by Harper Lin
Sugar and Scandals
A Pink Cupcake Mystery Book 8
Harper Lin
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This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, organizations, places, events, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.
SUGAR AND SCANDALS
Copyright © 2018 by Harper Lin.
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without express written permission of the author.
www.harperlin.com
Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Recipe 1: Champagne Cupcakes
Recipe 2: Beatrice’s Mojito Cupcakes
About the Author
A Note From Harper
Excerpt from “Granny’s Got a Gun”
Chapter One
Amelia Harley slid out of bed with sore shoulders. She was afraid she might need a new mattress. The one she was sleeping on had been bought at a furniture outlet store after the divorce. John had kept most of the furniture, and that included their four-poster bed.
As she rubbed her neck, she decided that she would stop at a mattress store and order herself a new one. It was an investment. A good night’s sleep was necessary for a productive day, and she didn’t have time to be nonproductive. Especially today.
Carefully she stretched her head to one side and then the other, wincing at the tightness and her inability to turn her head very far to the right.
“A hot shower will help.” Right there she heard the voice of her father. When she had been growing up, if she ever hit a rough patch, a bad breakup, he would always say, “Go take a shower. It’ll make you feel better.”
It was true. Something about the water coming down nice and hot made her feel a little better. It wasn’t a cure for anything and was probably more psychological than anything else, but it never hurt. Not like her stiff neck was doing to her this morning.
A hot shower was just the remedy for loosening up her tight muscles. She had to be in top form today. She was being interviewed for Food & Wine Magazine. It was an amazing step up from the smaller local mags and papers that had given The Pink Cupcake food truck reviews. Not that she wasn’t thankful for all their praise. She was. But this was nationwide. A big hairy deal, as her daughter Meg would say.
Shuffling slowly and a bit painfully to her bathroom, Amelia wondered if the kids might like new mattresses, too. It was always hard for Amelia to legitimize buying anything for herself with two growing teenagers.
The kids were always in need of something. Adam was growing like a weed and went through a pair of gym shoes a month. At seventeen years, he was still having growth spurts. He was like those creeping Charlie plants that grow without practically any sunlight. Moving his room to the basement hadn’t been Amelia’s first choice. But he was a good boy with nerdy computer interests and good grades. He wanted the space. It was hard for Amelia to say no. He was probably down there growing out of his pajamas as she stood in the bathroom waiting for the water in the shower to heat up.
Meg was different. She was a petite thing who loved the Pink Cupcake. She talked about the truck and the business as if they were people. It always brought a tear to Amelia’s eyes when she thought of how proud her daughter was of her.
“It’ll be okay, Mom. You’ve done everything right,” she’d say whenever there was a bumpy patch. An expensive repair. A new fee from the city being tacked on to her food truck business license. “You just need faith of a mustard seed.”
Amelia smiled as she stepped under the hot water and let the pricks and tingles wake her up. Slowly, she rubbed her muscles and felt them relaxing. The combination of the water and the steam loosened up the stiffness from all over, and by the time she stepped out, she was feeling much more alive.
Wrapping herself in her robe, a hot-pink terrycloth number that the kids had picked out for a Mother’s Day present last year, she shuffled downstairs into the kitchen to get the coffee started. She passed by Meg’s room, and Amelia chuckled at something Meg had done last week.
“Mom, I’d like to repaint my room,” Meg had announced one day after school.
“Okay. What color?” Amelia asked. She had no problem allowing the change since Meg was also a good student and very responsible.
“Hot pink. Like the truck.”
“Are you sure you want to look at that color every day when you wake up and every night when you go to sleep?” I asked.
“Absolutely. When I take over your business when you retire, my whole house is going to match that truck. Everyone will know where the Pink Cupcake lady lives.”
There was no talking her out of it. Now, Amelia’s beautiful daughter had the hot-pink bedroom of her dreams.
As Amelia quietly shuffled into the kitchen and got the coffee percolating, she looked out the back window. There was a surprise waiting for her. The leaves on the trees were starting to show their fall colors. There were just a few. Through the green leaves, she saw a splash of orange here, a small swipe of yellow there.
Fall was such a fun time of year with Halloween and cooler temperatures. She loved wearing sweaters and baggy pants to work. Summer was fine, but it would get so hot that the idea of wearing a bikini almost seemed like a good one.
The warm, bitter smell of coffee quickly filled the kitchen. Still standing and looking out the window, Amelia watched as the small finches bravely confronted the pushy blue jays for food at the feeders. The sky looked overcast. The weather was supposed to be cloudy with just a few sprinkles throughout the day. Amelia didn’t care about the rain. She was going to have a pleasant interview with whoever that food critic was, and once that was in the bag, there would be another page to add to her scrapbook.
She poured a cup of coffee and looked at the calendar taped to the fridge. Nothing important was coming up for the kids at school. There was a catering job for a retirement party in another week and then a themed wedding at the end of the month.
Quietly, Amelia pulled out a chair at her kitchen table, sat down, took a sip of coffee, and relaxed. She hated to say it, but as her skin cooled, she felt the tension creeping back into her neck. She might have made it worse. She rubbed it and listened to the quiet.
Before the bustling and before-school conversations started, Amelia liked to sit alone in her kitchen and enjoy the silence. It wasn’t that she didn’t love hearing her kids jabber back and forth. She did. They verbally sparred with each other the way boxers physically trained with the protection of headgear for three minutes at a time. It made Amelia laugh.
By the time she had finished her first cup, she heard the slow steps of her son coming up the basement steps.
“Good morning,” Amelia said.
Adam yawned widely and nodded as he scratched his head. His pajama bottoms were well above his ankles. Amelia was right. He had grown some more in the night.
“What would you like for breakfast?”
“I’m not hungry.”
“Good. I didn’t want to cook anyway.” Amelia smiled.
Within a few minutes, footsteps upstairs could be heard shuffling around then bounding down th
e stairs. Meg was a morning person.
“Hi,” Amelia said, smiling at her daughter.
“Good morning,” she chirped. Her long brown hair stood at attention on the left but lay smooth on the right. “Are you ready for your interview?”
“What interview?” Adam muttered.
“Mom’s interview with Food & Wine Magazine, stupid.”
“Don’t call your brother stupid.”
“Yeah, you little twerp.”
“Don’t call your sister a twerp.”
“What are you going to wear, Mom?” Meg asked as she poured herself and Adam a glass of milk.
“Well.” Amelia tapped her chin. “I was thinking of wearing either my hot-pink The Pink Cupcake T-shirt or my hot-pink The Pink Cupcake T-shirt with my jeans.”
“Will you wear your pink gym shoes?”
“You mean the dressy Converse All-Stars you insisted I buy?”
“Of course.” Meg rolled her eyes.
“I don’t know. Do you think I should?”
“Only cool people wear All-Stars, Mom,” Meg replied. “Even Adam knows that.” She bumped past him as she headed back upstairs to get ready for school.
“I’m sorry, Mom. I forgot about your interview today.”
“That’s okay, honey. It’s not that big a deal. We’re getting pretty used to being reviewed, aren’t we?”
“Yeah.” He yawned again. “Pretty soon you’ll be making as much money as Dad does.”
“Let’s hope.” Amelia smiled. She had done a pretty good job hiding her disgust with her cheating ex-husband. They’d been apart for a while now. He had a new wife, and their first baby was on the way.
At first all of it had been a bit shocking. Amelia had preferred to use that term instead of admitting to any jealousy or feelings of all-out rejection. But the food truck had changed all that.
She had expected to earn a living. She had never expected for the Pink Cupcake to become her identity. It was wonderful. She was no longer John O’Malley’s ex-wife. She was Amelia Harley, the owner of one of the most successful dessert trucks on Food Truck Alley. She even had the receipts to prove it. There were still some weeks when she had to tighten her belt, but only Amelia and Lila Bergman, her bookkeeper, knew about that. And Lila would never tell.
Chapter Two
“You look adorable.” Lila Bergman was a foot taller than Amelia and at least ten years older. Her hair color was boxed as Fire Engine Red, and it matched her manicured nails. “Look what I had made for Beatrice.”
“Well, thanks for the compliment. But I don’t know if I like you bringing gifts for our new assistant and none for me.” Amelia chuckled.
“Ta-da!” Lila held up a lovely cotton button-down blouse in hot pink with the words The Pink Cupcake across the back.
“That is perfect for her.” Unlike Amelia and Lila, who were happy in T-shirts and jeans, Beatrice Mooch had proven to be more than the best baker’s assistant in the world. She was also weird.
“I’ve told the girl a dozen times she doesn’t need to dress so formally for the food truck,” Lila said, “but she insists that it has an effect on her baking. Sloppy dress equals sloppy desserts.”
“That sounds like Beatrice.” Amelia giggled. “That is a really great shirt. I love the black buttons down the front. If we ever start a bowling league, these would be perfect.”
“Well, I didn’t get a shirt for you. But”—Lila reached into her purse—“I did get one for Meg. I thought she’d get a kick out of it.”
“Lila, that was so sweet of you,” Amelia gushed. “I know what she’ll be wearing to school tomorrow.”
The ladies bustled around the truck, getting the ovens preheated, dropping the hot-pink paper cups into three dozen cupcake tins, and getting the coffee brewing.
Right on time, Beatrice pulled up in her Smart Car and bustled up the back steps into the truck.
“There were nothing but godless heathens on the road this morning,” she gasped, her lips pulled down at the corners in a frustrated frown. “I’m sorry I’m late.”
“You aren’t late, Beatrice.” Amelia smiled as she poured herself a cup of coffee from the silver urn. “You are right on time.”
Lila wasted no time giving Beatrice her new company blouse.
“I eyeballed your size, so I’m hoping it will fit,” Lila said. “But we want all of our senior employees to be part of the team.”
Beatrice stood still, holding the blouse up and staring at it.
“This is the most beautiful article of clothing I’ve ever seen.” Her eyes filled with tears. Lila looked worriedly at Amelia, who was shocked at Beatrice’s response.
“Are you all right?” Amelia asked.
“I’m just honored. Miss Harley, Miss Bergman, you’ve been so good to me.”
“Trust me, Beatrice. We’re the ones who are lucky. You showed up like an angel from heaven. We couldn’t be more thrilled to have you on board.”
Beatrice wiped her eyes with stubby fingers then gave Amelia and Lila a quick, tight hug.
“Now go into the corner and slip that on. We’ve got another interview today. We all want to match the truck.” Lila smiled and gave Beatrice a gentle nudge. In the corner between the front seats and the ovens, there was a small corner with no windows. Beatrice turned her back to them modestly, slipped out of her usual white blouse that always ended up multicolored by the end of every day, and emerged like a pink butterfly.
“It fits perfectly,” she gushed, smoothing down the sides.
“Well, Beatrice.” Lila smirked. “That certainly does highlight your curves. Why don’t you unbutton that top button? There’s no harm in giving a peek of what the Lord gave you.”
“Miss Bergman!” she gasped. “I’m a professional baker.”
Quickly, with bright-pink cheeks, Beatrice began to gather her ingredients for the new chocolate pumpkin spice cupcakes, slipped her apron over her head, and began to work.
After the Pink Cupcake had made it through another busy morning, the ladies found themselves happy to be interrupted by the columnist and her photographer from Food & Wine Magazine.
“Wait. Bonnie Paffenberger?” Amelia scratched her head as she looked at the blond woman in the blue blouse. “Didn’t you used to go to McCaughly High School?”
“Yes, I did.”
“I thought you looked familiar.” Amelia smiled and took Bonnie’s hand in both of hers. “We had a biology class together.”
“Amelia? Oh my gosh! This is so weird!”
The ladies hugged and flashed back to a few trivial high school benchmarks before they sat down to have a nice chat.
“So, you are a columnist?” Amelia said, offering Bonnie and her photographer a cup of coffee. They took a seat at the picnic tables not far from the truck, and it felt like high school all over again.
“Freelance. My husband is a jewelry designer. He makes a pretty penny, but there is something to be said about carving out a little niche for yourself. You obviously feel the same way.”
Amelia bragged about her business and the support of her kids. A little slipped about the divorce, but her underlying motivation wasn’t lost on Bonnie.
“Sometimes, we need that fire underneath us.”
“That is exactly right,” Amelia replied.
The photographer walked silently around the area, snapping pictures of the van and of Amelia and Bonnie as well as a few quickies of a grinning Lila with a grimacing Beatrice.
“Amelia, I am so glad we had this chance to reconnect,” Bonnie said.
“Me too. Now that you know the way, come by anytime. You’ll get the high school friend discount. Don’t leave before you and your photographer take a chocolate pumpkin spice cupcake with you for the road.”
“You know, speaking of high school friends, did you hear about Spencer Randall?”
“Yikes! There’s a name I haven’t heard in a good long while. Didn’t he have a rather explicit nickname?”
“Randal
l the Handle. Yeah. I swear he gave that to himself.”
Amelia laughed. “He fancied himself quite a ladies’ man in high school. But I haven’t heard anything about him in years. What have you heard?”
“He died.”
“Recently?”
“Yeah. Yesterday. It was in the newspapers.”
“What was I doing yesterday that I didn’t read the paper?” Amelia scratched her head. “Oh, wait. I don’t really read the papers anymore. What happened?”
“Someone found him dead.”
“Really? Where?”
“Off the hiking path that wound up over by Main Street and Carlisle Avenue.” Bonnie’s eyes twinkled with morbid glee.
“Bonnie, if I didn’t know you better, I’d think you were a little too happy about this situation.”
“Let’s just say his reputation as a player didn’t stop after high school. I ran into him at a fundraiser. I’m not trying to sound like a snob, but my husband’s profession opens quite a few doors. So many men looking to outdo the Joneses when it comes to jewelry for their wives, so he meets lots of influential people.” Bonnie shrugged modestly. “You can imagine how shocked I was to see old Randall the Handle walk in to one of the crowning jewels, no pun intended, the Great Legends of Football fundraiser. The tickets were ten thousand dollars a person.”
“Wow.”
“Personally, I’d rather write a check and stay home watching television, but it is good for my husband’s business.” She shrugged. Amelia totally understood. How many events had she suffered through with John before the divorce? Too many.
“So, I see him, and in typical Spencer Randall style, he pretends he doesn’t recognize me until I turn to walk away. Then he snaps his fingers and is like, ‘Oh, yeah. I remember you. You had brown hair back then,’ as if anyone looking at me can’t tell I dye my hair.” She rolled her eyes.
