Brownies & Betrayal (Sweet Bites Mysteries, Book 1)

by Heather Justesen

  The little apartment still held a slight musty smell despite my having been there for a week. Everything was familiar, and contrary to the pain I’d felt on my more recent visits, comforting. The room held old, worn sofas covered with afghans Grandma had knitted, the fake plants standing sentinel in the corners and on tables. More faded paint in mint green, more pictures and knickknacks. Coming back here had been a balm to my broken heart.

  The restaurant had kept me busy with cleanup and renovations, but I’d managed some basic cleaning in the apartment since my return to town. There was a lot still to be done.

  While Honey plated up the brownies, I headed to my tiny room for a comfy sweatshirt. The thought of moving into Grandma’s much bigger room hadn’t occurred to me until she’d been gone over a year, but I was so rarely here, I hadn’t bothered. Since it would have required going through her personal effects, the bigger space wasn’t worth the time, or the pain it would have dredged up. Now some time had passed, I might be able to face it.

  Two sparkling salad plates, now with a couple of brownies on each, and two tall glasses of milk sat on the coffee table when I returned to the living room.

  With a sigh, I kicked off my newest pair of Monolo Blahniks and wiggled my toes. They weren’t very practical for walking around the hotel, but they made my feet pretty, and had cheered me up when I thought of being arrested for murder. Okay, so nothing could make that thought less horrible, but I’d been focused more on my aching feet than my questionable future, so that was something.

  Honey picked up one shoe and held it reverently. “How unfair is it that I can never borrow your shoes? I can’t believe your feet are smaller than mine.”

  I knew the tactic was intended to delay the conversation, and decided to humor her. “It’s all that coveting you did as a kid. This is Karma blowing back at you.”

  She pulled a face at me. “I don’t need to be reminded of what a brat I used to be.”

  “Used to be?” I lifted my brows at her, but I was teasing.

  Honey laughed, her voice like the sound of tiny seashells as they clinked together. She was so feminine, from her short frame and tiny hands to her womanly curves. She even looked the part of a mother of three, though I still struggled sometimes to believe her oldest son was already eight. “I’m much better behaved now. Most of the time.”

  “Good enough for me,” I took a bite and moaned in appreciation over our famous rocky road brownies. Filled with walnut chunks and chocolate chips, topped with melted marshmallows and slathered with my famous fudge frosting, nothing on the planet tasted better than these babies. “Can we say heaven?” This dessert wasn’t sophisticated enough for my Chicago clients’ palates—or that’s what the head chefs claimed when I suggested adding them to the menu. But I couldn’t imagine anyone not melting into a puddle of fulfillment with a single bite—I was totally stocking them in my bakery and knew the repeat business would be phenomenal.

  Honey stayed around for another hour. I waved goodbye to her, and turned to study the apartment. I’d rarely been back to Silver Springs since I settled my Grandma’s bills and everything after the funeral. Honey had told me more than once that I was avoiding the pain, and I’d feel better if I faced it all instead of staying away.

  I hadn’t believed her, but now I was home again—and wasn’t it funny that I’d already begun to think of Silver Springs as home?—I found the ache of losing my last parental figure wasn’t what I’d expected. The intense pain I’d felt last time had softened a great deal, though the bittersweet pain of being around Grandma’s things now made tears spring to my eyes and I longed to have a chat with her. I decided I’d make a trip to the cemetery to visit her tomorrow.

  Despite the late hour, my cell phone rang and I listened to Marry Me by Train play through until it went to voice mail. I was still avoiding Bronson’s calls. If I didn’t answer, just let him leave message after message, all of them pleading, none of them sincere, would he eventually stop? I wasn’t sure, but the last thing I needed right after my trying day was to deal with him. He had been the one to pick the ringtone for his number, the cheating, lying jerk. I’d actually thought it was sweet at the time. Gag me.

  Bronson was another hurt I’d have to deal with, and maybe it was why I’d had to come home again. Isn’t that what people did when they had wounds that needed licking? Go home? I was sure there must be some primal draw to this town, even if it hadn’t officially been home at any point in my life.

  Despite the comforting surroundings, the knife of surprise at walking into Bronson’s office to find him kissing someone else still sheared through me when I let myself think about it. Though he’d been trying to get me to agree to marry him for months, I’d only accepted a few weeks ago. Apparently he got what he wanted—whatever that was—and was ready to move on. That hurt, even as I hated myself for thinking maybe he had an excuse. Maybe, just maybe, we could make this work after all.

  No. Ignoring the calls was best.

  It was late when I headed to bed, still smelling the sweet sachets Grandma always stuck in with her linens. It permeated the clean sheets I’d pulled out of the cupboard earlier. It was almost as good as having her arms wrapped around me.

  I kept a close eye on everyone as I stood at the table with my cake the next evening. The police had cleared the room for use again only two hours before the wedding ceremony was scheduled to start, which meant the hotel staff and I had scrambled to set up everything.

  The ceremony was over and Honey mingled through the crowd, making a point of tracking down all the people who’d been in the hotel the night of the wedding rehearsal—which, according to reports, had been the entire wedding party.

  Because I was the hired help, it was my job to stand behind the cake table or in the corner out of the way, rather than chatting with guests—a rule I mostly intended to follow. It gave me a chance to watch everyone and see how they interacted. It was a smaller group than originally planned, but that was okay by me. One hundred people instead of a hundred and sixty meant I could see all the possible suspects.

  The tone of the event was far more subdued than it would have been a couple days earlier. Even from my corner, I could see the tears, comforting touches and delicate sniffles against lacey handkerchiefs. Was this a wedding celebration or a wake? It was hard to tell, and the answer was, of course, that it might have been a bit of each.

  After everyone had eaten their dinners, the bride and groom went through the ritual cake cutting and serving. They were totally circumspect about it—no frosting on the face for this couple. Then they moved away for the next set of pictures and I took off the top layer for the bride and groom to freeze for their first anniversary and sliced the next tier to be served to guests.

  There’s a science to slicing wedding cakes so all the pieces are the same size and no one feels picked on if they get a smaller piece than their neighbor. I seldom had the opportunity to do the cutting when I worked at the DeMille Hotel—I’d trained several of the wait staff there to do the job properly. Despite people’s regrets that the masterpiece had to be destroyed, no matter how gorgeous, how elaborate the confection, it was, at heart, still just cake—fabulous and delicious, but cake all the same. I never felt bad about seeing one massacred for the guests to enjoy. It was meant to be eaten. If I wanted my art to last forever, I’d have taken up painting instead.

  Jeff, best man, and the guy I nearly plowed into Friday evening, was the first of the wedding party to amble my direction.

  “Chocolate almond, or vanilla with raspberry filling?” I asked when he stopped at the table.

  “Vanilla, thanks. Is this going to taste as good as it looks?” His smile was flirtatious.

  “Better. I guarantee it.” I flirted right back, leaning in and allowing my lips to curve. So I wasn’t looking for love—did that mean I couldn’t enjoy myself? My pride was wounded, my heart broken, but a good flirtation always helped me feel better after a breakup.

  His eyebrows lifte
d. “That certain, are you?” He forked up a bite, smiled, chewed for a moment and muttered from the corner of his mouth, “Holy cow, you weren’t exaggerating.”

  I grinned, always happy to see people enjoy themselves. “Never doubt that my food is as good as my reputation.”

  “Reputations are delicate things,” he said.

  “They can be, yes.” I’d heard from Honey that Jeff and Valerie were attorneys for competing firms. “But you would know all about reputations. Lawyers have to protect their names as carefully as pastry chefs, don’t they? Too many losses and you become persona non grata.”

  His eyes flashed back to mine. “Who told you?”

  I blinked, surprised by his defensive question. “About what?”

  He paused, took another bite of his cake and chewed for a moment. The move was very deliberate as his legal mind seemed to consider his words. “I thought you were referring to the lawsuit I fought against Valerie. Our clients had a business deal go bad. Valerie magically came up with some crucial evidence which cost us the trial.”

  He stuffed another bite in his mouth, not paying attention to the food anymore. “Fabricated was more like it, though. And she couldn’t have won without the evidence. I don’t mind people playing hardball, using the loopholes of the law to get what their client wants, but I draw the line at making things up.”

  “I understand that,” I said, making sure my voice oozed sympathy. “When I was in culinary school, there was a competition with the other students. We had to create a dessert, and one guy used a recipe he’d filched from a famous chef. He won the prize, and I know he didn’t deserve it.” Yes, I’m referring to Roscoe—so you see why I was so offended by Valerie’s suggestion that he was the better pastry chef. What were the odds that we’d end up living only an hour apart?

  “Then you understand where I’m coming from. I’m sorry to see her dead, but Valerie didn’t play by the rules.” Jeff’s plate was already empty. He stared at it as if surprised to see the cake was gone, then looked at me. “It was delicious. Thank you.”

  Had he even noticed it after that first bite, or was he being polite? “You’re welcome. I hope you remember me if you ever need a special-occasion dessert.”

  “I will.” He set the dirty plate on the table.

  He was ready to walk away, but I wasn’t finished with him, so I hurried with another question. “Valerie must have been doing well at her law firm, considering all the fancy clothes and jewelry she had. Do you think that case helped her climb the ladder?”

  “I’m sure it would have helped in the long run, but I doubt it did anything yet. Valerie’s always had more money than sense, or at least, she spends as if she does. I know she doesn’t make that kind of money at her job. I figured it was a trust fund or something.” He shrugged.

  One of the bridesmaids approached and requested a slice of chocolate cake. I tried to place her, but couldn’t do it.

  “I hope you enjoy it,” I said as I handed her a plate. Her bottle-blonde hair was teased into a chic halo around her head.

  “Thanks. I’ll try.” Her words were dry and she shot Jeff a nasty look before heading back into the crowd.

  He winced.

  My curiosity perked, but I tried not to be too obvious. “Who was that? I don’t think I caught her name earlier.”

  “Janice. She’s Tad’s sister,” he answered. He started to move away.

  “Things must have been pretty busy here the night Valerie died,” I asked, desperate to get some more answers from him before he melted back into the crowd. “Was there a wild bachelor party after the wedding rehearsal that night? Bachelorette party?”

  “No, that was a few days earlier. Both Tad and Analesa decided they wanted to be fresh and alert for their wedding instead of hung over. I understand the women were going to get together and do their nails or something, though.” He shook his head as if to say women were incomprehensible to him. “Thanks again.” He raised a hand in greeting to one of the other guests and headed off with a vague goodbye to me.

  I made notes on the little paper I had stuck in my pocket.

  I remembered Valerie’s red fingernails when I found the body—the same color she’d been wearing during the wedding rehearsal. Had she chosen not to join the others, or did she just prefer red? Did she go hang with the other women for a while, then go out, or did she skip the girl time?

  A dark-haired woman came over, holding the hand of the little girl I’d seen at the wedding rehearsal dinner Friday night. Valerie’s little girl. “What can I get for you ladies? Chocolate or vanilla with raspberry filling?”

  “Vanilla,” the woman said. She looked pale and tired. “How about you, Dahlia?” she asked the girl.

  “Chocolate.” Dahlia was very decisive, though she also looked very sad and a little cross.

  “Great choice.” I handed the slices over. “I saw you here a couple nights ago,” I said to Dahlia.

  The woman answered as Dahlia stuffed a huge bite of the cake in her mouth. “Yes. She’s Valerie’s little girl.”

  I studied the woman more closely. “You must be a sister. You look a lot alike.”

  “I’m Lidia, Valerie’s older sister. I arrived last night after they let me know.” Her voice broke and she paused to get it back under control. “My apologies. Did you know my sister well?” Her pain was palpable.

  “No. We spoke only the one time Friday evening.” I chose not to tell her the subject of our conversation. No need to bring it up now, after all. “I’m surprised you’re here tonight. It’s such a tragedy for you.”

  Lidia touched a hanky to her cheek. “Yes, but Tad insisted that he wanted Dahlia here, to get her mind off things, so I brought her for a while.” Her breathing hitched and she gave me a watery smile. “I think the plan backfired.”

  “I’m so sorry.” My heart went out to this woman. Even if Valerie hadn’t exactly been the nicest person ever, it must still be hard for her sister. “Are you going to be in town for a while?”

  Lidia nodded. “For the next few days while they sort everything out. Dahlia and I are all she had, so I’ll be settling the estate.” She turned her head as someone called her name from the crowd, and I looked up to see Tad gesturing to her. “Looks like I’m being summoned,” she said to me. “It was good to meet you.”

  “Same here.” I watched with sympathy as she led the little girl back into the crowd. Settling a family member’s estate was never easy. I’d done it first after my parents’ deaths, then with my grandma, so I was intimately aware of the stresses involved. Dahlia stretched her arms up to Tad, and he passed the cake to Lidia, then scooped up the little girl. She snuggled into him, tucking her face into his chest, looking lost.

  My resolve to investigating the murder strengthened. That child needed answers, and knowing her pain, I was going to be make sure she got them.

  A few minutes passed as I continued to hand out cake to guests before Honey ambled over and scooped up a slice of chocolate.

  “Learn anything interesting?” I asked.

  “It’s hard to interrogate people without letting them know what you’re doing, but I did manage to get a little information.” She closed her eyes as she savored the first bite. “Oh wow, I forgot what this was like. You so need to live in the area where I can taste-test for you all the time.”

  I laughed. What was a best friend for if not to fawn and praise once in a while? “You’ve got me. Now, what did you learn?”

  “Analesa’s mom confirmed that all the bridal party, as well as family members, were staying here in the hotel. Their house has been leased, you know.” She said this in all seriousness, as if I was in the loop on local gossip and of course I would know.

  “Why did they do that?”

  “Mr. Plumber’s company transferred him out of the area a couple years back so they moved, but he plans to retire in another year or two. They didn’t want to sell.”

  “But of course they couldn’t leave the house vacant,” I ans
wered the question myself. “That explains why everyone stayed here.” Honey consumed the cake with gusto while I reined in my own longing for a slice. Working with sugar and fat all day showed on my hips. I knew I needed to stay away from the goodies, or at least try to refrain from eating more than one piece.

  Especially after enjoying two éclairs the previous afternoon and a brownie last night. Fat city, even if they were delicious. I really needed to start working out again.

  Instead of obsessing about the food, I turned the conversation. “Okay, so everyone was here. Jeff told me the girls might have had plans to do their nails after the wedding rehearsal, but the wild parties were held days earlier.”

  “Okay, you noticed the fingernails, didn’t you?”

  I had, since I’d been watching after talking to Jeff. Analesa and her attendants all wore what appeared to be the same shade of pale pink fingernail polish. It matched the color of the bridesmaid dresses, and the sash around the bride’s white dress. The pink rose bouquet and trailing pink ribbons were the same shade as well. “But Valerie’s nails were still red when she died, so she didn’t join them that night.”

  “That would be my guess. Here comes Millie now. She was the third roommate with Valerie and Analesa in college. You see what you can find out from her, I’ll go interrogate the mother of the groom.” She grinned and glided across the room while managing to greet and schmooze with everyone in sight. The woman was a marvel.

  Millie was a pale blonde with a mole near her mouth reminiscent of Christy Brinkley’s—which had me wondering if it was real, or an affectation intended to draw attention. Her mouth was wide and sulky, and, despite the pink everywhere else, was slathered in Come Get Me red lipstick. “I want a little piece of the chocolate,” she said.