Doughnuts & Deadly Schemes (Culinary Competition Mysteries Book 3)

by Janel Gradowski

  The part about knowing what Shepler looked like set off an alarm in Amy's mind. She pulled out her phone and sent him another message. Maybe he should wear a bit of a disguise, just to be on the extra safe side.

  Sophie scratched her eyebrow then pressed her fingertips into her temples. "I still don't think talking with him will help, but since you're forcing me to, that seems like a decent plan. Just let me know what I have to do."

  "Shepler is the best detective in the department. I promise…he'll help you."

  Sophie stood and squeezed past Amy without responding to the comment about Shepler. When the door opened, Amy watched her friend transform from scared and almost defeated back into a confident leader to the employees scrambling around the kitchen. The metamorphosis was rather astounding considering the stress and fear affecting Sophie. Now that Amy knew what was happening, she didn't know how much longer Sophie could keep up the brave charade. The homicidal extortionist needed to be caught before he harmed more innocent people.

  The flurry of texts continued as Shepler made his way to the café for the meeting. When he walked through the front door, Amy barely recognized him. If it weren't for his distinctive superhero body shape she would've dismissed him as an anonymous customer. The dark brown wig and fake mustache were surprisingly realistic. She wondered how many times he had gone undercover if he could pull off that good of a disguise on such short notice. Sophie and the noose, hidden in an empty flour sack, were already waiting in the storage room when Shepler walked up to the counter to order his coffee.

  Amy was in the small kitchen near the order counter that housed the pastry case and espresso machine. She dabbed fluffy Swiss meringue frosting on lime cupcakes as she kept an eye on Shepler through the swinging doors she had propped open, supposedly to get some fresh air because she was warm. When he set his coffee cup on the fireplace mantel and headed toward the bathrooms, she sprang into action. She abandoned the cupcakes and exited the kitchen, making a beeline to the women's bathroom. The hallway was empty. She knocked once on the door to the men's bathroom then swung open the door to the women's restroom. The hallway was so narrow the open door effectively hid Shepler's journey across the hall and into the storage room.

  Once Shepler was safely transferred, Amy went into the women's room. She looked into the mirror as she counted to twenty. Her cheeks were pink with excitement over the cloak and dagger meeting. Then she flushed the toilet, washed her hands, and exited the room. The key chain jingled as she unlocked the storage room's door and went inside, pretending as though she needed more cupcake wrappers.

  Sophie looked like a frightened mouse perched on top of a stack of plastic milk crates in the corner. The light cast by the bare lightbulb overhead gave the room a spooky vibe. Shepler leaned against a metal shelving unit. His body language was relaxed, but his face was in serious detective mode. Obviously the conversation had already started while Amy was stalling in the bathroom.

  "There is no reason to just hand over your hard-earned money," he said. "We'll figure out who is behind the threats, but I need your help. Caving in to the demands and hoping for a different outcome isn't the way to go. If you work with us, we will be able to track down the extortionist before he vanishes with your money."

  Amy nodded in agreement. Shepler's confidence seemed to be reaching Sophie as she asked, "But how is my not paying going to help you?"

  "The computer division can try to trace the messages that are sent to you. I'll have the officers come in posing as computer technicians or some other benign person, like I'm doing now. If you stall by saying you need more time to get the money, you'll most likely get more messages. I promise I will keep you as safe as I possibly can."

  Sophie dropped her feet to the floor. "So you're hoping the extortionist will try to kill me too so you can catch him in the process?"

  "No. Absolutely not." Shepler stood up straight. He was an impressive mountain of muscle and determination. He stared into Sophie's eyes. "I will catch the murderer soon, and you will live a long, happy life. But you need to take some precautions. Do you live alone?"

  "Yes."

  Shepler jammed his hands into his pants pockets. "Can you stay with somebody? An attack is much less likely if the assailant has to deal with more than one person."

  "You can stay with me," Amy said as she took a step forward in the narrow aisle between boxes of to-go cups. "I have two guest rooms."

  "But I don't want to put you and Alex in harm's way."

  As if she had never been in that position before. "We have a high-tech alarm system. Nobody is getting in my house unnoticed. Plus, my dog is a pro at attacking ankles. We'll all be safe."

  "No." Sophie hopped off the crates. She stuck her chin in the air and pulled back her shoulders as she looked Shepler in the eye. "I'll help you because I want to find Luke's murderer, but I won't put my friends in danger by staying with them."

  Shepler nodded. "I would rather see you stay with Amy. My fiancée says her guest rooms are incredible, by the way, but you can do as you wish. If it makes you feel any better, $5,000 isn't an amount of money that people usually kill for, so the murder may be an anomaly in the extortionist's plan."

  "No, that doesn't make me feel better." Sophie picked at a dab of dried frosting on the front of her apron. "Because Luke is still gone. My boyfriend has lost his best friend. A good man is dead, whether murder was this psycho's plan all along or not."

  The earlier conversation on the kitchen floor replayed in Amy's head. Even the tiniest clue could help Shepler. "You keep referring to the extortionist as a he. Do you know for sure it's a man?"

  "There was no way to tell from the emails. The person literally pushed me down in the parking lot. I never got a look at the attacker, but it seemed like the person was quite a bit taller than I am so I assumed it was a man." Sophie shrugged as she shuffled past Amy in the narrow passageway to the door.

  Shepler held up his hand to beckon Sophie to stop. "Wait. Do you have a security system here? Did any alarms go off this morning? Did you check video surveillance?"

  Sophie placed her hand on the doorknob and rested her forehead on the metal door. She didn't say anything, so Amy answered the question. "There are security cameras inside the café and pointing at the parking lot, just like at Finley & Crowe. According to the timestamps on the footage, the cameras stopped recording at 3:30 a.m. then magically started working again at 6:00 a.m."

  "So somebody shut it down remotely or reprogrammed the settings."

  Amy held up a finger. "Or erased the files after they broke in, then scheduled when the taping would resume. It's a digital system, so there's no physical videotape being recorded."

  Shepler raised his eyebrows at her. "You could very well be correct about the video being erased. Thank you."

  CHAPTER TEN

  Carla took another moment to inhale the intoxicating bacon aroma before pushing open the door of Past To Present Vintage Clothing. It was midmorning, and at the other end of the strip mall, The Breakfast Spot was churning out cheesy omelets, biscuits with sausage gravy, and bacon breakfast sandwiches for hungry customers. Apparently lots of bacon, considering the cloud of mouth-watering, smoky scent enveloping the entire mall.

  The door to the clothing store thumped shut behind Carla. The atmosphere inside the little shop was mercifully more flower-scented fabric softener than hearty breakfast. Drooling down the front of her gorgeous bridal gown wouldn't be good for the delicate fabric.

  "Hello! You must be Carla," a woman wearing a wildly patterned wrap dress said as she emerged from a hallway at the back of the store. The huge, colorful tropical flowers on the silky fabric swayed and shimmered as she wove between low clothing racks. "Congratulations on your upcoming wedding."

  "Thank you. I'm thrilled with the dress, but so sorry to rush the alterations like this."

  "I'm so glad you found something you like. Don't worry about the alterations. They won't be a problem." She took the garment bag containing the
wedding dress from Carla. "My name is Michelle. Why don't we get you into this and see what changes you'd like to make?"

  Five minutes later Carla was staring at herself in a full-length mirror fastened to the wall of a dressing room. She looked as though she had stepped out of the pages of a 1950's fashion magazine. Retro sexy. That was the description Amy had come up with after Carla chose the dress. Actually, it had been more like one of those sappy, woo-woo things where the gown seemed to magically choose her for its next owner. When she walked away from the bridal salon, disappointed that none of the new dresses matched the vision in her head, she had no idea that a previously owned dress would be the remedy to her nightmare. Carla had certainly never thought of checking out vintage stores, since she never shopped at them herself.

  There was a soft knock on the door. "Ready?"

  "Come in."

  Michelle slipped into the small room. A fabric tomato pincushion was tied onto her wrist with green ribbon. She wore a yellow tape measure around her neck like a lariat necklace. Michelle tilted her head to the side as she scrutinized the dress.

  "It fits pretty well. The straps need to be shortened a little, and I can also take the waist in a bit. Do you like the length of the skirt?"

  Carla turned back around to look at her reflection in the mirror. "I think the length is good. It seems appropriate for this style…at least to me."

  "You're right." Michelle nodded as she pinched the top of the loose straps that had already slipped off Carla's shoulders. "I can't help but think about the previous life of vintage clothes. I'm pretty sure this was originally a wedding dress, probably from the 1950s or early '60s. I wonder what the wedding was like. I bet the bride and groom were madly in love. Maybe they splurged on a bottle of champagne to toast the start of their marriage."

  "You have a very romantic imagination. The reality could've been less rosy. Maybe they both got drunk on the champagne and ended up fighting on their wedding night." Carla smoothed the sheer, white fabric of the skirt. The poor woman would think she was altering a dress for the Bride of Frankenstein after a comment like that. "Sorry. I work in the ER, and my fiancé is a homicide detective. Sometimes we see the not-so-pleasant side of people."

  "We all have a different view of life. Selling clothes is much less stressful than what you do. Drawing on my area of expertise, I can tell somebody took very good care of this dress, so I think they cherished it for a reason."

  A memento of a special day that revolved around love. So much better than a reminder of an argument with a hangover chaser. Carla smiled. "I promise I will also treasure this dress. I like your tale of its possible heritage better than mine."

  "And you'll be adding to the history in your own unique way." Michelle tugged at the fabric of the wide waistband. "Do you want this a little tighter?"

  Carla took a deep breath. The fact that she was wearing a wedding dress hit her like a gust from a hurricane. Like a real storm, pretending the disturbance wasn't developing didn't prevent it from causing damage. She had told herself she would never marry again after her nightmare of a first marriage went up in flames faster than the cigarettes her ex-husband chain-smoked. She took another breath. The wide waistband tightened around her stomach.

  "You know, the fabric is so delicate I don't want to rip it if I eat too much or try to give someone a hug. Can you just leave the waist as it is? I don't think it looks bad."

  Michelle poked a pink-topped straight pin back into her fabric tomato bracelet and took a step back. "I think it looks good. Some women who have a small waist like yours want to highlight it as much as possible. Of course, they probably don't eat or do the 'Funky Chicken' dance either."

  Carla chuckled. Avoiding the embarrassing dance was one good thing about cramming the guests into her loft. "Riverbend Café is catering. I will definitely be eating at my wedding. Although, I don't think there will be room for a dance floor where the reception will most likely be held, so the 'Funky Chicken' will not be on the play list for the evening."

  "How is the planning going? Your friend who picked out the dresses told me about it. I think you are so brave to organize a wedding in less than a month. Most women take over a year."

  "It's been an exercise in learning that what will be, will be. It's like building a beach hut on quicksand. What I want and what I can have are constantly shifting, and I'm just trying to stay afloat. Luckily my friend, Amy, does things like find you and your shop so I can wear the dress of my dreams."

  "She sounds like a sweetheart." Michelle sized up the proposed alterations and nodded her head. "I think we're done. Let's get you out of this and going to wherever else you need to do today!"

  Carla slipped out of the dress. The silky fabric gliding over her skin felt like cool water. Michelle was right about Amy being a great friend. Hopefully she was correct about happy, loving energy being attached to the garment, too. There was enough of a dark cloud hanging over their heads because of the unsolved murder. She needed every bit of good she could accumulate to combat the evil vibes.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  Who would've thought a clothing rack could be so cantankerous? Amy checked to her left and right for cars. Luckily, the coast was clear. No cars to blow past and sway the dresses. She squatted slightly, wrapped her hands around the upright pole, and straightened her legs. All of the lunges and squats doled out by the trainers at the gym had finally paid off. Amy lifted the first set of wheels over the curb. The plastic-sheathed dresses quivered from the motion but didn't break into a potentially disastrous, full-tilt shimmy. She pulled the rack backward until the second set of wheels hit the curb. A quick change in position, a rather unladylike grunt from the effort, and she finally had the rack onto the nice, smooth sidewalk.

  The journey from her car, across the pothole-filled parking lot with a cargo of expensive dresses on a tippy, top-heavy portable rack, had fulfilled her anxiety quotient for the day. Ferrying the dresses was easier the first time around, a few days earlier, when she had made multiple trips to the parking lot, carrying the dresses to the car in her arms. But after the first trip into the store that morning, the owner had insisted she take the rack to finish the dress-returning task. At least Amy could do a little retail therapy to help massage out the newly formed kinks in her patience.

  Michelle held open the door of Past To Present and said, "I'm sorry! I forgot to tell you there's a handicap ramp in the curb a few doors down."

  "It's okay." Amy held her arms up and flexed her biceps. "I can let my Super Woman side out to play once in a while."

  Michelle laughed as she helped maneuver the wobbly rack through the doorway. Inside the shop the small wheels hummed over the vinyl flooring as Amy pushed the collection of rejected wedding and matron of honor dresses toward the counter. She exchanged the rejected clothing for a refund of her deposit. It hadn't been a traditional way to pick out a wedding gown, but it worked for Carla. That's all that mattered. Once the paperwork was completed, Amy made a quick circuit of the store. Used clothing shops were like the treasure troves of busy pirates. There were always new clothing jewels arriving. A baby blue circle skirt had to come home to her closet. After making the purchase, she bid farewell to Michelle.

  Outside, the midmorning air was warm and a little humid from the sunshine evaporating the dew that had formed overnight. Perfect weather for the beginning of wedding season. The time of year when venues were booked solid a year in advance. Carla's loft or Amy's backyard would technically work for the wedding, but Amy hoped to find someplace more special. Except she was running out of time. Since many other things for the wedding were falling into place, there was no reason that detail wouldn't fall from the sky and turn out perfect too. Believe and it will happen. That was her newly adopted mantra.

  As she turned to get in her car, Amy noticed movement inside the vacant coffee shop. She stopped for a few seconds to see if any of the figures on the other side of the dusty glass looked familiar. The crunch of tires rolling over the parking
lot asphalt drew her attention. A black Mercedes sedan pulled into a parking space in front of the coffee shop. The always-elegant Bridget Mahoney got out. She smoothed down her oyster-colored skirt then waved at Amy.

  "Hello! I have some news for you," she called. "If you have a few minutes, come chat with me."

  Amy tossed the shopping bag onto the passenger seat and slammed her car door shut. Talking with Bridget was always interesting, especially since Amy had asked her to look into the possibility of other downtown businesses being pressured by the extortionist. The wealthy socialite was the heart monitor of everything pumping through Kellerton, from new business partnerships to juicy gossip. Amy had about three dozen things that she could do, but the one thing she couldn't do was pass up the chance to talk to Bridget.

  She zigzagged between cars to reach Bridget's side. "Good morning. What a nice surprise to see you here."

  "I like to meet my potential clients before they sign a lease. I am impressed that the pastry chef you had contact me about this place won both cake contests at the wedding expo, but I just wanted to talk with her about what she envisions for the business." Bridget pointed at the former coffee shop's door. "You're welcome to come in with me, but I think you'll be more interested in accompanying me to my next stop."

  Amy fell into step beside the elegant businesswoman, whose silver hair was pulled back into a tidy bun secured with an ornate silver barrette. She had some time to spare, but not an entire day to spend playing tag-along. "I'm curious to see what Mariah thinks of this space, but where are you going next?"

  "To The Cookbook Nook." She stopped with her hand on the door. "I think you and I both need to see something there."

  Amy took a deep breath as the door opened. Bridget's cryptic statement was akin to giving a chocolate-scented candle to a person who was craving a brownie. Inside the shop the real estate agent, a woman dressed in a rose-red wrap dress, greeted her employer with a high-wattage smile. Amy could see Mariah exploring the kitchen through the window between the two rooms. Her characteristic highlighter green jacket seemed to glow in the shadowy space. "Oh, Amy. Thank you for finding this place," she said as she pushed open the swinging metal door. She stood behind the empty bakery case and grinned. "It's perfect."