The Diva Frosts a Cupcake

by Krista Davis

  I walked home, checking over my shoulder now and then. It wouldn’t take long before Maurice realized that he had implicated himself. Had he snuck inside and been discovered by Muffin? Had she seen him with the golden cupcake? Or had he tried to seduce her and been rebuffed? The police would have to sort it out. They’d fingerprinted the apartment. Had they found his prints there?

  Or was it all just another big lie designed to cause trouble for Spenser? If so, Maurice had caused himself bigger problems this time.

  I checked for Francie in the backyard when I came home. It wasn’t until that moment that I realized I had forgotten all about buying cupcakes. No sign of Francie yet. Inside, Humphrey napped in the family room with Mochie.

  My nerves on edge, I busied myself in the kitchen, placing butter and eggs on the counter to come to room temperature before I baked with them. I poured sugar, water, and corn syrup into a pan and watched the sugar crystals turn golden then amber. I whipped it off the burner and mixed in cream to make caramel. It fizzed up at me, which was exactly how I felt inside—in fizzy turmoil at the thought that dreadful Maurice had murdered Muffin, the one person who had been nice to him.

  I set the caramel aside to cool and preheated the oven.

  Stirring a fork through flour to mix it with baking powder, baking soda, and salt, I wondered if I should ask for Daisy back. She wasn’t much of a watchdog, but she might alert me if Maurice realized his mistake and came looking for me.

  I creamed the butter with the sugar and added the eggs. Maybe I should wake Mochie. He would probably run to the door or window if he heard something. Or at least perk up and turn in the direction of the sound. I left the KitchenAid mixer running and went to rouse him. He was lounging comfortably on Humphrey’s stomach. Carefully, so I wouldn’t disturb Humphrey’s nap, I swept Mochie into my arms. Back in the kitchen, I explained that I was in need of his superior hearing at the moment. He yawned.

  I deposited him on one of the fireside chairs in my kitchen with instructions to keep one ear on alert. He ignored me completely and curled into a comfortable ball to nap again.

  I mixed the other ingredients into my cupcake batter, divided it among twelve cupcake liners in the pan, and slid it into the oven.

  Maybe I was being silly. Or maybe not. I had seen Maurice behind Sugar Baby after Muffin’s murder. He’d pretended to be bringing flowers from his garden in Muffin’s memory, yet he had neither flowers nor a garden. I bet he’d plucked that azalea branch off a bush on his way to Sugar Baby, just in case he was seen there. Why would he go back? Was it Maurice who had returned to Sugar Baby and tried to break in again? What did he want there?

  I let out a little shriek. Of course! He’d left something there, something that could tie him to Muffin’s death. That made perfect sense. Humphrey had probably interrupted him by arriving just after Maurice killed Muffin. He had to scurry out the back. Then he returned later that night to look for the thing he had left behind.

  I phoned Renee at Sugar Baby. “I’m not sure, but it seems possible that Muffin’s killer might have left something in your apartment. Maybe something incriminating. Have you found anything unusual?” The police had surely swept the place carefully, but if Maurice had felt the pressure to go back, he must have thought they hadn’t found it.

  She said she hadn’t spotted anything but promised to check around that evening. I debated warning her about Maurice. I didn’t want to be the one to spread false news. On the other hand, her life could be at stake. “I don’t have anything concrete yet, but watch out for Maurice, okay? I have a feeling he’s up to his ears in this mess.”

  She asked once again if I’d heard from Humphrey. Ack. I didn’t want to lie to her. “The last time I saw him, he was going to take a nap.”

  Thank goodness she accepted that.

  I was just cutting little divots out of the cupcakes and spooning caramel sauce into them when Humphrey staggered into the kitchen.

  He opened the door for Francie with a bow and a cavalier swoop of his arm.

  “Wait until you hear what Maurice said to me.” I filled them in while I put on the kettle and fit a pastry bag with a frosting tip. Bending the bag over my hand, I spooned frosting into it. I positioned it over the first cupcake and stopped cold. Turning it upside down, I looked at the tip again. Six prongs.

  I rushed to the telephone with Humphrey and Francie asking what was going on. Once again, Wong’s voice mail answered my call.

  I showed them the frosting tip. “Number ninety-six. I like it for frosting cupcakes because it makes a swirl. It has exactly six prongs. Just like the imprint on the leather jacket that guy was wearing this morning.”

  I frosted the cupcakes with the caramel buttercream in a hurry and removed the tip from the bag. After washing it, I brought it over to the table and smacked it onto a piece of paper. Six holes. I handed Humphrey a measuring tape.

  “Three sixteenths of an inch in diameter,” he announced. Francie stared at me like I had lost my mind.

  “Don’t you see? The man who was injured in the alley killed Muffin! I’d bet anything that the frosting bag in her hand contained a tip that will match that mar on his leather jacket perfectly! She must have fought him and hit him with it.”

  Humphrey shot me a look of pity. “There’s a stretch of imagination.”

  “What about Maurice?” asked Francie. “That would let him off the hook, but he practically confessed to being there.”

  I finished the cupcakes by drizzling a little bit of caramel over the frosting. I arranged them on a tiered cake server and placed them in the middle of the table with more yellow napkins and tiny dessert plates.

  Francie placed her fists on the table. “I don’t know what to think anymore. Maurice is a sour malcontent. He lies so much that I’m not sure we can believe him.”

  “He wasn’t lying about a dog biting his arm,” said Humphrey. “And he was in possession of that cursed cupcake.”

  I tended to agree. “Now that we think it was Martha who bit him, that seems pretty certain. He got the bejeweled cupcake somehow. Either he was the original thief or he’s telling the truth about finding it in the desk. Either way, it must have been Maurice who brought it to the cupcake feast intending to plant it on Spenser and get him into trouble.”

  Francie selected a cupcake. “How would we ever find out?”

  “Spenser said Maurice had an alibi the night the cupcake was originally stolen. Something about singing badly in a local pub. I wonder if anyone established the exact time. Maybe Wong can check the records.”

  I poured tea for everyone and placed their mugs on the table along with milk and sugar. I sliced a lemon, arranged it on a plate, and brought it to the table when I joined them. “What did you find out, Francie?”

  “I heard from my old friend Olive Greene. She’s such an expert on plants. She thinks we could be onto something—that a prick from a hypodermic needle, or even something as simple as a thorn, that had been coated with the poison from jimsonweed could easily result in hallucinations. She confirmed that it’s hard to detect in a medical examination.” Francie bit into a cupcake. “Now that’s how a salted caramel cupcake should taste! How did it go with Joy?”

  “That was a total bust. She barely even knows Spenser or Clarissa. She may have been poked with jimsonweed, but it wasn’t by one of them.”

  “Honey,” said Francie, “she doesn’t have to know them well. Maybe they needed to get rid of her for some other reason. Maybe she knows something. Hmm, if she was blackmailing them, she wouldn’t admit to knowing them, would she?”

  “If she was blackmailing them, she wouldn’t be broke.” Humphrey selected a cupcake.

  “Listen to us, we’re all over the place.” I slumped back into my chair.

  “Don’t be so discouraged. We’ve made tremendous progress,” Humphrey protested. “Buddy has been found. We’ve established that Maurice was in possession of the gold cupcake. Martha managed to grab it, Maurice tried to take it a
way, and must have been successful, because she bit him. He probably dropped the cupcake again, she grabbed it and ran. I found her and put her in my car, where Martha hid the cupcake. That’s progress! The question that remains is where did Maurice obtain the cupcake? There’s only one answer, of course—from the thief, the person who stole it from Spenser’s house. And now it’s possible, though I have my doubts, that you’ve identified Muffin’s killer—so to speak.”

  Humphrey huffed. “I still blame Spenser for the confusion with the flour and the powdered sugar that caused Renee such embarrassment. Spenser must have done it to sabotage her and sink her business.” He set his tea mug on the table with a clunk. “How blind I was! I thought he was being generous to offer his bakery to Renee. Meanwhile, he was scheming to put her out of business to improve his own bottom—”

  A flashy neon blue fingernail tapped on the glass window in the kitchen door.

  Humphrey whispered, “Which one of you betrayed me?”

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

  Dear Natasha,

  My daughter’s ninth birthday is coming up. She wants flowers and butterflies on her cupcakes. Could you demonstrate how to make them on your show?

  —Clueless Mom in Flowertown Village, South Carolina

  Dear Clueless Mom,

  Start by making fondant. When you roll it out, you can cut out butterflies and flowers with tiny cookie cutters. I’ll do a show on it because it’s fun!

  —Natasha

  I had no choice. It would have been rude not to invite Myra in. When I opened the door, I discovered Wong was with her.

  “Want to join us for a cupcake?” I asked.

  “I don’t want to intrude.” Myra gazed wistfully at Humphrey. Her yellow tunic put the sun to shame. Skintight neon blue leggings came just below her knees.

  “Yeah, well, I’m here on business, but if a cupcake is in the deal, I wouldn’t turn it down.” Wong promptly took a chair.

  Myra scooched into the banquette next to Humphrey, who, I noticed, did not scooch away from her.

  I put the kettle on for more tea.

  Wong wasted no time. “Sophie, did you call me about Maurice?”

  “Partly.” I held my breath when I asked, “Have you identified the man in my yard?”

  “If they have, I don’t know about it.”

  I wished Alex would call! “How did you know about Maurice?”

  “Moe called us and ratted on him. What did Maurice say, exactly?” asked Wong.

  “That he found the bejeweled cupcake in a hidden compartment in the desk that Humphrey and I picked up at Spenser’s house. And that if we wanted to find the thief, we ought to look at Spenser.”

  “You willing to testify to that?”

  Good heavens! I hadn’t expected that. “Yes. Of course. Does that mean you’ve arrested him?”

  Humphrey perked up. “That means you can drop the charges against me. Right?”

  “Not so fast.” Wong bobbed her head slightly. “Kenner brought Maurice down to the station. He’s questioning him now. Don’t get too excited, Humphrey. There are still too many unanswered questions.”

  Francie squinted at Wong. “The theory being what? That Muffin caught Maurice stealing the cupcake, and he killed her?”

  Myra patted Humphrey’s arm. “I’m sorry, sugar, but even I don’t buy that. Why would Maurice just happen to go up to the apartment and snoop?”

  “Unless, of course, he knew it was there.” I set mugs of tea in front of Myra and Wong.

  Humphrey said, “Aha! He might have known that if he was the original thief.”

  Francie laughed aloud. “If he left it in the desk at Spenser’s house, then he didn’t steal it. I’m sorry to poke a hole in your balloon, Humphrey, but I think I understand what Maurice was saying about Spencer. He means that Spenser hid the cupcake there.”

  “How could he know that?” I asked.

  We all looked at Wong, who had bitten into a cupcake and was the picture of contentment.

  Myra shivered. “Gosh, it could have been me he murdered. The way Maurice followed me around—who knows what he might have done? I wouldn’t mind seeing him locked up.”

  Wong finished her cupcake. “Now those are good! Wow.” She drank her tea quickly. “I’ve got to get going.”

  “Just a second, Wong. Humphrey and Francie think I’m out of my mind.” I slid a piece of paper in front of her and pointed to the tiny holes I’d made with the frosting tip.

  Wong’s smile vanished. “How’d you do that?”

  I handed her the frosting tip. “Number ninety-six. Muffin had an icing bag that fell against my foot when we found her. I bet the tip is a ninety-six. It will be stamped right on the frosting tip.”

  “Can I have this?” she asked.

  “Sure.”

  Wong left so fast that I didn’t even have time to offer her a cupcake to go.

  Francie yawned. “Time for a nap. Call me if there’s another attack in our alley.”

  Before I knew it, I was alone with Humphrey and Myra. I wasn’t quite sure what to do. My instinct was to give them some privacy, but I wasn’t sure Humphrey would appreciate that.

  I cleared the dirty dishes from the table.

  In her soft voice, Myra scolded Humphrey with affection. “I knew you were hiding out. Not from me, I hope? You could answer a girl’s calls.”

  He held up his empty palms. “No cell phone. I, uh, lost it.”

  “Is it Renee? Is she the reason you’re laying low? That woman is relentless. I can see why you would want to escape her clutches.”

  I bit my upper lip to keep from smiling and stacked the dishes in the sink. From my kitchen window, I saw a furtive movement across the street.

  Clarissa.

  Wouldn’t that woman ever give up? On a whim, I took a cupcake and a napkin out to her.

  “Why are you being nice to me?” She mashed her eyes closed as though she was in pain. “You feel sorry for me.” She didn’t take the cupcake, but lowered her face into her hands. “What have I become?” When she lifted her face, tears streaked her cheeks. “I am officially the pathetic clinging wife that I never wanted to be. I saw you at Spenser’s hotel last night. And now that your hunky honey knows you’re seeing both of them, I will be the loser. Your new beau will be the one who leaves you, not Spenser. Spenser actually told me he doesn’t care if you’re seeing Alex. He must think I’m making it up.”

  She fell to her knees on the sidewalk. “Please don’t do this to me. Don’t you understand? Without Spenser, I’m nothing.”

  “Oh my goodness! Clarissa, get up.”

  The poor woman was reduced to a pile of nerves. I held my free hand out to her. There was so much I resented about her. The fact that she stole Buddy and put us all through such misery. Her unflappable belief that I was having an affair with her husband. Her annoying spying and following me. Yet, in that instant, I felt sorry for her. I wasn’t the cause of her problems, as she believed, but that didn’t change the fact that she thought she was fighting for her life.

  She stood up and blew her nose into a tissue. “You can’t understand. I don’t have a job or children. I’m not a brilliant baker or a . . . well, anything. If I lose Spenser, I have nothing. I won’t even have my social position anymore. I will cease to exist!”

  “I hope you don’t mean that.” Was that a cry for help? Should I report it to some authority? She wouldn’t take her own life—would she?

  She grabbed the cupcake and ate hungrily.

  “There are a lot of divorced people. And they—we—all have full lives. It’s not the end. Maybe it will be a new beginning for you.”

  She sniffled. “Couldn’t you please just date the general’s nephew and leave my Spenser to me?”

  “Clarissa, what can I do to convince you that I’m not dating Spenser?”

  She finished the cupcake and wiped her fingers on the napkin. “Have a public breakup. And get him to come home. And . . . and never see him again.”
/>   “I don’t see him now!”

  “Hello? How stupid do you think I am?” Holding up her hand, she ticked incidents off on her fingers. “He came to your house. I saw you on the back porch at Cake My Day. You went to his hotel last night. For heaven’s sake, you even had the unmitigated gall to come to my home!”

  In a monotone, I said, “Yes, I was there to seduce him. That’s why I brought Humphrey.”

  She stomped her foot and mashed her lips together. “You’ve met in all kinds of painfully public places, like the adoption booth at Cupcakes and Pupcakes.”

  “You saw him there? Is that why you stole Buddy?”

  Some of the steam evaporated from her anger. “He told me about the dog. He was so excited and happy—in a way that he hasn’t been for a long, long time. Then I confronted Spencer about you, and he said he was leaving me. I . . . I couldn’t let him have the dog, and a new house, and a life without me. You wouldn’t understand.”

  But I did. She had tied her entire existence into being Mrs. Spenser Osbourne. “I hope you find Clarissa again one day.”

  She seemed perplexed, but I returned to my house. Humphrey and Myra had left the kitchen. I washed the dishes, knowing I should get some work done, but I was boggled by the thought that the unknown person lying in a hospital bed might be Muffin’s killer. Who had attacked him last night? And why had he been in my backyard? Even worse, what if he was Alex? Had I been enchanted by a killer?

  Humphrey and Myra took off to walk, as they called it, “the scene of the cupcake caper.” They intended to go over to the park where the cupcake feast had been held, then follow Martha’s path through Old Town to the spot where she’d been found. I couldn’t imagine that they would learn much from that, but it was worth a shot.

  Too rattled to work, I called Alex again. He didn’t answer, and at the general’s home an answering machine picked up my call.

  I had to know if the injured man was Alex. Surely they’d discovered some kind of identification on the man when they undressed him. I locked the house and drove to the hospital.