by Morgana Best
Ruprecht shifted in his seat. “I don’t suppose it would hurt to do a little delving into it,” he said evenly.
I looked at Ruprecht and then at Alder. They certainly did seem concerned that I would be implicated in some way, but they weren’t about to admit that to me. “How long will it take to get the results back, you know, to find out if she was poisoned or not?” I asked Alder.
“The fact that you alerted them to the white powder means it should be quite fast,” Alder said. “When the police have that sort of information from witness statements, it gives them something to test. If the murderer didn’t get that cupcake away from Celia, and the police in fact do have it, then they will test that white powder at once. That will help them cross check in an autopsy.”
“My money’s on the grandson,” I said. “That nurse, Jane Jenkins, seemed awfully friendly with him. In fact, she couldn’t keep her hands off him. Perhaps he was having an affair with her and wanted the inheritance money so he could dump his wife and run away with Jane.”
“Or maybe Jane did it,” Thyme said. “Celia really upset her. Or perhaps it was one of the residents, because Jane said that Celia bullied them all. We saw what she was like for ourselves.”
“It certainly seems as if it was someone in the room with you,” Ruprecht said. “Yet we have to consider the question of opportunity. If it was in the cupcake and not anywhere else, such as in the hip flask, then obviously someone had to hand Celia that cupcake in person. Unless Celia wasn’t the intended victim. However, let’s assume that she was, because that’s all that makes sense at this time.”
“What do you mean, Ruprecht?” Camino asked him.
“I simply mean that it would be pointless to assume it was a random killing,” Ruprecht said, “that someone poisoned one cupcake with the intent of killing a random person. That’s what I meant.”
Camino nodded. “So then, if the poison was in the cupcake, someone had to hand Celia that particular poisoned cupcake. It was a chocolate one, so the murderer knew that Celia liked chocolate cakes. Were there other varieties of cupcakes, Thyme?”
Thyme nodded. “Yes, there were chocolate cakes, red velvet cakes, lemon frosted cakes, double sponge cupcakes, raspberry with lemon curd, moon pie with marshmallow frosting, tiramisu cupcakes, and lavender cupcakes.” She hesitated for a moment. “Yes, that’s all.”
“And did either of you see who handed Celia a cake just before she died?”
Thyme and I exchanged glances, and then we both shook our heads. “At some point, Edith offered her a cake; my main suspect, Paul, offered her a cake; and Thyme and I even offered her a cake, as did the nurses.”
“It seems like we have quite a list of suspects,” Ruprecht said.
My phone rang, startling me. I looked at the caller ID with a sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach. I didn’t know the number. Somehow, I knew it was the police. I put it on loud, and answered.
“Hello, Miss Spelled?”
“Yes, speaking.”
“This is Detective Morrison. We’d like you to meet us at your cupcake store. Would you have any objection to us searching your shop?”
“No, not at all.” I heard my voice come out shakily. “When do you want me to meet you there?”
“Right now.”
Chapter 6
I was standing outside my cupcake store with Thyme, anxiously peering through the window as the police trashed the place. Actually, they hadn’t done that so far, but it was my worst fear. As far as I could see, they were bagging cakes. I couldn’t see into the kitchen, but I assumed they were bagging ingredients in there as well. The only upside was that it was after hours, so my business itself wasn’t being disturbed, but there were enough curious people walking past to cause me concern.
“I’m sure this is only routine, Amelia, nothing to worry about.”
I wrung my hands nervously. “I wish Alder was here.”
Thyme turned to me. “You told him not to come! Camino even threatened to sit on him if he tried.”
I sighed. “I know. He still doesn’t look well. I just wish he’d stayed in my house with me longer.”
Thyme did her best to muffle a laugh, and failed. “Is that because you’re concerned for his health, or because you just want him close to you?”
“Both,” I admitted. “Anyway, I don’t understand why they’re going through the store like this. I told them about that white powder and told them that we didn’t put it in there.”
“Well, witnesses always lie,” Thyme said.
I looked at her, startled. “I didn’t lie to them! Why did you say that?”
Thyme shrugged. “I saw it in a movie the other week. I think it was a Keanu Reeves movie. He said witnesses always lie.”
I was thinking up a suitable reply when a man hurried over to me. “Amelia Spelled?”
I narrowed my eyes and looked at him. “Yes?” It took me a moment to realise that he was accompanied by another man who had a camera resting on his shoulder.
“You were a witness to the murder of Celia Carmichael.” He said it as a statement rather than a question.
Thyme leant over me. “No comment.”
“And you’re a witness, too!” the man said triumphantly, while the man with the camera loomed closer. “And you’re both suspects in the murder investigation.”
“We are not!” I said. The words were out of my mouth before I could think.
“Do you deny that you’re persons of interest in the case?” he said rather snarkily.
“We were both witnesses,” I said, “but the police have told us we’re not to speak about it at this stage.”
The man turned to the camera. “The police, in their investigation of the murder of Mrs Celia Carmichael, are raiding the premises of cupcake store owner, Amelia Spelled, who was caught at the scene of the murder.”
I was furious, but I didn’t know if I should speak. I thought of threatening him with legal action, but figured it might look worse for me when it went to air. I looked around for a ready escape, but there was nowhere to go. I had watched one too many TV shows where the reporter chased a person up the road with a camera while calling out accusations. I couldn’t walk into the store, because the police would send me straight back out. Then again, I had no option.
I opened the door and marched straight in, but Detective Morrison hurried over. “Miss Spelled, you were told you were not allowed in here while we’re searching.”
I pointed outside the window. “There are reporters out there with cameras, making accusations.”
“I’m afraid that’s not my problem, Miss Spelled. You’ll have to leave these premises. Right now.”
I had no option. I had to walk outside, where the reporter was questioning an angry Thyme. And just when I thought things couldn’t get any worse, they did. Kayleen and Craig were marching up the street, hand in hand, heading straight for us. I had sort of dated Craig briefly when I had first moved to town—after all, he was an attractive fire-fighter—and Kayleen was the most incredibly nosy mail lady on the face of the earth. What’s more, she had a most unpleasant personality.
Kayleen made a beeline for us. I coughed as a wave of her cheap perfume hit me. It smelt as if she had bathed in the stuff. My sinuses protested wildly. “What’s going on? Are you on TV, Amelia?”
The reporter stuck his microphone under Kayleen’s nose. “Did you know the victim?”
Kayleen puffed herself up with self-importance. “Of course. I knew Celia Carmichael well. I deliver mail to Happy Valley Gardens every day, except on weekends of course. It’s not as if it’s Sydney or Melbourne, you know, delivering mail on a Saturday.” She broke off with a snort.
“And are you a friend of the murder suspect?” the reporter continued.
Confusion clouded Kayleen’s face for a moment, but then her expression turned to glee. She looked me up and down. “No, of course not. I have to deliver mail to criminals and good citizens alike. I am no friend of this woman’s. My b
oyfriend, Craig, isn’t either. Isn’t that right, Craig?”
“Err, no, err,” Craig stuttered. “I only know her because she’s a terrible cook and she calls us to put out fires when she bakes.”
The reporter looked confused at that, and I was glad that he didn’t pursue that line of questioning.
I hadn’t been paying attention to Thyme, so I was surprised when she seized the reporter’s hand and shook it. “Nice to meet you. What did you say your name was again?”
“Wayne Johnson,” the reporter said automatically.
Thyme grabbed Kayleen’s hand and shook it, too, and then Craig’s. “Thanks for stopping by to support Amelia.”
“I don’t support criminals,” Kayleen said and then flashed me a mean look. She took the reporter by the arm. “Come with me and I’ll give you all the dirt on that Amelia Spelled.”
The reporter marched down the street, arm in arm with Kayleen, while Craig trailed behind. The man with the camera stood rooted to the spot, apparently quite perplexed, but after a moment he composed himself and followed the group.
“Whatever happened there?” I asked Thyme. “I didn’t think we’d be able to get away from him.”
Thyme opened her purse and showed me a little bottle. “Hot Foot Oil,” she said. “When you were all talking, I rubbed some on my hands and then shook hands with them. It made them leave the place. Of course, it would’ve been better if I could have put it in their shoes, but I couldn’t see how I was going to do that.” She chuckled.
I was filled with admiration. “Don’t tell me you carry Hot Foot Oil around with you everywhere?” I asked her.
Thyme smirked at me. “And coffee, and sugar too. I added coffee to the Hot Foot Oil because it speeds up spells.”
“Let me guess. You didn’t use any sugar, right?”
Thyme shook her head. “Not this time, but the sugar’s part of my emergency supplies I carry everywhere with me. Not only is it good to sweeten someone in a spell, but it’s also good to keep next to money because it sweetens it.”
“Oh yes, Ruprecht told me that once,” I said. “I keep little packets of sugar in my purse, too. Ruprecht said it attracts more money to you.”
Before Thyme could answer, Detectives Morrison and Scott marched out of the store. “All right ladies, it’s all yours. We’re finished here.” Several people filed out behind him, clutching large bags.
“So I can open for business first thing tomorrow morning?” I asked him. “It’s not a crime scene, or anything?”
Detective Morrison pursed his lips. “Not unless you’ve been doing something you haven’t told us about, Miss Spelled.” He crossed his arms over his chest.
I was exasperated. I had to keep telling myself they were only doing their job, but they didn’t have to have an attitude with it. Instead of replying, I pushed past him and went into the store. I shut the door rather too loudly and locked it. “Come on, Thyme, let’s see how much mess they made.”
We both hurried into the kitchen, but to my relief, they had made very little mess. Thyme wasn’t so happy. She let out a shriek. “Do you realise how many ingredients they’ve taken? And I don’t suppose they’ll compensate us for any of it.”
“Of course they won’t,” I said angrily. “This is ridiculous. I hope they haven’t wasted so much time on me that they’re not looking into the actual perpetrator.”
“You still think it was the grandson, right?”
I nodded. “Yes, I think he’s after the money. If he was the only one who inherited, then surely it had to be him.”
“How about we go and see him tomorrow morning?” Thyme said. “He said he was staying in town. We can pretend we’re there to pay our respects, but we can ask him some questions.”
I was a little reluctant. “Shouldn’t we just leave it to the police?”
Thyme flung open an empty cupboard by way of response and pointed inside. “You think they’re competent? You think they’ll find the killer? All they’ve done so far is confiscate our ingredients.”
I had to admit she had a point.
Chapter 7
Thyme and I arrived soaking wet at Glinda’s that afternoon. A sudden thunderstorm had caught us unawares. “Before you tell us what happened,” Ruprecht said, “you two need to change your clothes.”
Camino looked up from her sewing. “I’m just finishing the basic touches to this onesie here, and I put the finishing touches to this other one earlier.” She beamed. “Sadly, I haven’t had a chance to decorate them yet, or do anything better than tack on the stitches. Still, they’ll do for now.”
Thyme and I exchanged glances.
“Go and have a shower,” Camino said. “There are two bathrooms, after all.” She held out two onesies.
I eyed them suspiciously through the raindrops still falling in cascades from my drenched hair. “Off you go, girls,” Camino insisted. I was half way across the room, when she called me back. “Oh, Amelia, I bought you these nice underpants as a gift. For you know, if you forget to zip up your onesie in future. You don’t want anymore embarrassing incidents, do you?”
I smiled wanly and accepted her gift, wrapped in clear plastic. They looked safe enough, plain white and very un-Camino like. They would come in handy given that I was drenched right through.
I let the hot water run on my tense neck muscles for a while, and then towelled myself dry. I turned the onesie over and over again, but it was plain white. Thankfully Camino hadn’t turned it into anything grotesque, not yet. I made double sure that this one didn’t have a bottom flap. I ripped the undies from the packet and pulled them on, then climbed into the onesie. The zip up the front got stuck for a moment, but I soon had the onesie on without much trouble.
When I returned, Alder was lying on the sofa, propped up by one elbow, clutching his side.
“Does the wound hurt?” I asked him, concerned.
“No.”
I could see Alder was lying, but didn’t want to press it. I figured there was no cause for alarm. After all, he had just had a round of tests. I imagined the wound would continue to be painful for a few more weeks. “Is there anything I can get you?”
Alder smiled at me. “No, but thanks for thinking of me.”
Thyme, also dressed in a plain white onesie although hers had giant rabbit ears, rolled her eyes. “Alder, why don’t you move back to Amelia’s, so she can look after you?”
I glared at Thyme. What a thing to say!
“I don’t want to put Amelia in any danger,” Alder said, and then he turned even whiter.
“What do you mean?” Ruprecht and I asked in unison.
Alder seemed to be considering what he should say. “It’s just that I was shot, after all, and I don’t want whoever shot me to trace the connection back to Amelia.”
“But that was in Melbourne!” I said. “It’s a good two-day drive to Melbourne from here. Three days, even. It’s not even in the same state. Who would trace you back here?”
“I just don’t want to take any chances,” Alder said firmly. I knew there was more to it, but I equally knew he wouldn’t be forthcoming.
“If you think someone’s still after you, then you shouldn’t go back to your apartment,” I said.
“That place is well protected.” Alder’s tone suggested he would not speak about it further.
We hadn’t really talked about the case in Melbourne that had got him shot. I had tried to bring it up once or twice, but he didn’t want to talk about it. He had been working with the police, so I realised it was confidential, but that didn’t stop my curiosity burning.
“I filled everyone in on what happened,” Thyme piped up.
I turned my attention to Ruprecht. “How long do you think it will take the police to test the substance in the cupcake Celia was holding when she died? Assuming the murderer hasn’t hidden it?” I vaguely remembered asking the question before, but I couldn’t remember the answer.
“If they do have the offending cupcake,” Rupr
echt said, tapping his chin and looking far away, “then it would only take them a day or two.”
“I thought forensic tests could take weeks to come back,” I said in surprise.
Ruprecht shook his head. “Not if they actually have something to test. Say they found a bottle of poison next to a murder victim. It wouldn’t take them long to test that poison, whereas if they didn’t have that poison and only had the victim, then it would take them much longer. Let’s assume they do have that cupcake. It won’t take them long to discover what that white substance was, and then they’ll find it wasn’t in any of the cupcakes in your store. That will put you in the clear fairly fast, Amelia.”
“I don’t like to disagree with you, Grandfather,” Mint said, “but it won’t necessarily put Amelia in the clear, will it?”
I looked at her. “What do you mean?”
“Well, if you really were the murderer, you’re hardly likely to leave poisonous substances lying around your cake shop.”
Ruprecht nodded slowly. “Mint has a point. So who do we think did it? Amelia, you think it’s the grandson, Paul.”
I nodded. “Thyme had a good idea. She suggests we speak to Paul tomorrow and pay our respects. He’s hardly likely to tell us to go away, and we could find out some information from him.”
“I don’t like it,” Alder said weakly.
“We’ll be perfectly safe,” I said. “He’s hardly likely to be suspicious of us. Thyme found out the name of the B&B that he and his wife are staying at, so we’ll go first thing in the morning. Ruprecht, would you mind the store again in the morning, please?” I used my most pleading tone.
Before he could speak, Mint jumped in. “I’ll help him!”
“Thanks so much. Thyme and I will be as quick as we can.”
“Take as much time as you need,” Ruprecht said generously.
I shook my head. “But you have your own store, Ruprecht,” I pointed out. “I don’t want to take business away from your store.”
