Faith smiled. “So you don’t want a league of adoring fans like Nico?”
Laura actually shuddered. “No thanks.” She smiled. “For once, I feel happy with the way things are. No striving.” Then she grinned. “At least not for now.”
“Except to win this competition,” Faith said with a smile.
“Yep,” Laura said happily. “And I think if we bake up a storm, not even judging bias could take this victory away from us.”
Faith nodded, standing up and feeling much more motivated. “Right. Grandma Bessie needs that money, and we’re going to work and get it.”
Laura held her hand out for a high five and Faith slapped it. “Women on a mission,” Laura said.
*****
Chapter 7
The next event of the Cupcake Marathon week was one that Faith had been looking forward to for a long time. In fact, she had been the one who suggested it to Marigold when she’d found out a week-long program was being arranged.
As Faith hopped out of the Chevy with her big floral bag – which was actually a sewing machine bag, but was cavernous enough for her baking supplies – she sighed with satisfaction. The Paradise Community Center had recently been revamped, and it was all sandy brick and glass panes.
But it was what was inside that Faith was so excited about.
She hurried to the front door and swung the door open. Marigold was in the lobby, checking her watch.
“Hi Marigold,” Faith said. “I’m not late, am I?”
Marigold stood up and gave her a half-smile. “Not late. But not early, either. Just scraping in on time.”
“Oh, sorry about that.” Faith looked at her watch. “I think my time is a bit slow.”
Marigold raised her eyebrows then turned, beckoning Faith to come along with her. “You should set it according to the exact time, or even ten minutes earlier, so events like this can be avoided again. It’s rather embarrassing to be late, don’t you find?”
Faith wasn’t technically late at all, but she wasn’t one for unnecessary confrontation. Plus, she wasn’t altogether keen on antagonizing the woman who ran the contest they were trying to win, or rocking the boat after the murder business had shaken up everything already. “You’re right,” she said. “I’ll set my watch early, what a good idea.”
Marigold led her into a large kitchen space full of shining chrome worktops. “This is where you’ll hold your class. The attendees should be arriving any minute now, so you better hurry up and prepare.”
Faith smiled, setting her floral bag down on the worktop. “Sure. Oh, Marigold, I just remembered.”
“Hmm?”
“Laura and I were wondering if there were any sponsors for the Cupcake Marathon, or if the money was part of a trust or anything.”
A dark cloud seemed to pass over Marigold’s expression.
Faith hurried to say, “We just wanted to know more about the origins of the contest.”
Marigold’s voice was tight. “I am afraid I cannot divulge that information. But I will tell you that this contest has become a lot more trouble than it’s worth. What with the Wilhelmina Roby drama last year, and now… her unfortunate demise… it seems it is rather cursed. So this will be its final year.”
“Oh,” Faith said, surprised.
“That is why everything must be perfect this year,” Marigold said. “We will finish in style, the way my mother would have wanted.”
Faith began to unpack her utensils and ingredients. “Sure,” she said. “Of course… Um, Marigold, when you say the Wilhelmina Roby drama last year, what was that?”
Faith knew she was pushing it and that Marigold could snap at her to mind her own business, but actually it was quite the opposite. Marigold put her ever-present folder down on the counter and leaned against it, as if she were talking to a friend. “It was the first time I realized that people will become murderous over cupcakes. Or over the prize money, I suspect. I should have taken it as a warning sign, but I foolhardily pressed on with the Marathon this year, too.”
“Hm,” Faith said, taking the self raising flour out of the bag. “So what happened?”
“Well, I expect you know Wilhelmina has won every year since the contest’s inception, except for last year when Nico took the title. Of course, Wilhelmina was furious. She seemed to accept defeat gracefully, which surprised us all. But later, a letter turned up in my mailbox. She sent one out to me and each judge. It was like opening a portal to hell, that letter. Full of nasty vitriol and personal insults.”
“Wow,” Faith said. “That’s horrible.”
“Indeed. I was all for banning her from the contest for life, but Chad, he’s more measured in these things. Always has been. He offered to go and calm her down, and she made an apology to us all. So I reinstated her.” She smiled joylessly. “It’s not a manners contest, after all. Her work is… was of the highest quality.”
Faith nodded. “She was a master baker. So, have you known Chad a long time then?”
“He’s my cousin. My mother’s sister’s son. We grew up pretty close, and he went to culinary school, too. A different one from me, though, on the west coast.”
“Oh,” Faith said. “I never knew that. Have you known Tamalynn a long time, too?”
Marigold’s nostrils flared. “She’s been married to Chad for five years. She has no baking experience.”
Faith took out the silicone muffin molds she was planning on using with her class. “Oh, right. So why’d you put her on the judging panel?”
Marigold rolled her eyes. “Chad insisted. She doesn’t like to be left alone in crowds, or in hotel rooms, or back at home. And he wasn’t willing to give up his judging role. So he twisted my arm.” Her eyes were clouded over, and Faith got the distinct impression she was a woman full of regrets. Marigold sighed deeply. “Perhaps it’s for the best it’s over. I’m not sure the caliber of judges is exactly stellar. And it’s a large prize. But then…”
Faith had everything set up, and was just putting on her favorite apron, a floral pattern on a deep teal background. “But then?”
Marigold gave her a look from behind her thick rimmed glasses, as if trying to gauge whether she could trust her or not. Eventually she said, “Chad’s not happy about it at all. He wants to keep the competition alive. You see, his mother… well, let’s put it this way. My mother was a better mom to him that his own ever was. I think he’d want to continue for her sake. Well, I want to continue for her sake, but… threats and violence and murder, over cupcakes? My mom would have thought it ridiculous.”
“Hmm,” Faith said.
Marigold sighed. “I know Karen will be disappointed – she’s been a stalwart with the Baking Babes for years. But… well, she told me she’s got her suspicions about who did this. Something she saw. I’m not sure. She said she will tell me when she knows more.”
Faith’s ears perked up, and she was about to ask for more info, but then there was a knock on the door, and a mom with a scruffy bun popped her head around the door. “Is this the allergy free baking class?”
“Yep,” Faith said, smiling, then smiled even more broadly when a little girl popped her head around the door, too, way underneath her mother’s. She must have been about six. “Welcome. Come on in.”
Marigold instantly snapped back into business mode, picking up her file and slotting it under her arm. “Please do come in.” She looked through her file. “Let me check your names off.”
“I’m Louise Jones, and this is my daughter Erin.”
Faith had forgotten how much she loved children. But when she saw Erin’s wide brown eyes and messy-curly pigtails tied with slim purple ribbons, she couldn’t help but smile affectionately. Maybe she really would have kids someday. She’d always daydreamed about maybe having a little boy or girl of her own, but she knew she was nowhere near ready. It was a struggle to find enough time for Nimbus and Cirrus at times, let alone a child.
Plus, she and Nathan were a million miles from an altar. After he
r own father had deserted Faith and her mom before she was born to go live with another woman in Texas, she’d always vowed she’d get married before starting a family.
“That’s still no guarantee he’ll stick around,” Faith’s mom Diana had warned. “Your father and I were engaged.”
“I know,” Faith had always replied, “but somehow it feels more secure, I guess.”
“Erin’s allergic to eggs,” Louise said, “and her brother Cameron’s allergic to gluten. So between them, I’m finding it pretty hard to bake anything sweet.” She laughed. “None of grandma’s time tested recipes are any good, I’m afraid.”
Faith smiled. “Don’t you worry. By the end of today you’ll know all you need to.”
Another group of mothers and their children, and one dad with his young daughter, trickled in, and Marigold quite formally made them all sign in and get name badges.
All Faith’s nervousness seeped away as she waved to the bright eyed little kids. When there were eight parent-kid pairs, Marigold gave Faith the thumbs up.
“Hi everyone,” Faith said. This intimate setting was so much more comfortable than the echoing auditorium. “Today we’re going to learn how to bake using different ingredients than usual.” She tried to make her words understandable for the children. “Some people can’t eat certain things. It might give them a tummy ache, or even make them seriously ill. My mom’s like that. She can’t eat wheat or gluten. Is anyone here like that?”
Some parents lifted their children’s hands, while some older ones knew right away and put their own hands up.
Faith nodded. “And in the past that might have meant you couldn’t have the same things other people were having, like bread and cakes and pastries and things. But, I’ve got good news. There are loads of different flours you can use other than wheat, and a lot of them are healthier, too. That means you can eat cake as much as you like, but you get extra special cake.”
The kids’ faces lit up, and they were hanging off her every word.
Faith showed them a few containers of different flours. “Look, this one’s coconut. This one’s chickpea flour. This one’s rice flour. This one’s potato flour. Buckwheat flour. Cassava flour. These are just a few, but there are so many more.”
Then she reached into her floral sewing-baking bag and brought out some more containers. “And for you guys who can’t eat eggs, we’ve got that covered, too. Sometimes you can just used mashed banana in place of eggs. Other times you can use this, chia seed, or this, flax seed, and mix it with water in the blender. Then it goes all gloopy and sticky, just like eggs. That’s what eggs are for, you see, to stick the flour together.”
A knock on the door sounded.
Marigold frowned. “I don’t think we’re expecting anyone.” She went over to the door, her lanky figure almost as tall as the doorframe itself. “Oh. Hello,” she said in a displeased tone.
And who should come through the door but Deputy Sheriff Valdez.
Faith’s stomach sank.
“Miss Franklin,” he said, as if there were no other people in the room.
“Yes, Deputy Sheriff.”
Erin pointed at him. “Mommy, look at the police man! Is someone going to jail?”
“I’ll need you to come in for questioning,” Deputy Valdez said.
The parents began to give each other worried looks.
Marigold crossed her arms. “Faith is busy with a class right now. She’ll come by afterward.”
“I’m afraid I’ll have to insist you come along now, Miss Franklin.”
“What?” Faith said, beginning to feel panicked. Her breaths were getting dangerously short and shallow – a panic attack would come on if she didn’t manage to avert it. “Why?”
“I cannot disclose that information.”
Faith looked at him and all the hope drained out of her heart. Her cheeks began to heat up, and she couldn’t meet anyone’s eye as she packed her ingredients back into her bag.
“I don’t have time to wait, Miss Franklin,” Deputy Valdez said.
“This is ridiculous,” Marigold snapped. “Faith has nothing to do with any crime.”
Deputy Valdez came and took Faith by the arm. “That is for the authorities to decide.”
Faith ducked her head, and didn’t even have the strength to jerk her arm out of his cold hand. Her throat was thick, and her eyes were tingling, and soon hot tears were falling from her eyes. There was no holding them back. She watched them as they dropped on the tile floor.
*****
Chapter 8
“Where were you,” Deputy Valdez asked, “in the early hours of Sunday morning?”
Faith had managed to get her tears under control, and her anger had seeped away, too. She just felt numb as she sat on the hard chair in the questioning room, across the table from the Deputy Sheriff. “Is that when Wilhelmina was killed?”
“Please answer the question, Miss Franklin.”
“I was sleeping, in my bed.”
“Do you have any witnesses?”
Faith paused, stunned. “Witnesses to me sleeping?”
He nodded evenly.
“People don’t generally watch me when I sleep, as far as I know of,” she said. Then she realized it sounded a bit disrespectful and added, “Sir.”
He puffed impatiently. “Was anyone there in your home when you went to sleep, or when you got up?”
“Laura was there when I went to sleep, but then she let herself out,” Faith said. “In the morning she knocked on the door and woke me up. We were late. That’s when we met you outside the hotel and found out Wilhelmina had died.”
“All right,” he said, without expression. “So technically, you could have woken up from your sleep in the night, driven over to the hotel, killed Wilhelmina Roby, driven back and gone back to bed?”
“No. I did not.”
“Is there a practical, logical, or technical reason you were physically unable to carry out the list of events I previously described?”
Faith plunged her hands into her hair in exasperation. “Why would I want to kill her? Why do you always suspect me? If I did something to offend you, I wish you would tell me what it is instead of taking it out on me and trying to make my life a living hell.”
“I dislike curse words, Miss Franklin.”
“What?” Faith said. “What curse words did I even use?”
Deputy Valdez stared at her for a long moment, then pushed his chair back and stood tall. “I will tell you, Miss Franklin, that we have had an anonymous tip off. Someone called into us here with a compelling argument as to why you are guilty of the murder of Wilhelmina Roby.”
Faith’s hands started to shake. “It’s not true!” she said, jumping to her feet.
“Sit down!”
Faith slammed herself back into the seat. “I swear, Tyler, it’s not true.” She surprised herself when that name came out of her mouth. It surprised her even more when he didn’t correct her.
“Maybe not,” he said, and for once there was some feeling in his eyes, some softness. Faith dared to think that maybe he really did believe she was innocent. “But you will understand that we have to investigate all information we receive, especially when it is as compelling as this. And when the crime scene report reads as it does.”
Faith felt like she was close to drowning. Just about able to gasp a few breaths at the top of the surface, but fearing she might be sucked under at any moment. “I didn’t do this. I swear. I don’t have any reason to.”
“The prize money. You might have killed her thinking that you’d be crowned automatic winners.”
“No!” Faith said. “I’d never have expected that, anyways. I’d have thought the whole contest would be shut down. Anyway, who tipped you off?”
“I’m afraid I can’t disclose—”
“Okay,” Faith said quickly, feeling like if she heard that sentence one more time she might really turn into a murderer. There was a silence for a while, and then she said, “L
ook, all I can tell you is I didn’t do it. We came home from the event, then fell asleep watching some dumb movie. The next thing I know, Laura’s hammering on my door saying we’re late. That’s all.”
“Are you sure you’re telling me everything?”
“Yes!”
“I’m going to come straight out with it, Miss Franklin. Apparently you threatened to kill Ms. Roby in front of an eyewitness. Also, a small, teal-colored baking utensil was found at the scene of the crime. I am aware you carry all your baking supplies in teal, so we believe it is yours. In fact, we believe it was the murder weapon.”
It felt like Faith’s heart stopped beating. “What? What utensil?”
“I’m afraid I can’t disclose—”
“And I’ve never threatened to kill or actually killed anyone in my life, much less someone whose talent I admired greatly.”
“Admired greatly? Or coveted?” He raised his eyebrows and gave her a dagger-point look.
Faith could barely get her head around the situation. “Are you saying you think I killed Wilhelmina because I was jealous of her baking talent? What kind of psycho do you think I am?”
His voice was sharp with annoyance. “I will not have you making allegations that I am making assumptions of mental ill health.”
“Is this a joke or what?” Every fiber in her being just wanted to get out of there. She hated the way her voice sounded as it came out of her mouth – just as much of a razor’s edge as his. “Can I go now?” Then she added, “Please,” out of a try of propriety, though she sounded so angry it came over as defiant rather than polite.
Just then there was a knock on the door. Deputy Valdez heaved himself out of his chair, full of repressed annoyance, and yanked the door open. Then he went out and closed the door behind him, leaving Faith to stare at her own reflection in the mirror-window. After catching a glance of her own self, her sandy wave-tangle-curl ponytail a huge mess as always – though that wasn’t a gripe, the frizz and the wildness of it had become comforting and familiar – she wondered if there was anyone behind the glass, watching her. She imagined three Deputy Valdez’s sitting in a row, all peering at her through the pane, emitting that deeply hostile vibe she always got from him.
The Blackmail Flour Trail: A Culinary Cozy Mystery (Slice of Paradise Cozy Mysteries Book 3) Page 5
