Devil's Food Cake

by Josi S. Kilpack

  “Art schools don’t care about sports or academics,” Josh said through his teeth, drawing Sadie’s attention back to him. There was panic in his tone that told Sadie his defense was not completely sincere. Even if he was telling the truth about art schools having different criteria for scholarships, she was on to something. She knew it. His increased anger made her nervous, but not enough to slow her down. Shawn was outside, and while she’d been kidding about him coming in for her after five minutes, she was hoping he took it more seriously than she’d said it.

  “Well, I’m not sure how that all works,” Sadie said, hoping it covered her ignorance. “But I’m seeing a lot of little things that don’t add up. Like you being Damon Mortenson’s best friend ten years ago. Like telling people you had a scholarship when you nearly flunked out of high school. And let’s not forget the fact that you were taking pictures of a dead man.”

  “What is she talking about, Josh?” Mrs. Hender asked carefully.

  “Nothing,” Josh said, shaking his head with frustration.

  “Josh,” his mother said in a nervous tone. “What does—”

  “Nothing, Mom,” Josh said, shooting his mother a warning look before glaring at Sadie once again.

  Mrs. Hender didn’t say anything else, but rather than look scared or embarrassed at having been shut down by her son, she glared at Sadie as if Sadie were responsible for Josh’s poor manners. As if!

  “Look,” Sadie said, not liking the way this conversation was going. “Whatever it is you’re a part of is unraveling. You know it, I know it, and the police know it. If you go to them instead of them coming for you—which they will—things will go much better for you.”

  Josh looked past Sadie, toward his mother. She couldn’t read his expression, but heard Mrs. Hender put the paper towels down on the dining room table.

  Sadie kept talking. “You’ve gotten involved in something much bigger than yourself, Josh. It happens, and the police understand that, but if you don’t go in now, someone else will get through the door first and then you lose your advantage.”

  “Someone else?” Josh said, meeting her eyes again.

  “Trix . . . Michele, perhaps? Or someone else involved in this.” She really wished she knew what this was, however. It was disconcerting to be saying such bold things when she didn’t know the answer to the quandary about college or why Josh had been taking pictures of Mr. Ogreski. But showing her ignorance wouldn’t work either. He had to believe that his capture was inevitable—that the gig was up, so to speak.

  Josh raised a hand to his forehead and closed his eyes as he turned to the side. He was cornered and he knew it. Sadie allowed herself a moment of victory. And then he threw his hands up and yelled, “This is crazy!”

  Sadie startled at the fervor behind his words, but tried to quickly pull herself back together. He was certainly moments away from giving up.

  “So do the right thing,” she said.

  “The right thing?” Josh repeated, turning to face her, his jaw clenching. “And what is the right thing?”

  “Go to the police and tell them what you know. Tell them who’s involved, and why you were taking those pictures.”

  Josh shook his head. “You don’t understand.”

  “So explain it,” Sadie countered with equal frustration. “Help me understand.” She held her breath and begged in her mind that he’d simply tell her everything he knew.

  “And why on earth would I do that?” he said.

  Suddenly he cupped his hands in front of him and looked to his mother, nodding slightly.

  A split second later, something sailed over Sadie’s shoulder, causing her to duck. She looked back and met Mrs. Hender’s eyes before whipping her head around to see Josh throw open the front door, a set of car keys in his hand. He snagged the shoulder strap of the duffel bag on the porch and ran down the front steps. It didn’t seem nearly as heavy when he carried it as it had when his mother had brought it outside.

  Sadie paused for another half-second before taking off after him. However, with him in sneakers and her in clogs, it wasn’t an even match. And that wasn’t counting the thirty-year advantage he had on her or the messy plate she was still holding in one hand.

  By the time Sadie reached the bottom of the stairs, he was already at the driver’s door of his car. The click of two car doors opening caught Sadie’s attention and she looked across the street to see that Shawn had pulled closer to the house while she had been inside. He’d opened the driver’s door and was stepping out of the car at the same time Josh was pulling his door closed and turning the key in the ignition. Sadie looked from Shawn to Josh.

  “Follow him!” Sadie yelled at Shawn.

  “Wha—”

  “It’s him,” Sadie yelled, pointing at the car peeling out of the driveway, the windshield wipers clearing away the snow. “We need to know what he knows.”

  “But—”

  “Go,” Sadie yelled in order to be heard over the car’s engine, waving her messy hands in a shooing motion. “I’m fine. Don’t let him get away. And be careful.”

  Shawn hesitated another moment before scrunching himself back into the car and pulling the door shut. Josh was in the street by then, shifting into drive as the car jolted forward. Shawn was right behind him, and Sadie watched as both sets of taillights disappeared around the corner within seconds. Her stomach tightened as she questioned her decision to send Shawn after Josh at all. She should have specifically told him to call the police with his location and not take any unnecessary risks. He’d be careful, though, right?

  Right?

  With her heart in her throat, she reached into her pocket for her phone so she could call the police to go after him. She smeared cake and mousse everywhere in the process, but she wasn’t worried about staying clean anymore.

  Her phone wasn’t in her pocket. She slapped her other pocket, making an even bigger mess. Empty.

  With a groan she realized she’d left her phone in her purse, which was still in the car. Perfect. Tingling with adrenaline, she turned around to see Mrs. Hender standing on the threshold, looking stunned.

  “Mrs. Hender,” Sadie said as she headed back up the steps. She tried to keep her frustration to herself as much as possible. “I’m really sorry about this, Mrs. Hender, but Josh is in big trouble and giving him the keys just made it worse.” Sadie paused at the top of the steps, mindful once again of not having been invited inside.

  Mrs. Hender bit her bottom lip as she looked past Sadie at the tire tracks in the snow on her driveway. Her eyes were confused and scared.

  Sadie couldn’t get a line on this woman. She seemed clueless about far too many things about her son, and yet she’d thrown Josh the keys with only a look.

  “I don’t know you,” Mrs. Hender said as though that were enough to explain everything that had happened in the last few minutes.

  Sadie let out a breath. She did not have time for this conversation. “I need to use your phone.”

  “To call the police?” Mrs. Hender asked, looking nervously back at Sadie.

  “A man died tonight, Mrs. Hender, and your son took pictures before leaving the scene.” Sadie could feel her anger rising. As a teacher, she had always struggled with those parents who refused to see their children objectively. And yet, because of her history with this type of parenting, Sadie also knew anger would get her nowhere. “I’m sorry this has happened, Mrs. Hender, but please do the right thing for Josh. If he’s innocent, the police will clear his name and he’ll be fine.”

  Sadie held her eyes, begging her to see reality. After a moment, Mrs. Hender looked down and stepped aside. Sadie took the action as an invitation and entered the house.

  She headed toward the doorway she had previously suspected of leading to the kitchen. Everyone had a phone in the kitchen. There were dishes in the sink and a few bags of chips on the counter, but otherwise, the room was pretty tidy. The phone was on the far wall, next to the back door, but Sadie stopped at the
sink, dropped the plate and messy plastic wrap into it, and then turned on the water with her forearm so she could rinse her hands. The front of her jacket, as well as the lower portion of her pants were covered with whipping cream and mousse. Between the crushed cake and her white socks that seemed blaringly obvious against her purple pants, Sadie was not the least bit proud of her current appearance.

  Without looking up, she noticed Mrs. Hender come to the doorway of the kitchen. Should she say something else? Continue the lecture? But she felt as though she’d made her point. The paper towels were still in the dining room, so she flicked the water off her fingers and turned her attention to the phone. The sooner she got the police involved, the better for everyone.

  While crossing the last few feet, Sadie wondered if she should be angry and demanding, or soft and humble. Which approach would better capture Pete’s attention? And should she call Pete directly or just call 911?

  Regardless of who she called, she’d be sitting here with Mrs. Hender for several minutes waiting for the police to come. She should probably try to ease their relationship a bit so the wait wouldn’t be quite so awkward. “I really am sorry about all this, Mrs. Hender. This is not why I came over tonight,” she said, reaching for the phone.

  She picked up the phone, then hesitated when she realized she didn’t have Pete’s cell phone number memorized. She’d programmed it into her cell phone as lucky number seven on her speed dial so she hadn’t dialed it by hand in months. What did it start with—691, something, 7, maybe?

  She heard a sound behind her and with the phone to her ear, Sadie turned. She had barely opened her mouth when the words froze in her throat at the sight of Mrs. Hender clutching the handle of a frying pan with both hands as she swung it toward Sadie’s head.

  Chapter 18

  Sadie’s instincts kicked in and she managed to duck and spin out of Mrs. Hender’s reach, dropping the phone while Mrs. Hender’s momentum spun her in nearly a full circle. The frying pan came close enough that the wind it created whooshed through Sadie’s hair.

  “Mrs. Hender!” she screamed as she scrambled backward trying to keep an eye on her attacker as well as look for a way to escape. The kitchen ended in an alcove set with a table and chairs and the back door was now parallel with the crazy woman wielding the frying pan. Sadie had no choice but to move as far from Mrs. Hender as she possibly could, even though it, literally, put her in a corner. Sadie’s heart was racing. “Let’s calm down and talk about this,” she said, trying to be diplomatic.

  “Leave my son alone!” Mrs. Hender shouted, holding the frying pan over her head as if she were going to swat Sadie like a fly. Mrs. Hender’s face was red and her eyes were wide. “He’s been through enough!” She brought the frying pan down even though Sadie was well out of reach.

  Sadie bumped up against the table while Mrs. Hender continued to move forward, flapping the pan as she went. Sadie scrambled around the table, nearly falling when her foot got caught on the caning of a chair.

  “Mrs. Hender,” she said, putting one hand out in a calming motion. “Maybe I didn’t explain myself very well. I’m here to help Josh, not hurt him.”

  The table was between them but Sadie was still trapped. There were windows on both sides of the alcove, but she didn’t think she could simply dive through one of them like they did in the movies and survive to tell about it.

  “Do you have any idea how hard he’s worked to get where he is?” Mrs. Hender said. “He went to college! He’s got a good job! And you want to take that away from him.”

  Sadie shook her head quickly. “No, I don’t.”

  Mrs. Hender circled one side of the table, which meant Sadie also moved in the same direction in order to keep the table between them. Seeing the retreat, Mrs. Hender moved back to the center. Sadie did the same.

  “He was taking pictures of a dead man,” Sadie said. “Don’t you wonder why?”

  Mrs. Hender shook her head and tightened her grip on the handle of the pan. “Josh is a good boy,” she said. “I won’t let you hurt him—I won’t!”

  Sadie scanned the room again, trying to find a way out. There were two doorways leading to other areas of the house, the one Sadie had entered through at the far end of the room and the one to her left. It looked as though that one led to a hallway. It also had the benefit of being directly opposite the front door of the house.

  “I’m sorry for coming here, Mrs. Hender,” Sadie said, hoping she sounded more sincere than scared, though she felt both. She tried to ease toward the left side of the table. Mrs. Hender moved to cut her off. “I shouldn’t have gotten involved.”

  “No, you shouldn’t have,” Mrs. Hender repeated.

  Sadie’s heart was racing and she could hear the blood pumping in her ears. There had to be a way to reason with this woman. “What can I do to help you?” Sadie offered, putting her hands up in surrender. “I’ll do whatever it takes.”

  “To help?” Mrs. Hender asked, lowering the pan slightly.

  Sadie nodded, eager to diffuse the intensity of the moment. “This is just a mess, isn’t it? You’re upset. Josh is scared. There’s got to be something we can do, right? Something to help him?”

  Mrs. Hender was only a few feet from the back door, leaving the door to the hallway unguarded.

  Mrs. Hender lowered the pan a little more, and Sadie took the chance to make a run for the hallway, pushing over a chair as she rounded the table in hopes it would give her a few more seconds to make her escape.

  Unfortunately, she underestimated the spryness of a mother-bear protecting her cub.

  Mrs. Hender lunged toward her, dodging the chair without a problem.

  Sadie made it to the hallway and took two blessed steps onto the carpet before the frying pan made contact with her skull.

  Chapter 19

  Sadie realized she could still breathe before she dared open her eyes. The sound of a door shutting reminded her of where she was. Unlike how it was usually portrayed in the movies, she remembered everything leading up to her being rendered unconscious. She remembered trying to duck and feeling the bottom of the frying pan make contact just above her left ear. She even remembered the floor coming at her before everything went black.

  It wasn’t black anymore. Instead, light pulled at her eyelids. She’d have considered the possibility she might be dead if not for the fact that if she were in heaven, her head wouldn’t hurt like this. She was sure that was mentioned specifically in the Bible somewhere. Someone moaned as she tried to lift her head, and she froze, thinking Josh’s mother was standing over her, ready to take a second swing. Then she realized she’d made the painful sound herself. Oh, her head hurt!

  The sound of a very loud engine rumbled to life somewhere outside and the noise set her heart to hammering once again. The garage had been toward the back of the house, on the side near the kitchen. Was there another vehicle in there after all? Was Mrs. Hender leaving?

  Sadie could only hope. Then she wondered if it was a neighbor’s car she’d heard. What if Mrs. Hender was still here?

  The thought helped Sadie’s blood start flowing again even though her body was still slow to respond to her commands. Sadie managed to open her eyes enough to look across the carpet squished against her face. The frying pan sat abandoned on the kitchen floor. If Mrs. Hender was still here, she was unarmed. Sadie turned her head the other way—cringing in pain as she did so—and found herself looking through the one-inch gap below the partially closed door of a room. Bringing her hands up to shoulder level, palms down, Sadie pushed herself up, her head screaming at her to stop and return to the floor where she belonged.

  She painfully brought herself to a crawling position, then reached for the wall and sat back on her knees, allowing several seconds for the hallway to get over its teetering tantrum before she dared try to stand. Even then her equilibrium wasn’t steady and she had to hold onto the wall. With one hand on the frame of the door in front of her, she lifted her other hand to her head, worrie
d she was bleeding. She wasn’t, but a large goose egg was forming. She’d read somewhere that the longer someone was unconscious, the longer it took for them to become fully oriented again. Since Sadie knew where she was, how she got there, and remembered the entire recipe for her Heavenly Hot Wings, she assumed she must have been out for only a few seconds, otherwise she wouldn’t have come to quite so well.

  Once on her feet, Sadie glanced left and right. She felt vulnerable standing in a strange hallway in a strange house. What if Mrs. Hender hadn’t actually left? What if she’d just made it look as though she had so she could sneak up on Sadie unawares?

  Sadie wrapped her hand around the edge of the door frame and carefully slid inside the room before pushing the door closed, stopping it right before the latch caught. Sadie surveyed the room, looking for something she could defend herself with in case Mrs. Hender was still in the house, but she was quickly distracted by the room itself.

  Each wall was a different color—terra-cotta, sage green, chocolate brown, and mustard yellow. Sadie couldn’t decide if it matched or not, but the tones seemed to work together okay. Across from the doorway, a huge M. C. Escher print hung on the mustard-yellow wall, an optical illusion made up of stairways she knew would make her sick if she studied it in too much detail. The twin bed was unmade, clothes were on the floor, and there was a DC shoe company sticker in the lower corner of the mirror above the dresser.

  Sadie realized she was in Josh’s room. Instantly, she thought that maybe she could find something important in this room—a clue! And yet the room had a kind of emptiness that confirmed Josh was only a visitor these days—he didn’t live here anymore.

  Weapon, she reminded herself, focusing on the most important thing first. She needed to be able to defend herself. As she scanned the room, the spine of Devilish Details on a bookshelf caught her eye. She moved across the room, the throbbing in her skull quieted somewhat by her brimming curiosity.