by Deany Ray
“Call 911!” Asher yelled. “Has someone called 911?”
“I’m on it,” someone yelled, and everyone pulled their cell phones out in a sudden movement that looked almost choreographed.
Ann Marie Beal elbowed her way through the crowd. “I’m a nurse,” she called. She and some others from her unit were regulars at the café. Especially on the double shifts, they depended on my espresso to keep them alert and on their feet. Now she kneeled beside Harry who, I noted with alarm, hadn’t moved at all.
Anne Marie was saying something, but I couldn’t hear her over Ruth’s plaintive wails. “Help him, please!” she pleaded.
That’s when I noticed that Anne Marie – and everyone else, in fact, – was staring straight at me. “Hey Becky,” she said. “Isn’t this cupcake from the Blue Bay Café?”
“That’s not mine,” I said, more thankful than I’d ever been to have lost a job to someone else. Cause when someone dies mid-bite, that can’t be good for business. “Arthur at Epicurean…” I began. But I couldn’t say the rest.
I stared at the cupcake wrapper with its two intertwined B’s that were the color of the bay when the sun was at its brightest. I stared at the distinctive swirl of icing that formed a curlicue on top.
The cupcake had indeed been purchased from the Blue Bay Café. But how did it get there? And why? It was a peanut butter cupcake. An all-time best seller. My aunt’s special recipe. As if that mattered now.
People backed away and stared at me in horror. Houston held me to him in a protective hug. Ruth stood up from her husband’s side and took a few steps toward me. “Why did you bring it here? Why? Why did you do it?”
A man gently grabbed her shoulders. To comfort her? To keep me safe? I wasn’t really sure. My heart was beating so hard I thought it might leap out of my chest.
“Ruth, I didn’t. I swear. I don’t know how it got here.” I tried to think of an explanation, but I came up blank. This party had turned into a nightmare that made no sense at all.
Ruth collapsed beside her husband and held a hand up to her mouth to try to keep from sobbing. She kept one hand on Harry’s arm. “Wake up please,” she told him. Her gray hair stood out in all directions like a fuzzy helmet.
Poor Ruth had always been the nervous sort, and she tended to pull at her wiry hair when she felt the histrionics coming on. So you can imagine the state of her graying coiffure on a tragic day like this, with her husband felled by a cupcake just minutes before what would have been his big moment in the sun.
Yes, the sale of their land was the most remarkable thing that had ever happened to Ruth and Harry Willis. At last they’d found a way to be remembered by their neighbors in Ouna Bay. When someone stopped at the shopping center for a new dress or a birthday card, they might remark to one another “This was Ruth and Harry’s land.”
Before, the older couple had struggled to stand out. Who remembered – or even noticed – Harry, the man who kept the books in the corner, dusty office of Townsend’s Department Store? And Ruth mostly kept to herself, growing tomatoes in her big back yard and doing crossword puzzles.
I turned to the woman beside me. “A cupcake from the Blue Bay Café? I just can’t imagine how…”
The woman stared at me with wide eyes as if I might suddenly pull out a gun and start shooting at the crowd.
But maybe it wasn’t the cupcake. It was strange that it was there at all, in the hands of a man who still wasn’t moving. But it could have been a heart attack; it might have been a stroke. So many things were more dangerous than a sweet treat topped with icing.
“Did anyone see what happened?” I asked in a shaky voice.
But nobody seemed to hear. The talk was all about the cupcake.
The manager of the country club had appeared by then, and he shook his head. “Someone brought in outside food,” he said. “We’ll have to tell that to the police.”
A hundred heads turned toward me. Houston tightened his grip around my shoulders. “Look,” he said. “She just sells the cupcakes. Anyone could have walked into the café. Anyone could have bought them.”
Briana appeared beside us, as if my night wasn’t bad enough already. She looked at the scene and sneered. “And I thought nothing interesting ever happened in this Podunk town. I guess I know a place I won’t be going for dessert.”
The police and EMTs seemed to arrive at the exact same time. Officers ushered the crowd away from the balcony door and put up yellow crime-scene tape. Then they took statements from onlookers.
“Tell us anything you saw that seemed even slightly off,” shouted one young officer who seemed to be in charge. “You never know what might turn out to be important.”
Ruth was anxiously watching a medic attempt CPR on Harry. “He has high blood pressure,” she cried. “And high cholesterol. He has so many things! But he was feeling good this week. Oh, and peanut allergies. We were so careful with the food we ordered for the party. And we didn’t order thiiiiis…” Her voice turned to a plaintive wail as she stared down at the cupcake.
The medic stopped his work and shook his head. “I’m sorry ma’am,” he said to Ruth in the gentlest of voices. “I’m afraid he’s gone.”
The crowd gasped, and an older woman rushed toward Ruth to envelop her in a hug.
When it was my turn to be questioned by the officer in charge, I repeated the six words I’d been saying for so long. “I swear! I just don’t know.”
The cop wanted to know everything. Where was I before the party? Who had seen me then? How long had I known Harry and did I have a reason to wish him any harm?
But before I could say a thing, I felt Houston touch my arm. “I’m her lawyer. She doesn’t wish to give a statement at this time.”
What?
“But Houston,” I said. “I don’t have anything to hide. I want to help them find out what happened to…”
He pressed my arm gently. “Not now. This has been a long night. Let’s go home and rest.”
Rest. Like that was gonna happen.
By that time, most of the crowd was gone except for the staff who were awaiting the go ahead to clean the room and pack the food away. A few scattered onlookers huddled nearby, waiting to hear something – anything! – that they could tell their friends.
Asher put his hand on Houston’s shoulder. “Yes, you two go on home,” he said. “We can talk tomorrow.”
He looked at me suspiciously. Or was that just my imagination?
Outside, a few people were getting into their cars. With no more reason to be festive, the men had loosened their ties, and one young girl had her two-inch heels slung across her shoulders. The older woman still had her arms tightly around Ruth as she helped her into a car.
Houston signaled for me to stay back until Ruth was seated with the door shut. That was a good idea. I knew Ruth wouldn’t want to see my face. And, as hard as I tried to forget, I could not stop seeing hers.
Chapter Three
I looked at the clock. Five a.m. Practically the middle of the night. And it was my only day to sleep in since the Blue Bay Café was closed on Sundays. But being awake seemed better than the nightmares that had run through my head all night. I kept seeing Harry’s face. So Still. While Ruth kept shouting “Why?” And I kept seeing that wretched peanut butter cupcake while Harry took one bite and then another.
I started a pot of coffee and made it extra strong.
“Coffee. Make some extra while you’re at it.” Houston, who spend the night at my place, appeared in the kitchen. He looked exactly like I felt.
“So you couldn’t sleep either, I see.” I got two mugs out of the cabinet.
He stared at the coffee maker. “Does that thing come with settings? Like an emergency button for when you need the coffee really fast?”
I sunk into a kitchen chair. “My life is over,” I said. “Did you see those people’s faces? It’s like they really think I did it! And people know me here. How could they even think I’d do a thing like that?�
��
“They were just in shock is all. Nobody thinks you’re guilty.”
“But just in case, they all made sure to stand twenty feet away.”
He leaned back against the counter. “Well, this is quite the mess.”
“I’ll say.”
“Hey look. I’m worried about you, babe. But I’m afraid I’ve got to go into the office for a little while at least.”
“Do you really have to go today?”
“Well, the thing is that what happened last night might change everything. With the shopping center deal. It’s right there in the contract. If either party dies within a specified window of time, the deal is null and void.”
I let that huge news sink in. All of Houston’s hard work…
***
At eight we were working on our second pot of coffee, still puzzling over the events of the night before. We hadn’t thought of a single reason why a cupcake from the Blue Bay Café might have found its way to the Ouna Country Club.
Then the doorbell rang. Before I could summon the energy to get out of my chair, Rosalie burst in through the door. “Oh hon, I can’t believe it. Oh sweetie, what in the world? Tell me everything.”
She gets over-the-top excited about a sale on shoes. That translates to crazy when the news is truly huge. I was so out of it that point that it took a full five minutes to notice the spotted beagle that had followed her in and was sniffing my garbage can. I added some cream to my coffee. “Okay, what’s up with the dog?”
She clasped her hands in excitement. “That’s Geronimo!”
“That does not explain a thing.”
“Isn’t he the sweetest?”
“Like Geronimo the Apache? Or like the thing that people shout when they jump off somewhere that’s really high?”
She watched the dog as if she were pondering the question. Then she shrugged and poured herself some coffee. “Either one works, I guess.”
“Who names their dog Geronimo?”
“Mrs. Arnold next door.”
“And why, pray tell, is Geronimo standing in my kitchen? Is he your new best friend?”
“Of course not. He’s a dog!”
Well, duh. Any attempt at humor goes whoosh, right over her head.
“Oh, so he’s a dog. That explains the long ears.”
Under her close-cropped light brown hair, her big eyes filled with pity. “Oh, hon, I can tell that you’re not feeling well at all. And is it any wonder? This is just the worst!”
I paused and watched the dog who had moved on to sniff the floor. “But why? Why is he here?”
She glanced over at Houston.
“Not him!” I cried. “The dog! I know why Houston’s here. Why do you have a dog?”
“Oh! Well, the thing is that Mrs. Arnold is in the hospital.” She took a seat and whispered, “She’s really old, you know.” She petted the beagle who was now licking Houston’s shoe. “So I said I’d look after him.”
“Well, that was very nice of you,” I said.
She smiled. She loved a compliment. “And you’re right. Geronimo is such a crazy name. So I just call him Gerry.”
“Much better,” I said. I nudged the dog away from Houston who was just about to face his second bad day in a row.
“But enough about the dog. What’s the story on the cupcake? What in the word?”
“I just can’t imagine. I’ve gone over it in my head. Over and over again. All night long, in fact. It was a peanut butter one.”
“Oh! The peanut butter ones are so cute. With that peanut crumble.”
“The crumble! That’s the thing. Someone must have brushed it off. Or else Harry would never have touched it. Because, have you heard? He had a peanut allergy.”
“Allergic,” she whispered, horrified. “Do you really think that’s what killed him? A cupcake? From the Blue Bay Café!”
Inside me, I felt the panic rising. “They don’t know yet exactly why he died.”
Rosalie frowned. “And a peanut butter one. One of our best sellers. With that precious topping and the little icing swirl. Those are my second favorite. Behind the Caramel Surprise.”
Houston perked up enough to roll his eyes.
In addition to being my best friend, Rosalie worked at the café. She opened her tiny pink clutch and pulled out a notebook that I would have sworn was bigger than the jeweled purse she carried it in. “We’ve got to get to work, hon. Do we have any suspects?”
Houston put his cup down. “No way, girls. No way. I’ve got trouble enough already.”
Rosalie had always fancied herself as a private eye, waitress uniform notwithstanding. When I was crazy enough to go along with her “investigations,” we’d even caught a crook or two. But not without getting ourselves into a lot of trouble first. And our chief rescuer was sitting across the table, looking very wary of seeing us jump into the fray again.
“Well, I have to admit,” I told him, “I’m with Rosalie on this. Cause I don’t think I can sleep at all until someone figures this out.” Then maybe I could walk around town without people running the other way. That could be very inconvenient with a business to run and all.
“I’m anxious, too.” He took my hand. “But Becky, I’m sure the cops will sort it out real soon. They’ve got more training than you two, clever as you may be.” He smiled just a little.
Rosalie beamed at the compliment. “Then we’ll tag team it with the police! It never hurts to have more detectives on the case.” She jumped up and opened one cabinet and then another. “Hey, hon, do you have nothing to eat in here? Crime solving makes me hungry.”
It was my turn to roll my eyes. “Bacon and eggs?” I asked.
“Promise you’ll be careful?” Houston asked. He had learned by now that there was no stopping me and Rosalie when we set our minds on something.
She put on her serious face. “We’ll take all relevant precautions.” Then she cocked her head to one side as if she’d suddenly come up with a theory on the crime. “Can you mix some cheese into my eggs, hon?”
I got out a bowl and started breaking a dozen eggs. “Cheesy eggs coming up.”
Rosalie wrote something in her notebook. “First, we need to find out what the police might have uncovered since last night.” She looked up. “That will be my job. You know, I have a source.”
I picked up a spoon. “Yes, I think I do know who my best friend is dating.”
She never missed a chance to mention that her boyfriend, Dwight, was an assistant to the Police. Dwight had huge ambitions and an even bigger heart. His modus operandi was to stumble onto clues purely by accident. You’d be shocked how often he got results.
Houston stood. “I think I’ll get a shower while you finish up the eggs. Then I need to check in with Asher. See where we go from here.”
When we heard the bathroom door shut and the water start to run, Rosalie stood and sidled up next to me. “Hey sweets,” she whispered. “What’s up with the new girl who’s working with your man? I hear she looks like Angelina Jolie’s prettier younger sister.”
How did she hear that? Of course, I should not have been surprised. This was Ouna Bay. Everyone knows everything five minutes after it happens.
“I hadn’t heard a thing about her until last night when she spilled a drink on me. Her name is Briana. Isn’t that a stupid name?” I scrambled the eggs a little harder.
“Briana? I’ve met her.” She looked concerned. “He’s working with Briana?”
“When did you meet her?”
“At the salon last week. I was getting my nails done.” She wiggled her hand in my face. “Pearly white. You like?”
“Your nails look fine. Whatever.”
“He’s working with Briana?” She asked again and frowned.
“So? Why is that so bad?”
“She’s just a little…perfect. That’s the only thing.” She had gone into her daydream mode. “I’d kill to have her hair.”
“No way is she perfect. How hard is it to wa
lk and hold a drink at the same time?”
“I’m sure this is no big deal.” She smiled. “Houston’s heart is taken.”
“And no matter how perfect your lipstick color is, it can’t hide the fact that some people are just rude.” I stirred the eggs a little more.
She cocked her head. “Hey, Becky, hon? It’s okay.”
“I know that it’s okay.”
“Then take it easy with the spoon, hon. I’m afraid you’ll break the bowl. And it’s such a pretty blue bowl.”
I stopped to close my eyes. Breathe in, breath out, I told myself. I was too busy to be jealous. A killer was on the loose. And some people thought that it was me.
Chapter Four
On Monday I headed into the café early to keep my mind off of the murder. I had dreamed up an elaborate cake of the week with cream cheese and pumpkin and chocolate bits. Not a peanut to be found.
Soon I was joined by my longtime employee, Maia. She gave me a hug. “I’ve been worried about you, Becky. How are you doing with all of this?”
I opened a can of pumpkin. “Not too well, I admit. Can you think of anything at all? That might be the smallest clue? Any suspicious customers that came in here last week?”
Maia paused to think, then she shook her head. “It was a pretty normal week.” She paused again. “It was a peanut butter cupcake, right?”
“It was.” Word really traveled fast.
“That is really too bad. Because I might be able to tell you who bought a lemon cupcake or a slice of gingerbread. But peanut butter cupcakes – those things sell like crazy. They’d have to round up half the town if they questioned everybody who bought one of those.”
The morbid side of me tried to turn the whole thing into a catchy slogan about how fast our cupcakes sell.
Maia tied on her apron. “What does Houston say?”
I shrugged. “I haven’t seen him much.” There hadn’t even been time to ask about Briana. And I had lots of questions. “And tonight he’s working late again,” I told Maia as I mixed pumpkin into the batter. “Damage control, you know.”
