Fireworks, a Firecracker & Foul Play

by D. E. Haggerty

  She shrugs. “Well, Drake was the leader of the gang. Maybe someone wanted to take over? I don’t know. I’m just thinking out loud.”

  “Are there any members of Angel Band who frequent the Youth Center?”

  Her eyes widen as she whips her head from side to side. “Oh no, you don’t. I know where you are going with this and I don’t like it one bit.”

  “What?” I ask as if I have no clue what she’s talking about. For good measure, I flutter my eyelashes.

  “Don’t act all innocent. I know you and your little tricks.” She points to the batch of peanut butter fingers on the table. “Like sweetening us up before demanding we do your dirty work.”

  “Hey! Those took me days to make.” Kristie and Callie burst into laughter. “What? What’s funny?”

  “As if you care if it takes you days to bake anything. You’re a baker. It’s what you do. And you love every minute of it.”

  I ignore Callie. Talking about my baking skills – although substantial – will get us nowhere closer to finding the killer. “Okay, then. I’ll go down to the Youth Center myself and chat with some of the young men.” As if Kristie would ever let me visit her precious project without her. Of course, Logan would lose his mind as well, but what he doesn’t know won’t hurt him.

  “Fine. I’ll do it but don’t expect a miracle. I have a strict no gang policy. There may not be anyone who knows anything.” I smile. She claims she won’t find anything out, but she always returns with handy information we can use. No need to remind her of the past now, though.

  “Great. I’ll make you some cupcakes. Any requests?” She huffs, and I throw my hands in the air. “What?”

  “Cupcakes are not the answer.”

  “Really? Because I’m pretty sure cupcakes are the answer to every question I can imagine.”

  “I don’t know,” Callie says before Kristie can respond to my statement of fact. Yes, fact. It is an irrefutable fact – cupcakes are awesome. “This doesn’t feel like a gang-related crime.”

  “Why not?”

  “He died of a drug overdose. Wouldn’t a gang member shoot him? Or at least do something violent? A drug overdose seems a bit premeditated for a gang member,” she explains.

  “I’m sure Kristie will agree with me when I say gangbangers can be premeditated.”

  “Oh no.” Kristie scoots her chair back from the table. “Don’t you dare put me in the middle of you two.”

  “Do you have another idea of who could have killed Alastor Drake then? Something you’d like to share with the class?” I ask Callie.

  She shakes her head. “Not really. Just a hunch something isn’t right.”

  I push the platter of goodies towards her. “Here. Maybe you need some brain food.”

  She chuckles as she nabs another peanut butter finger.

  “It’s settled, then. We have a plan. Kristie will ask around at the Youth Center.”

  “I wouldn’t say ask around.”

  “Uh-oh,” I say when I see Logan approaching through the front windows. “I think we’re in trouble.”

  Callie drops the peanut butter finger she was holding and stands. “You’re on your own. I’m out of here.” She twirls around and rushes to the kitchen. Kristie grabs her coffee before standing and following her.

  I jump to my feet as Logan enters the bakery and rush towards him. Maybe if I show him how much I missed him today he’ll forget all about the reason he’s wearing the you’re in trouble look. He easily catches me when I throw myself at him. He gives me a quick peck on the cheek before setting me down. So much for my diversion tactic.

  “What’s up?” I ask Logan.

  “What’s up? Are you seriously asking me that?”

  I am not answering his question. And no way am I confessing to anything. Not when I don’t know what he knows. I stall. “You’re obviously upset about something. Want to tell me all about it?”

  “How about you tell me why you went to the funeral of a gang member.”

  I really need to remember to switch off my phone when I’m investigating. That stupid tracking app is going to get me in major trouble someday.

  “I didn’t go to the funeral. We were in the park. It’s not my fault our picnic happened to be at the same time as a funeral of a gang member.”

  “At least I know why you bought the binoculars now.”

  “I told you. For bird watching.” Angels are birds, kind of, which makes the members of Angel Band birds. See? I’m not lying.

  He grunts. “Lock up. We’ll discuss this at home.”

  Suddenly, I feel the need to do more baking. “I’m not done for the day.”

  “Yeah, you are.”

  There’s no sense in arguing with the man. He’s right after all. At least we managed to make some sort of a plan before Logan crashed my brainstorming session. My hope now rests on Kristie finding something out at the Youth Center, because I’m plum out of ideas.

  Chapter 9

  Pixies take cupcakes seriously. Very seriously.

  Kristie barely gets the chance to open the door to the kitchen before I attack the following afternoon. It’s Saturday, which means Kristie spent the morning at the Youth Center. Fingers crossed she has a lead in Drake’s death.

  “Do you find anything out?” She opens her mouth to respond but then I remember something way more important than Alastor freaking Drake and how the creepy man died. “And what did the boys and girls think of my cupcakes? Did they get a kick out of the ‘firecrackers’?”

  I made a batch of firecracker cupcakes for the kids who frequent the Youth Center. No, not real firecrackers. The ‘firecrackers’ are actually marshmallows covered in red-colored chocolate with little strips of black licorice stuck in them to look like fuses. They are super adorable.

  “Did they like the vanilla cupcake with vanilla frosting? Or was it too much vanilla? Any thoughts on improvements?”

  Kristie throws her hands in the air. “I don’t know! They liked them.”

  Of course, they liked them. “You should have let me send a customer survey with you. Or, better yet, I could have gone with you this morning.” I may have begged to accompany her when I handed her the cupcakes this morning. Not my proudest moment, especially when the begging got me nowhere.

  “As if Logan would have let you.”

  “Hey! The man does not own me.”

  Kristie snorts. “Yeah, you keep telling yourself that.”

  The door separating the kitchen from the café swings open and Callie bursts through. “We need more snickerdoodles,” she orders but stops when she sees Kristie. She makes sure the door is firmly shut and then tiptoes closer. “What did you find out?” she whispers.

  “Well,” Kristie whispers in response. “I talked to some of the kids.”

  “Why are we whispering?” I ask, still whispering.

  “She started it.” Kristie points at Callie who shrugs in response.

  “Can we get to the point now?” Patience is not a virtue in my book.

  “Yeah.” Kristie nods. “Tyler will be here any moment and he is not a happy camper.”

  I wince. “I take it he wasn’t on duty at the fire station today?”

  “He caught me talking to some of the kids about Angel Band and nearly lost his mind.”

  Of course, he found out. The man should give up being a fireman. His detective skills are spot on.

  “You know, our lives would be much simpler if our boyfriends didn’t gab to each other like a bunch of old women.”

  I can’t disagree with Kristie’s comment, but now is not the time to discuss how well our boyfriends get along. “And?” I push. “What did you learn?”

  Kristie steps closer and we form a little huddle near the back door. “Well, there are rumblings amongst the gang. Drake wasn’t considered a good leader. He was too harsh.”

  I stop her there. “Too harsh?” I snort. “A gangbanger can be considered too harsh?”

  She shrugs. “I guess Drake w
as.”

  “And?” I motion my hand for her to continue. “What else?”

  “That’s it. It’s not like one of the gang members is going to come out and admit he killed the boss. Even if most of the members supported an overthrow, it would still be dangerous.”

  I deflate. “Then we’re back to square one with no leads and no idea of how to proceed.”

  “I have an idea.”

  Callie better not say we should leave the matter to the experts. “Which is?” I ask when she doesn’t elaborate.

  “Remember how I said I felt like the murder wasn’t gang related?” I nod. “I decided to do some digging.”

  She pauses and I consider moving my date to strangle her up to today. If she’s deliberately trying to torture me, she’s doing a bang-up job. “And? What did you find out?”

  “You know how Angel Band is the lead distributor of coke in the city?” I nod as if I have the first clue what she’s talking about. Sure, I know Angel Band distributes drugs. But what drugs? No clue. I don’t exactly keep up with these things. If it doesn’t involve cupcakes, it’s usually not on my radar.

  “Not to mention crack cocaine, PCP, and methamphetamine,” Kristie adds, and my mouth may gape open. Of course, I know she knows this stuff. Between her studies in social work and the Youth Center, she’s somewhat of an expert on drugs in the city. But it’s not like we talk about this kind of thing in between selling coffee and cupcakes. I don’t even know what PCP is.

  “Anyway,” Callie continues. “I remembered reading about this father of a drug overdose victim who blamed the gangs for his son’s death.”

  “Okay.” What’s she getting at?

  “But he didn’t blame all the gangs, he focused in on Angel Band.” Alrighty. Now, we’re getting somewhere. “He’s turned into a bit of a vigilante.”

  “Oh snap!” Kristie shouts. “I know who you’re talking about. I can’t remember his name—"

  “Roger Travers,” Callie fills in.

  “Yeah, that’s it. Mr. Travers. He’s been down at the Youth Center a few times.”

  “The Youth Center? What does he do there? Does he harass your kids?”

  “Nah, harass is a big word. He lectures them about using drugs and not joining a gang. Not anything we’re not already doing, although we do try to be a bit more subtle.”

  I return my attention to Callie. “When you say vigilante, what do you mean?” Because there’s absolutely nothing wrong with pushing kids to not join a gang in my book.

  “He lurks around corners where drug deals are known to take place and tries to stop them. Sometimes he’ll approach the users and offer to help them get clean. But he’s also been known to attack the dealers with a baseball bat.”

  My eyes widen. “Sweet molasses. Angel Band wouldn’t take well to those actions.”

  Callie shrugs. “The article I read didn’t say anything about him being harmed.”

  “Maybe if he’s getting press coverage, the gang avoided hurting him,” I suggest.

  Kristie snorts. “Yeah, as if press coverage has ever bothered a gang or something.”

  “Do you think his vigilante activities have increased? Maybe to the point of murdering a gang member, say Alastor Drake?” I ask Callie.

  “I don’t know, but it’s worth at least exploring as an option.”

  Totally. Plus, we don’t have any other leads at the moment. “That settles it. Time to go talk to Mr. Travers.”

  “Whoa!” Kristie shouts. “We can’t interrogate a grieving father.”

  “We won’t interrogate him,” I claim. Asking questions isn’t interrogating, right? “And don’t forget, he could be a killer.”

  “Fine.” Kristie nods. “We’ll talk to him, but no badgering the poor man.” As if I would ever badger anyone. Please. I’m as sweet as the cupcakes I bake. Really, I am.

  We quickly make a plan to meet at the bakery after lunch tomorrow. I’m not chomping at the bit to interview a possible killer. I’m not! I don’t get off on doing these investigations. I’m merely relieved we have another lead. With the ups and downs of the past week, I feel like I’m living on a roller coaster. Usually, I love roller coasters. I’m a ‘sit in the front row and throw my arms in the air as I scream in delight’ rider. This roller coaster, however, is no fun. Not when my wedding is a mere week away.

  Chapter 10

  Pixies are always prepared. With extra cupcakes.

  “Wow, Anna. You’ve outdone yourself. Those look super yummy.” I nod at Callie’s compliment but when her hand reaches out to grab one of my triple chocolate, double graham s’mores cupcakes, I slap it away.

  “No! These are for Mr. Travers.”

  “Of course, they are.” She pouts.

  “Um, I don’t think he needs a dozen cupcakes.”

  I glare at Kristie. How dare she side with Callie? “But it’s a perfect dozen! You can’t go around giving people eleven cupcakes.”

  “What about ten?” I switch my glare to Callie. “What?” She shrugs. “I can eat two of them and you’d still have an even number.”

  I slam the cover on the cupcakes. Where does she get such ridiculous ideas? “You just want a cupcake.”

  “Duh. Have you had one of your cupcakes? And it looks like chocolate.”

  I barely contain an eye-roll. Of course, it’s chocolate. What other ingredient would I use to soothe a grieving father who could perhaps possibly be a killer? “They’re double chocolate graham cracker cupcakes on a graham cracker crust with chocolate buttercream frosting and marshmallow meringue icing.”

  “I think I’m drooling. Am I drooling?” Callie drags a hand over her mouth.

  I probably should tease her more. It is tons of fun. But we need to get a move on. Murderers to question and whatnot. “There’s another dozen cupcakes in—”

  Callie doesn’t let me finish my sentence before she’s squealing and rushing off to grab one of the cupcakes I made for her. Because I’m an awesome friend like that.

  “Let’s go. I’ll drive, so little Miss Piggy can eat her cupcake.” Kristie herds us towards her car.

  It doesn’t take us long to reach the street Mr. Travers lives on. “Huh,” I say as I study the ranch family house. “It’s kind of a boring home. You’d think a vigilante would live somewhere cool like a cave or something.”

  “You’re confusing a vigilante with Batman.” Kristie points out as she parks on the street across from the house. “Do we need a plan of action before we storm in there?”

  I pause with my hand on the door handle. Plan of action? When have we ever had a plan of action before? “It’s fine. Come on.”

  I lead the way as we march up the walkway to the house. I ring the doorbell. My foot tap, tap, taps away as we wait for someone to answer the door. This guy better know something. My wedding is now officially less than a week away! I refuse – abso-fudging-lutely refuse – to marry Logan while he’s still a suspect in a murder. Nothing will ruin my perfect day.

  “Can I help you?”

  I stop myself before my jaw drops at the sight in front of me. I don’t know what I expected a vigilante to look like, but the middle-aged man with a receding hairline and dad-bod standing in front of me was not it.

  “Hi! Mr. Travers?” At his nod, I introduce the gang. “I’m Anna. Behind me are Callie and Kristie. Can we come in?” When he doesn’t respond, I raise the container in my hands. “I brought cupcakes!”

  He stares at me for a long moment before finally nodding and opening the door. Because no one can resist cupcakes! We trudge after him as he leads us to his living room. Callie, Kristie, and I sit together on the sofa, and I hand him the cupcakes. “These are for you.”

  “What do you want?”

  Right to business. Okay, here we go. “We wanted to ask you about Angel Band?” I make my statement sound like a question to soften the harsh topic. See? I got this covered. No need for a plan of action.

  He growls. “You can’t tell me you’re defending t
hose drug-running criminals!”

  “No! No!” I throw my hands in the air in the universal signal for surrender. “Of course not.”

  “Actually,” Kristie leans forward, “we’re wondering about your relationship with them.”