Nathan looked over the ocean. “It sucked all the joy out of it?”
“Yes!” Faith said. “Totally. And I just couldn’t get into it. I know it sounds… No, it’s too crazy.”
“Go on,” he said gently.
“Ugh. Well, I know it’s not like I own baking or anything. But I kind of felt jealous. Or like it wasn’t right. Like they shouldn’t be allowed to bake, because they’re so horrible.” She laughed. “That sounds crazy.”
Nathan shrugged. “Not really. That was your thing. Like if I had to work side by side some idiot I think that would suck the joy out of gardening pretty fast, too, no matter how much I like landscaping. Can’t get in the zone, I bet.”
“Exactly!” Faith said. “It was like… I don’t know how to explain it exactly. But when I’m baking, it feels kind of… not magic, but like… oh, I don’t know.”
Nathan nodded. “I get you. Totally. Like when I’m in the garden, especially like… transforming something. Or even just being around the plants. Time kinda… stops? If you get that.”
“Totally,” Faith said. “I can think I’m baking for 10 minutes and three hours have gone by.”
Nathan smiled. “That’s the one.”
She looked out over the ocean, which had a reddish sheen cast from the soon to be setting sun. Dusk had once been Faith’s least favorite time of day. For some reason it had always been the time her anxiety kicked in the most, and sometimes her thoughts raced away with her into the vast unknown that set her pulse ticking. But these days when anxiety troubled her – thankfully, much less frequently than in the past – it did so in the morning, and faded throughout the day as she forgot about it. Her thoughts were always about the new goodness in her life: Is this still real? Can I maintain it? The better the tearoom did, the thicker and faster they came.
But she felt very relaxed there with Nathan, drinking their smoothies from Josiah’s beach shack. The gentle crashing of the waves was soothing, and Nathan’s warm company was always something Faith looked forward to. It seemed like nothing in the world was wrong when he was around.
After a long, comfortable silence, Nathan said, “So, any idea who did it yet?”
Faith sighed. “Nope. But the Deputy’s already got his sights locked onto me. I made a comment on Sunday. All right, a sarcastic comment. But then he was asking whether it was a confession or not.”
Nathan laughed. “That guy’s funny. Anyways, it’s probably just some random psycho in the hotel.”
“Oh, that’s comforting,” Faith said with a giggle. “No, though, I think it’s someone she knows. I read the paper this morning and it said there was no sign of forced entry.”
“It could have been someone dressing up as room service, or a maid, or anything,” Nathan suggested. “Not necessarily someone she knew.” He drained his cup. “Oh, man, I knew I was going to drink that too fast.” He threw his hand over to Josiah’s closed up shack. “And now he’s gone home.”
Faith grinned and jutted her arm out as far away from him as possible, her daiquiri out of his reach. “Don’t you even look at mine, Mr. Edwards.”
Nathan pulled a silly face and said in an equally silly voice, “That’s a girly drink.”
“You’re a girly drink.”
“You’re a…” Nathan searched for a word. “Umm…”
“Ha!” Faith said victoriously.
“You’re an outrageously wonderful and dazzlingly beautiful woman.” He nodded. “Ha! Try a comeback for that.”
Faith grinned. “Don’t fish for compliments.”
Nathan grinned right back. “That’s the only way I get ‘em. So…?”
“So what?” Faith asked innocently. Nathan pulled a sad face, and Faith sighed dramatically. “Oh, okay. Well, you’re all right, I suppose. For a boy.”
Nathan clasped his hands together in mock glee, then made his chin wobble and his voice all weepy. “That’s the nicest thing anyone’s ever said to me.”
Faith laughed outright at that. “You know I love you.”
“Do I?” He turned, his big dark eyes deep and thoughtful. Her stomach did a little flip. She really did love those eyes.
“Yeah, you do.” Faith felt nervous for a moment, and sipped her daquiri, avoiding his gaze.
“Interesting,” he said in a matter of fact way. “Well, I love you, too, Faith Franklin.”
The moment was decidedly unromantic, and they both started laughing.
“Oh gosh,” Faith said, “can you imagine if we ever got married? It would be like, I, Faith, take this goofball to be my goofball for ever and ever.”
Nathan put on a dramatic voice. “I, Faith, promise to share M&Ms, to let Nathan listen to Tetron, the best soft rock band on the planet, on repeat in the van, and to come up with better mushy compliments.”
Faith took a casual sip of her drink. It was so nice and fruity and sweet she made sure to only have a tiny bit at a time, to make it last as long as she could. “And I, Nathan, promise to… investigate heinous murders that come Faith’s way for seemingly no reason, without complaining or batting an eyelid.”
“When have I ever complained?”
“Never,” Faith said. “I’m just checking you’re still on side.”
Nathan’s voice went serious then. “Of course I’m still on side. I’ll always be on side.”
“Thanks,” said Faith. She pushed herself off the little sandy ledge and down right next to Nathan, so they were arm to arm. “You’re actually pretty good for a boy.”
“A fine specimen of a man sounds a lot better.”
Faith laughed. “Nah. Sounds like one of those hot and heavy romance novels my mom used to edit. Before we even touch that subject, you asked me if I had any ideas who did it.”
“Right.”
“Well, both Nico and Karen look pretty bad from what I’ve seen so far. Of course, Wilhelmina being out of the final benefits him. Although… although he didn’t actually know that, to be fair. Everyone would have thought it was the Baking Babes, because they were in the same semi. But because of the scores, Nico got through.”
“Bet he was happy.”
“Yeah,” Faith said. “So I guess Karen could have killed Wilhelmina, because she expected that by doing so, she’d get the Baking Babes in the final.”
“Seems kind of extreme either way,” Nathan said. “To kill to get into a baking final.”
Faith twisted her mouth. “People have killed for less. Plus, Nico said something about Karen maybe being paid to skew the results.”
“Oh. This cupcake business is shadier than anyone would think.”
Faith rolled her eyes. “Tell me about it.”
*****
Chapter 6
“Marigold sent me an extremely in-depth email,” Laura said. “Extremely in-depth. About the cupcake options we have for the final, and all the rules and regulations.”
“Whoa,” said Faith. “She really does take all this seriously.”
Laura was kneading dough for a braided loaf they were going to bake, while Faith was whipping up some rum-infused butterscotch frosting to go on top of raisin and chocolate cupcakes.
“The email’s what tipped you off?” Laura said. “How about continuing to go about your cupcake contest business a couple hours after your finalist is murdered.”
Faith shook her head. “Seems strange, doesn’t it?”
“Real strange. She didn’t seem rattled at all,” Laura said. “Not even like she was trying to hold anything back. Cold, stone cold. Like nothing had happened.”
A new thought was dawning on Faith. “You don’t think she…”
“Was involved?” Laura took a break from her vigorous kneading for a moment, looking pensive. “Nah,” she said eventually. “What would she have to gain from it? And surely she’d act a bit more upset if it really was her. You know, to cover her tracks.”
“Hm, maybe.” Faith couldn’t really think of a motive. “Unless she didn’t want to give Wilhelmina the prize mo
ney, or something? I don’t know, really.”
“That’s a thought,” Laura said. “Where does this prize money actually come from?”
Faith paused. “You know, I didn’t even think of that. I don’t think Cynthia Rochford was a rich woman.” She frowned. “I think I remember from the promo material… She was a waitress, I think, and always dreamed of going to culinary school, but never went. But Marigold went.”
“Well, there’s no big money in anything culinary,” Laura said, holding up her doughy hands with a grin. “No matter how much you have to suffer for it.”
Faith laughed. “Unless you’re Gordon Effing Ramsay. Or some Michelin starred chef.”
“So where on earth does Marigold get $50,000 to give away every year?” Laura said.
“Sponsors?” Faith suggested.
“Didn’t see any.”
“Um, not inheritance… Um, investments?”
Laura looked at her witheringly. “No way.”
“A secret and super-illegal online gambling ring?”
“That’s your best guess so far,” Laura said. “Either that or a jewelry heist many years ago, that she feels guilty about. So naturally she wants to give cupcake bakers the money, as a symbolic way to appease her dead mother.”
Faith laughed. “Okay, Freud.”
“I prefer Jung actually,” Laura said. “We’re learning about him in school. Anyway, we should stop looking so hard. It’s probably Nico, isn’t it?”
Faith shrugged. “Maybe.”
“Can we get some service in here?” a tetchy man’s voice came vibrating through the wooden tearoom.
“Coming, sir!” Faith said, hurrying to the faucet and washing some errant splashes of butterscotch frosting from her hands. Then she pushed back her sandy hair, which, as always, had formed a fuzzy halo around her head, and dashed out to the main area of the tearoom. “Oh, Chad,” she said, confused. He was normally so polite and quiet. “I’m sorry, we were just—”
“It’s fine,” Chad said. He gestured to Tamalynn at a table. “She wanted some chamomile tea, but you probably don’t do—”
“We do,” Faith said with a smile.
Chad looked more annoyed than anything. “Oh, good. And she wants something low fat to eat.”
Tamalynn had a mother of pearl pocket mirror out, and was putting on pink lipstick as if her life depended on it. Faith noticed her hand was shaking a little, and she had to wipe off a smudge or two.
“All right, I’ll see what I can do,” Faith said. They didn’t really do anything low fat, in all truthfulness. Back in Wisconsin, she’d invented all sorts for her mom’s dietary preferences – gluten free, vegan, and often low fat, too – but there didn’t seem to be much demand in the tearoom. People came to Slice of Paradise for a treat. Often Faith and Laura couldn’t resist either. They’d both put on a little extra weight, despite their early morning jogs through Paradise Point, but they’d decided to extend their route to include the beach for the next month or two, to make sure their waistlines weren’t slowly expanding.
“I’ll have a black coffee,” Chad said, “and a sandwich. Thanks.” He threw a bill down on the counter, then went over to sit opposite Tamalynn. He got his phone out and studiously ignored her, while she had moved on to penciling in her already penciled eyebrows.
Faith took his bill with raised eyebrows and headed into the kitchen, then closed the door behind her. “Well, that was weird.” She told Laura how strange Chad was acting, then felt a bit guilty. “It’s probably just the whole murder thing. It would freak anyone out.”
Laura nodded. “Probably. Unless…?”
“Oh, don’t even go there,” Faith said, although her mind had already begun whirring. “Do we have anything low fat?”
Laura spluttered. “Yeah, right. Unless you count my low fat yogurt in the refrigerator.”
“Ooh, be nice,” Faith said, batting her eyelashes. “Please let me serve it to Tamalynn in a nice glass. I’ll put some fruit on top and it’ll look nice. They’re going to kick up a fuss otherwise. I can just see it.”
Laura narrowed her eyes. “All right. But you have to go down to the store and get me another. Otherwise I’ll be stuffing this darn bread down my throat all afternoon. The smell’s got me going already and that’s just the dough.”
“Lifesaver,” Faith said. She’d already hurried to the refrigerator and retrieved Laura’s greek yogurt pot. She decided to drizzle it with some agave syrup in a slim glass, and put raspberries on top.
“But seriously, though,” Laura said, whispering even though the door was closed. “Do you think they had a reason to kill Wilhemina?
Faith found some blueberries in the refrigerator and decided to add it on top of the yogurt, too. “Not that I can think of. But we never really know what’s going on between these people, do we? This cupcake thing’s been around a few years. Maybe something happened before that we don’t know about.”
Laura’s eyes lit up. “Let me take the yogurt and I’ll do some digging.”
“Oops!” Faith said. “I forgot to put the kettle on. What’s wrong with me?”
Laura laughed. “You’ve got your mind on murder, that’s what.” She hurried over the sink to wash her hands. “Don’t you worry, you leave the dirt digging up to Auntie Laura.”
“I wouldn’t do any digging, if I were you,” Faith said. “At least not today. They don’t look like the happiest pair of bunnies.”
“Nonsense. Let me have a look,” Laura said. She bent down to look through the keyhole. “Darn it, the counter’s in the way.”
“I coulda told you that, Einstein.”
Laura stuck her tongue out, then put her finger to her lips. “Shh,” she whispered, then slowly opened the kitchen door toward her. She winced as it let off the tiniest little creak, then dropped to her knees.
“What the…?” Faith said.
Laura gave her evil eyes and put her finger to her lips. Then she began to crawl out of the kitchen and behind the counter. It looked to Faith like she was going to go toward the end of the counter and peep around the side.
“Why do you care so much?” Tamalynn said, and Laura stopped mid-crawl.
Faith knew she shouldn’t eavesdrop on people’s conversations, but there was justice at stake, she told herself as she edged up to the doorway.
“Just because you have a heart like a desolate artic plain doesn’t mean everyone does, Tamalynn,” Chad snapped.
Then came the soft sound of quiet, stifled sobbing. “Chad, why are you so mean to me?”
“Ugh!” he said. “I can’t do this right now, Tamalynn. I can’t do this right now.”
“Don’t call me that,” she said desperately.
“It’s your name.”
“No, you should call me baby.”
It sounded from where Faith was that Chad was standing up, then pacing, then sitting back down again, such were the sounds against the floorboards.
“That would be appropriate,” he said. “Since you can’t keep your emotions in check.”
Suddenly she was raging. “Me? After you’re the one crying over Wilhelmina like your heart is breaking. She’s our dear friend, but…”
“But what?” he spat.
Tamalynn’s voice broke. “You were in love with her, weren’t you? You were. Don’t deny it, Chad. Don’t.”
“You’re the one having an affair, Tamalynn.”
“Don’t call me that! And I would never cheat on you. You’re the cheater in this -relationship. Do I have to remind you—”
“No!” he exploded. “You don’t have to remind me!” Then the sound of stomping sounded on the floorboards. “What the…?” he said, all too close.
Faith looked up through the open doorway to see Chad standing at the counter, looking down at Laura.
“Were you… were you… listening to us?” he hollered.
Faith ran into the room and tried to make her voice sound carefree, though she kept twisting her apron and couldn’
t keep still. “No, she’s not listening or anything. I just asked her to clean the floor behind the counter, that’s all.”
Chad looked between the two of them in disgust. “I don’t believe a word. And you didn’t bring us our drinks or food.” He looked over at Tamalynn. “Come on, baby, let’s go.”
Tamalynn was putting rouge on her cheeks, and it stuck to the tear-stained parts until she had stripes. She rushed to put her things away, then hurried after Chad, seemingly too embarrassed to look at Faith or Laura.
Laura and Faith watched, stunned, as they hurried away from Slice of Paradise.
“What on earth was that?” Laura said.
“I don’t know.” Faith flopped down into one of the chairs and held her head in her hands. “I don’t know, I don’t know, I don’t know. But what I do know is we can say goodbye to Grandma Bessie’s operation money.”
“Why?”
“They’re two thirds of the judging panel!” Faith said, exasperated. “You really think after that they’re not going to be biased?”
Laura bit her lip. “They can’t discriminate for personal reasons,” she said, but didn’t sound sure.
“No, but they will,” Faith said. “And super blogger Nico with the perfect body and skills and fans and followers will win. Nico, the brand.”
Laura sighed and sat down opposite Faith at one of the lace-covered tables. “You know I used to be so hot on that branding stuff, and always trying to get followers on Instagram and stuff? After seeing this Nico guy, I’m not so sure it’s worth it.”
Faith looked up, surprised. Laura had been so keen to get their brand out there, to snag book deals and affiliate marketing programs and thousands and thousands of subscribers. She’d even suggested their own TV show, at one point. Faith had liked the idea somewhat, though it seemed a lot of hassle. “What about him made you think differently?”
Laura ran her finger along the lace edges of the tablecloth. “I don’t know. I guess, well, I really like how things are. I don’t think I really want to be an internet superstar. I want to teach children with emotional and behavioral problems, work here, and spend time with Yale. That’s it.”
The Blackmail Flour Trail: A Culinary Cozy Mystery (Slice of Paradise Cozy Mysteries Book 3) Page 4
