her hand on her hip out of pure reflex. All she felt was the seam of her dress. That’s right; she hadn’t expected to need her phone tonight, so she’d left it in the car instead of carrying it with her.

  Pete turned away from the crowd, walked a few feet, and stopped in front of Mr. Ogreski’s body, crouching down to get a better look. It was hard to see anything from Sadie’s position at the back of the room. A flash of green toward the right side of the stage caught Sadie’s attention. Gayle was screaming hysterically with her hands on either side of her face and staring at the body on the stage.

  What on earth just happened? Sadie thought as she picked up her skirts and began making her way toward Gayle. Had it really been a shotgun blast she heard? Or could it have been a bomb? Sadie was getting better at keeping herself together in situations such as this—after all, this was her third dead body in four months—but there was nothing casual in her thoughts or the racing of her heart.

  Gayle was still screaming when Sadie reached the stairs so she hiked her skirt up to her calves and moved as fast as her heels would allow. A few people had joined Pete on stage; he was telling them to back away from the body. Thom stood by the curtains on the left side of the stage completely frozen. His face was pale and his eyes were transfixed on the body. Sadie wished she could help him, but Gayle needed her more. Sadie hurried over to her friend who was shaking uncontrollably and put an arm around Gayle’s back. She put her other hand over Gayle’s hands, which were clenched to her chest. Gayle stopped screaming at Sadie’s touch, but her mouth remained open and her eyes wide. Her pale, white face made her green eyes look unnaturally bright.

  “It’s okay,” Sadie said, but then she looked past all the people and saw the body sprawled across the flat gray carpet of the temporary stage. Her stomach turned and she looked away. Why on earth was she saying everything was okay?

  She turned her attention to Gayle in hopes to quell the nausea rising in her stomach. “You need to sit down,” she said. There were chairs behind the curtains and, without letting go of Gayle, Sadie grabbed the closest one with one hand, turning it away from the grisly scene. A police officer had done something similar for Sadie when Sadie had come upon the body of her neighbor in a field last fall.

  “Sit,” Sadie said. Gayle sat, but she was still shaking. “I think you’re in shock.” Sadie rubbed her friend’s cold arms. Gayle’s hands were still clenched tightly together, but Sadie noticed something hot pink between them.

  “What’s that?” Sadie asked while gently trying to open Gayle’s hands.

  Gayle looked down, finally opening her hands to reveal a crumpled Post-It note. Sadie picked it up carefully and tried to smooth it out as best she could.

  The handwriting was sloppy, but readable, as though whoever wrote it had been in a hurry.

  Backup mic tested and operational.

  Plug into floor outlet to use.

  “It—it was on the podium,” Gayle explained, her voice tight and shaky.

  Sadie nodded and smiled at her friend reassuringly. “I’ll make sure Pete gets it,” she said, patting Gayle’s arm again. She looked around the room. Everything was a mess, but the din of screaming had mostly faded into anxiously murmured conversation. People had stood up from behind their barricades and hotel staff members had come through the back doors of the ballroom, looking lost and confused. Apparently they didn’t have much specialized training in what to do when there was a shooting in the ballroom. Dishes were all over the floor, and devil’s food cake was ground into the carpet, chairs, and tablecloths.

  “Sadie!”

  Sadie looked up at the sound of her name and saw Pete motioning for her. She glanced at Gayle, who managed a nod and a shaky “I’m okay.”

  Sadie tried not to look directly at the body as she headed toward Pete. When she reached him, she immediately handed him the pink note. “Gayle said this was on the podium.”

  Pete looked at it, then nodded and put it in his front pocket. “I’ll bag it later,” he said. For some reason Sadie hadn’t thought of the note as evidence, but realized now that was exactly what it was. She hoped she or Gayle hadn’t ruined the evidence by touching it.

  Pete touched Sadie’s arm. “Get everyone off the stage, but don’t let them leave. We’ll need statements.”

  Sadie wasn’t sure why he wanted her to do this—she wasn’t a trained police officer—and yet she was flattered by his request. Withou
t hesitation, she made shooing motions to the increasing crowd on the stage. “You heard him. Everyone off, but don’t leave.” She scanned faces, looking for someone she knew well enough to ask for help. “Carl,” she called, looking pointedly at another member of the library board. “Get some people to man the doors—no one in or out.”

  Carl nodded and seemed relieved to have something to do.

  As Sadie continued herding people off the stage, she noticed Thom standing at the back of the ballroom.

  When did he leave the stage? she wondered.

  Carl yelled for another man to help him cover the doors, and Thom seemed to overhear it. Rather than move into the room, like everyone else, he made a break toward the door, taking Sadie off guard.

  “Thom!” she yelled, louder than she’d have expected herself capable of doing. He looked at her briefly, as did several other people, but he didn’t stop. Instead he slipped through one of the doors left open when the hotel staff had entered, immediately disappearing into the foyer area. The sound of sirens rose above the ruckus of two hundred people trying to make sense of what had happened. She turned back to Pete. “Thom left,” she said, feeling panicked.

  “We’ll find him,” Pete said, but his glance toward the ballroom doors didn’t seem the least bit casual, reminding Sadie that Pete was the only officer on the scene of a brutal murder with hundreds of witnesses. Talk about pressure. He whipped out his phone and dialed a number.

  She looked toward the door Thom had left through. Should she follow him? Why would Thom leave in the first place? Of everyone the police would want to talk to, Thom would be at the top of the list. He’d been right there when it happened and he was the only person who actually knew the victim. In fact, an introduction by Mr. Ogreski wasn’t on the printed schedule for the evening—Thomas Mortenson was supposed to give his address during dessert.

  Pete ended the phone call and put his phone back in his pocket.

  Sadie looked at the body of the man who wasn’t supposed to be at the podium at all. “He’s dead?” she asked, a lump in her throat.

  Pete looked up from where he’d been taking a detailed look at the orientation of the body. He nodded slowly. “He was probably dead before he hit the floor.” His eyes went to the podium lying on its back on the ballroom floor, and Sadie looked as well. The front access door was in pieces all over the stage. Set inside—where Sadie imagined the electronic equipment should be—was a gun.

  A sawed-off shotgun, if Sadie wasn’t mistaken. An elaborate webbing of what looked like string, or maybe a thin cable, was wrapped around the gun, though it was in disarray now and tangled with the thicker cord of the microphone. Had the cable held the gun in place and engaged the trigger when Mr. Ogreski pulled on the microphone? Someone had put an awful lot of thought into this.

  “It wasn’t an accident,” Sadie said. The words had no sooner left her mouth than she realized they were likely the dumbest words she’d ever said in her life. Guns didn’t accidentally end up hidden inside a podium.

  “No,” Pete said. “It wasn’t.”

  Chapter 3

  Less than a minute later, a stream of police officers entered the ballroom. Pete put one of them in charge of the body and hurried to confer with the others.

  Sadie shifted her weight, feeling rather conspicuous standing on the stage waiting for Pete to tell her what she should do next. Then she remembered Gayle. Grateful to have something to do, she hurried down the stairs and to their table where she picked up Gayle’s water glass before returning to her friend who was still sitting in the chair facing the right wall of the ballroom. Gayle had regained a little color in her face, but was crying and wiping at her eyes and cheeks, smearing her mascara in the process. Sadie grabbed a cloth napkin from the closest table, hoping no one had blown their nose in it.

  “Here you go,” Sadie said softly, handing the glass of water to Gayle, who took it with shaky hands. She wiped at Gayle’s cheeks with the napkin, but frowned when she only made the smudging worse. After a few more failed attempts with the napkin, she planted a polite smile on her face and put the square of polyester down. She’d simply have to get Gayle properly cleaned up before she had the chance to look in a mirror.

  “I brought the podium out,” Gayle said, her voice flat. “I brought it out for him.”

  Sadie wasn’t sure how to respond, but she felt guilty all over again. She’d told Gayle to help with the sound situation because she felt threatened by Gayle’s flirting and now her friend might be forever traumatized by the event.

  “No one could have known,” Sadie said, even though someone had to have known. Someone put the gun there. Had that person disconnected the wireless system so the podium would be necessary? Sadie shook her head slowly. Who would go to such lengths to do something so horrible? And in public no less?

  “Gayle?”

  Sadie turned as Pete approached them. He came around the chair so he was facing Gayle. “I know it’s difficult, but I need your statement.”

  Gayle nodded slightly, but as soon as she opened her mouth, her jaw trembled and she began bawling again. Pete grabbed another chair while Sadie stepped closer to her friend and placed a comforting arm around Gayle’s shoulders. Gayle leaned into Sadie; she was glad she’d worn a dark-colored dress so the mascara wouldn’t stain.

  “I know you’ve been through a horrific ordeal,” Pete said, sounding truly concerned and compassionate. He was such a good detective.

  “I-I just can’t believe it,” Gayle said, trying to sit up straight and wipe her eyes again. “I was backstage, planning to slip out after he introduced Thom—there wasn’t any way down on the right side of the stage, you know.”

  That’s right, Sadie realized. The left side of the stage had a door that led out of the ballroom, hidden from the audience by the curtains. But the right side, where the podium had been stored so it would be out of the way, was a dead end. Someone would have to come out from the curtains in order to access the stairs. An instant vision assailed Sadie: what if Gayle had tried to assist Mr. Ogreski with the microphone? She felt her stomach clench, and she hurried to push the horrible thought away.

  “Did you see it happen?” Sadie asked.

  Gayle nodded and fresh tears spilled out of her bright green eyes.

  Sadie wasn’t sure crying with contacts was recommended, but then maybe if Gayle cried enough, she’d wash the mascara off completely. One could only hope.

  “He—he pulled on the microphone, and then he flew backward, and the . . . cord and the . . . blood.” She closed her eyes while Sadie tried to picture the scene from Gayle’s perspective, standing only a few feet away. It wasn’t pretty.

  “The cord,” Sadie repeated, focusing on the part that spoke of the mechanical aspect of the trap. “Did you see it come out of the hole on the podium? I mean, it was tied to the trigger, right?” It seemed so Wile E. Coyote.

  Pete cleared his throat, reminding Sadie he was there. He gave her a look that made her clamp her mouth shut and then smile innocently. “Sorry,” she said after a moment. Pete continued to look at her.

  “Perhaps you could let us speak together privately,” he said.

  “Oh, okay,” Sadie replied, trying not to look offended at being left out. After all, she was dating Pete, she was Gayle’s best friend, and she’d played a part in the investigation of two other murders—which was as many as Pete had investigated in the last ten years. Arguing those points, however, likely wouldn’t work in a high-stress situation like this or help her relationship with Pete.

  She turned away, letting her mind race toward what else she could do. Her eyes were drawn to the row of chairs set up on the left side of the stage—the side of the stage where Thom would have been standing when Mr. Ogreski was shot. There was something sitting on the middle of the three chairs. It looked like a small box. Sadie narrowed her eyes, trying to make out what it was, but she was too far away. Immediately she thought that whenever she went somewhere to give a speech, she took
a bag with her to hold her notes, lipstick, some breath mints, and a bottle of water in case she became parched. Not that she gave a lot of speeches, but she thoroughly prepared for the ones she was asked to give. Last summer she’d spoken to the ladies’ auxiliary club about being a lifelong teacher and the blessings of educating others. She’d done a really good job, if she did say so herself, and had a very nice article about the presentation written up in the weekly paper.

  Back to the subject at hand, however—she wondered if what she saw on the chair could be a briefcase. It seemed too small, but Sadie was certain that Thom’s hands had been empty when he ran from the room.

  Sadie glanced around the room nonchalantly, lifting a hand to rub her neck so it wouldn’t seem obvious that she was scanning the room. Assured that no one was paying her any particular attention, Sadie made her way toward the left side of the stage. She was about four feet away when she realized that the item that had sparked her curiosity was nothing more than a copy of Thom’s book—Devilish Details.

  She closed the distance between herself and the book, trying to swallow her disappointment. What important information was she going to get from a book? But she picked it up and looked it over anyway, just in case.

  The cover featured what looked like the face of a stone gargoyle, like those she’d seen on the medieval castles in London. Its mouth was open and showing large, sharp teeth. Except that while the face was stone, the eyes were not. Human eyes glared out from the gargoyle’s face—kinda creepy.

  Sadie, like everyone else in Garrison, had read the book when it came out, excited to have known someone who had actually published a novel. The library had ordered an astonishing five copies—one or two copies of any given title had been the rule until then. But this was an exception to the rule if ever there was one. Thom, though he’d been gone for a couple years by then, was still one of their own. In fact, any lingering negativity directed toward him after what Damon had done seemed to disappear amid the celebrity status Thom had achieved by becoming a published author.