Tricia gave a hoot of laughter again. “Unbelievable. Emily Frank, most respectable citizen of Swaddle, breaking and entering!”
“I didn’t break anything!” Emily protested.
“Not breaking but still entering,” Tricia amended. “I would never in a thousand years have guessed it was in you.”
“Oh, it’s in her, alright.” Rachel sighed, thinking back to a time when Emily had broken into her Aunt Rose’s study. “She’s a proper career criminal.”
Emily, surprisingly, looked pleased with herself. “Well anyway, I got into the cellar, and my plan was to leave the salmon somewhere that Mia wouldn’t easily find it. That way, her house would stink to high heaven within a week, given this sunny weather we’re having. I’d liked to have done a lot more, but this seemed good enough.”
Tricia clapped her hands and wooted. “You’re a queen, Emily Frank. I bow down before you.”
Rachel hushed her. “But what happened? Did Mia catch you?”
Emily snorted. “Not a chance. I caught her. You see, when I was looking for a nice place to hide the fish in that cluttered foxhole that is her cellar, I found something very interesting. Something that had clearly been hidden there only recently.”
Tricia and Rachel leaned forward. “What?”
“This!” With a flourish, Emily took out a phone and showed them a photo. It was dark and blurry, but the object at the center was clearly visible—a pair of red stilettos. One of them had the heel missing.
Tricia’s jaw dropped open. She stared at Emily, and then Rachel, and then back at Emily again. “Wait... is that the same... so that means?”
“Exactly! Despite her protestations of innocence, Mia Harris was, at the very least, present at the crime scene, yesterday. She was at Gina’s house!”
“This is big,” Tricia said, her face suddenly solemn. “This is huge, in fact.”
“We have to tell Scott!” Rachel exclaimed.
“I sent him the picture immediately, and told him to get there as fast as possible and arrest Mia. Then I hightailed it back to the café,” Emily said. “I figured you should at least be the second person to know, Rachel.”
“Thanks,” Rachel said, touched. She had mixed feelings about Emily’s illegal little prank, but for now, the first thing she wanted to do was hug her. So she wrapped her arms around Emily and squeezed hard enough that Emily gave a yelp.
“Ouch! Easy, Hulk Hogan; you’ll break my back,” Em said. Then, smiling, she hugged Rachel back. “You don’t need to thank me,” she said.
“Thank you?” Rachel’s voice was a little muffled. “I should be lecturing you about the thousand reasons that your actions were dumb and risky and—”
“And all in a day’s work.” Emily dusted off her hands. “Now do you have anything to eat in here? All this “not breaking” and entering has given me a huge appetite.”
“My shepherd’s pie!” Rachel yelped. “I forgot all about it. It’s still in the oven.”
“Great, bring it out.” Emily patted her stomach and smiled. “I’m warning you two, I might eat the whole thing and leave you no crumbs.”
“Not if I can help it.” Rachel smiled. “I’ve worked up quite an appetite too. Being on a killer’s trail isn’t an easy job. It’s a wonder Scott doesn’t stuff his face with food every chance he gets.”
“Killer’s trail? Hang on, what have you and Tricia been up to?” Emily raised an eyebrow.
Rachel let Tricia fill Emily in while she reheated the pie. The mashed potato crust had come out crisp and golden thanks to a little added Parmesan cheese, and the meat underneath was dark brown, with bits of vegetables peeking through it. Rachel sniffed the pie appreciatively, and dished it out onto three plates. As an afterthought, she broke out a few lettuce pieces, mixed in some baby snap peas and cherry tomatoes, drizzled her homemade vinaigrette on top, and added it as a side plate.
Between the events at the library and Emily’s tale, Rachel’s adrenaline was spiking, and the calming routine of creating and plating food really helped her body slow down. Her hands seemed to work mechanically, even as her mind hopped from one place to another. She was eager to see Gina’s killer caught now. But could it really be Mia? Tricia had seemed so sure that her friend was incapable of poisoning anyone.
Turning around, Rachel saw Emily texting someone, and Tricia staring out of the window with a mournful expression on her face. The reality of what Emily had found out and what it might mean seemed to be hitting her now.
Rachel pushed a plate in front of her. “Eat. It’ll make you feel better.”
“No, thanks.” Tricia sighed, pushing the plate back toward Rachel. “I’ve lost my appetite.”
“Mmm.” Emily had grabbed a fork and was now chewing enthusiastically with a full mouth.
“It doesn’t necessarily mean Mia is a killer, you know,” Rachel said. “I mean, it’s just a broken heel. Sure, we found it at Gina’s back door, but it’s perfectly possible that there’s a reasonable explanation for all this.”
“I don’t know.” Tricia sighed. “Especially when it all comes out, and it’s bound to all come out now.”
“When what comes out?” Emily gave her a sideways look.
“About Mia. About what she’s been through...” Tricia gulped. “Listen… what I’m about to tell you: can you two promise me it’ll stay between us?”
“Nope. Not if it has a bearing on the case, Emily said. “Whatever it is that you know about Mia, you need to spit it out now, Tricia. She’s clearly a very dangerous person. You know it. She’s left a wide swath of destruction in her wake: the fire, Gina, even Rachel.”
“You don’t have to tell if you don’t want to,” Rachel said, patting Tricia’s hand and giving Emily a stern look. Emily shrugged and rolled her eyes.
“Scott’s going to find out anyway,” Emily said. “So you might as well tell.”
Tricia sighed. “Okay. I will.”
“Is it something in her past?” Rachel asked. “Something she did?”
“Not Mia,” Tricia said. “But have you heard of the Shoshanna Killer?”
Emily shook her head, but Rachel paused and furrowed her brow.
“Is he, was he, responsible for a string of killings somewhere out in Ohio?” Rachel asked.
“That’s right.” Tricia nodded. “He was a serial killer who murdered at least seven different women before he was caught.”
“Oh, no...” Rachel gasped.
“In another lifetime, he was Mia Harris’ father,” Tricia said, her eyes heavy with pain and fear.
There was a stunned silence for a second, and then, Emily’s voice, cold as ice, cut through it.
“You knew this?” she asked. “You knew this and didn’t tell us? How dare you?”
“Emily—”
“No. I need to know whose side Tricia is on. Ours, or the killer’s? Mia’s father is a psycho, and so is she!”
It was too much for Tricia. She grabbed her keys and strode out of Rachel’s house, her eyes haunted but her face closed off.
“Tricia—wait!” Rachel protested.
“I don’t think I’m wanted here,” Tricia said, looking back behind her shoulder. Emily just glared after her, refusing to speak. Clearly, it was true.
*****
Chapter 11
The Alarm
Rachel woke up the next morning with a fuzzy headache making her brain a little slow. Blinking, she looked up at the morning sunshine floating through the window and gave a loud gasp. Somehow, she’d completely forgotten to set her alarm clock. Usually, she woke up at five in the morning, but it was already 8am.
With a frenetic rush, she stumbled out of bed, took a lightning quick shower, dressed in jeans and a purple T-shirt, then nearly tripped over Scooter on her way down the stairs.
“Poor doggo. You haven’t had your morning walk yet, have you? Oh, I’m so horribly late. This is awful. Awful!”
Scooter, clueless about why his owner was so agitated, gave he
r a cheerful bark before running down with her, rushing out of the room and then trotting over with his leash dangling from his mouth.
“Aww.” Rachel squatted down, and began scratching him behind the ears. “You’re right. I need to slow down and smell the roses. But I’m three hours late, Scooter! It’s a disaster!”
“Woof!” Scooter replied.
“That’s true. You don’t even have any concept of 'hours,' do you?” Rachel grinned. “All you know is that you need a walk, and I’m the one who gives it to you.”
At the word “walk” Scooter went mad as usual, jumping all over Rachel and covering her face with kisses. She squealed and batted him away, then jumped up. “Let’s go!”
Outside, the gingko tree was in bloom, the white flowers giving it an odd appearance of being frost laden in the middle of summer. Doors banged all over the neighborhood as children stood out on the curb to meet their school bus. Here and there, neighbors called out to each other or waved as they sped by in their SUVs.
Rachel waved to one or two acquaintances, and patiently waited for Scooter to finish sniffing around the tree. Once or twice, Scooter cocked his ear at a nearby squirrel, but he was well trained enough now not to go running after them. Rachel grinned as she remembered how he’d once darted after a squirrel, and the leash had slipped from her hand. She’d gone chasing after him, and ended up attracting a small crowd by the time she’d finally caught up to him.
As if she’d been waiting for Rachel to step out, Emily opened the door to her café and came striding up toward her. Rachel sighed. Yesterday had not ended well. Once Tricia had walked out, Emily had stayed behind and vented.
“How could she do this?” Emily was furious. “We welcomed Mia Harris into Swaddle when we could have been warned. We could have known the kind of person she was. Especially after Gina was murdered… how could Tricia have been so… so negligent? It’s criminal of her!”
Rachel, who had been in no mood to talk, had promised Emily they’d speak another time with a clearer head. Apparently, the time was now. Rachel squirmed, wishing she could shrug off the whole thing.
Emily caught up with her and with not so much as a hello, began, “You have to agree with me. Right? I’ve been tossing and turning all night thinking about it. Mia is dangerous, and someone needs to do something about her. She works in Swaddle Primary School, Rachel! Ollie’s school!”
“She’s a teacher?” Rachel was shocked. “That’s… different than owning a boutique.”
“No. She’s administrative assistant or something,” Emily dismissed. “The point is, I’m not comfortable having her within fifty feet of Ollie.”
“Well...”
“I called Scott today, but he’s so frustrating! He just said that there wasn’t enough evidence to arrest Mia. She’d be called in for questioning today. Can you believe it? Questioning! As if there’s any doubt.”
“Em, you can’t just—”
“She punched you, Rachel.” Emily was staring at Rachel with a wild expression in her eyes. “Does nobody else seem to realize the seriousness of it all? I mean, yes, I know what you’re going to say—the children of murderers deserve to live the same life we do. But put it all together, Rachel. Mia’s father is a psychotic killer; Mia has poor impulse control and is attention seeking; Mia hated Gina and swore revenge; Mia’s shoe was somehow at Gina’s back door even though she claims she was never there; and finally, most importantly, Mia is clearly violent: she punched you.”
“Well, it still isn’t definitive proof that she killed Gina.” Rachel dug in her heels a little, instinctively growing cold in the face of Emily’s passion.
“Rach, how much more evidence do we need? I, for one, am not going to sit around waiting until she stabs one of my friends or family too.”
“Well, what are you going to do?” Rachel scoffed. “Put fish in her cellar again? I don’t think that worked out the first time.”
Emily tapped a finger against her cheek. “That’s a good question, actually. I suppose that if legal methods can’t get rid of her, I’ll have to use…”
“Illegal methods?” Rachel was alarmed. “Emily, get a grip, will you? It’s not your job to go around haranguing people. Trust Scott.”
“My older brother is a little too slow and methodical for my tastes,” Emily said. “Don’t worry, Rachel. I’m not going to do anything to harm Mia.” A radiant smile lit up her face. “But… there’s other things I can do.”
“I’d strongly counsel against it. So would Jay,” Rachel repeated.
“Oh pfft. Now listen, can you do me a favor?”
“Depends. I’m not going to play any pranks on Mia if that’s what you’re asking.”
“Prank? Me?” Emily widened her eyes and tried to play innocent. “I wouldn’t think of it.”
“Promise me you won’t do anything stupid or illegal?” Rachel asked.
“Absolutely,” Emily said. “Anyway, the favor wasn’t anything serious. I wanted you to bake me a cake, actually.”
“Oh. Sure. I guess that’s one thing I’ll happily do.” Rachel smiled. “What’s the occasion?”
Emily hesitated a bit, then said, “Ollie likes Mrs. Bingham’s bundt cake a lot. He was really disappointed when he didn’t get any. Could you bake one for him? I mean… he’s only six. Naturally I haven’t told him anything about the murder. It’s a little awkward when he mopes for cake each evening.”
“Of course.” Rachel was delighted. “I’ll have it to you by four o’clock today!” She was so relieved that Emily’s mind had shifted off Mia, that she didn’t notice the shadow of a cruel smile still playing over Emily’s face.
Back in the kitchen, Rachel reviewed her orders for the day: cinnamon rolls for an office party, chocolate mint cupcakes for a baby shower, and a strawberry cake for a young girl’s birthday among others. Luckily, she didn’t have too many orders today, so even though she’d overslept, it’d work out okay for her. The only ones who’d be disappointed were walk-in customers.
The next few hours went by in a blur, with Rachel whipping up the frosting, mixing in sugar, fruits, and other ingredients, popping the batter into her various ovens, and finally putting it all together. In between, a few customers wandered in looking for the cupcakes and smaller treats that were generally on offer and wandered out again, disappointed that Rachel hadn’t had time to create them today. Rachel felt a pang on seeing them wandering out, and wondered just how much damage she’d done to her business. She could almost imagine the dollar bills flying out of her wallet.
“That’s what you get for being irresponsible,” Rachel muttered to herself. “You really need to get your act together, Rach. Buy a back-up alarm clock if you need to.”
Pausing for a moment, she sighed and looked outside her kitchen window, gazing longingly at the sunny day outside. Scooter, who was normally her back-up alarm clock, was sleeping on his back in the grass, tummy exposed to the world, tail tucked close to his body, a look of sheer bliss on his face. Part of Rachel wished she could drop everything and go out and stretch out beside him. A grin slowly emerged on her face as she thought about how that would look to her neighbors.
By about 2 o’clock she was mercifully done with all her orders, and had called her customers to come pick them up. After a hurried lunch of ham and cheese on sourdough bread, Rachel settled in to make Ollie a bundt cake.
Lemon bundt cake. Hmmm. With a twitch of her lips, Rachel wondered what made Mrs. Bingham’s cake so special. What had Tricia said about it? Moist, satisfyingly sweet, yet not too sweet…
With a smile, Rachel bought out her Aunt Rose’s leather-bound handwritten recipe book, and rifled through it. The book was a joy to have around, mostly because Aunt Rose had scribbled a lot of comments on the side, some obvious, some cryptic. It made Rachel feel as though her deceased aunt were right here in the kitchen with her, looking over her shoulder as she baked.
With a fond smile, Rachel stopped at a page titled “Lazy Afternoon Lemon Loa
f.” She ran a finger down the list of ingredients: eggs, butter, milk, flour, baking powder, salt, vanilla and lemons—lots and lots of lemons. Whisking up the batter, she added in the lemon zest and freshly squeezed lemon juice. The tart smell reminded her of summer afternoons selling lemonade on the sidewalk, and afternoons in middle school when she would come home sweaty after swimming practice, skipping as she sucked on a lemon dipped in sugar.
Scooter wandered in from the backyard, and tugged at her jeans a little bit. With an evil grin on her face, Rachel dropped down half a lemon for him. He sniffed at it, gave it a tentative lick, then leaped back as though the sour yellow fruit had stung him. Rachel burst out laughing, and Scooter turned up his chin, trying to look dignified as he walked back out of the kitchen.
“That’ll teach you not to come begging,” Rachel shouted out after him. Then, feeling guilty, she promised to give him some extra treats later.
The difference between a cake and a bundt cake is in the shape alone. The bundt pan has distinctive grooved sides and a central “chimney” that helps heat the entire cake evenly, so Rachel knew that it would be perfectly fine to create a bundt cake out of any of her aunt’s recipes, really. But she wondered if her recipe would match Mrs. Bingham’s prize winning cake. Greasing up her aunt’s old aluminum bundt pan, Rachel carefully smoothed the batter in, hoping that she’d applied enough butter that none of it would stick to the sides once the cake came out.
With a start, Rachel remembered that this would have been the last thing Gina Graham tasted before she died. She hated to think it, but death by cake didn’t seem quite as bad to her as some of the nastier alternatives. Still, she gave a little shudder and chastised herself for being so morbid.
The bell above the front door tinkled, and Rachel quickly popped the pan into the oven, dusting off her hands on her apron as she walked out to the counter. Annie Pegg the librarian stood there, uneasily shifting her weight from one foot to the other.
Bodies & Bundt Cake Page 7
