Bodies & Bundt Cake

by Nancy McGovern

  Rachel narrowed her eyes. “What?”

  “Nothing,” Scott said, trying to sound as casual as possible.

  “You think she was just pretending?” Rachel asked.

  Scott had his best poker face on. “I can’t comment about a case while I’m investigating it.”

  “But this isn’t… oh, you’re useless!” Rachel nearly stamped her foot in frustration.

  It was the wrong thing to say. Scott’s shoulders went up around his ears, and his jaw clenched. “Okay.”

  “I didn’t mean that. I’m sorry,” Rachel said quickly.

  Scott ignored this. “Listen, I’m hungry. Do you want to go across the street for a quick bite at the café? Maybe we could talk then, too.” His tone was so emotionless, Rachel found herself on the defensive again. Her mind was immediately springing to thoughts of break-ups and dying old and alone. She shook herself, told herself not to be an anxious ninny, and nodded.

  “Wait... not at Emily’s Café,” Rachel said. “Could we just go grab some burgers at the drive-thru?”

  Scott cocked his head a little. “Why not Emily’s Café? You love her sandwiches.”

  “I… we...” Rachel sighed. “Well, long story short, she asked me to bake a lemon bundt cake and then put it on Mia’s doorstep with a nasty note.

  “What?” Scott’s eyes got so wide they made perfect circles. “Emily did that? After I told her to leave Mia alone?”

  “In case you haven’t noticed, the women around you don’t exactly bow down to all your wishes.” Rachel grinned. “She clearly didn’t pay any attention.”

  “It isn’t about bowing to my wishes.” Scott’s frown deepened. “Emily’s doing something really stupid, borderline illegal, and possibly dangerous. My sister is a lot of things but she isn’t dumb. So why is she acting this way? You’ve been encouraging her. She looks at you running around trying to solve cases and suddenly she’s a vigilante, too!”

  “Me? Encourage her?” Rachel felt her own anger rise. “I didn’t even know what she was planning. I thought the cake was for Ollie!”

  Scott ran a hand through his hair. “Not only is she jeopardizing herself—she’s jeopardizing the case. Do you know how bad it’s going to look in court if Mia’s attorney points out the sheriff's sister tried to bully—” He cut himself off suddenly, and winced, regretting what he’d just said.

  “Mia’s attorney? Then you have enough evidence to charge her? So you do think it’s her?” Rachel jumped on his words.

  “I didn’t say anything of the sort.” Scott rolled his shoulders. “Leave it alone, will you?”

  “I can’t. Tilly asked me to help her, and I mean to.”

  “Sure. I asked you to stay out of it, but what does that matter? I’m only your boyfriend,” Scott’s voice was heavy and sarcastic. “Forget lunch. I’ve lost my appetite.”

  “Scott—” Rachel reached out and touched him on the shoulder. “Don’t do that. You don’t have to eat with me, but don’t skip lunch. You need the fuel.”

  “Well, clearly, you don’t care what I need or want.” Scott was still sarcastic. “I’m done here. Bye Rachel.” He stormed out, slamming the door behind him.

  Rachel held it together until he’d walked past her window, then suddenly found tears running down her cheeks. A week ago, she’d been so sure that she and Scott were unbreakable. Now… her heart felt heavy, and her brain was whirring with anxiety. Not just anxiety either: as quick as her sadness came anger, growling, and ready to fight.

  “Fine. See if I care.” She said out loud to the empty shop. Turning on her heel, she stomped back into the kitchen, and began slamming the counters, taking out different utensils. Scooter followed her in and hid under the table, his tail tucked under him.

  Not even baking a cake could help Rachel calm herself down. She went through the motions, but her mind kept thinking of all the things she should have said to Scott, imagining the scenarios in painful detail.

  “You’re being a child.” Perhaps.

  “You’re only angry at me because I said, 'No' to you, and if that’s the kind of man you are, maybe I don’t want to ever say, 'Yes.' Cutting. But maybe too harsh? Then again, he deserved it.

  She found a tear leaking out of her eye, and sniffed as she wiped it away. The nerve of that man! Storming in here and accusing her of encouraging Emily! When she’d done the exact opposite. Well fine! If he was going to accuse her of such horrendous things anyway, she’d go out and do more of them! In a sudden burst, she dropped her apron on the floor and dusted her hands.

  “Come on, Scooter. Let’s go for a walk.” She said behind her shoulder to Scooter, who immediately jumped up and wagged his tail till it was a blur.

  *****

  Chapter 18

  Mrs. Bingham Again

  Mrs. Bingham lived in a stately home just off Cherry Blossom Avenue. It was a Tudor revival-style home with brick siding and a steep-pitched roof. The chimney was strangely crooked, and the white fence surrounding the house was missing a few pickets here and there. Still, something about it was cozy and welcoming, from the bright red, plastic gnomes in the garden to the climbing ivy clinging to one wall, and the cheerful spring flowers that dotted the grass.

  As soon as she had opened the gate, a dreadful barking began. Two large German shepherds came running around the side of the house, mouths foaming and eyes wild. Rachel hurriedly stepped back and locked the gate. One of the shepherds crashed right into the gate, then jumped up on his two feet and continued barking, frothing from the mouth.

  “Oi! Hector! Hobbes! Enough barking. Quiet!” Mrs. Bingham’s voice yelled from the window. Immediately, the two dogs were sitting down with their tails tucked under them, whining a little. Mrs. Bingham opened her front door and came down the drive, wearing a sunny-yellow dress with an apron that said “This Is A Manly Apron, For A Manly Man” on top.

  She caught Rachel looking at it, and smiled sheepishly.

  “My husband uses it whenever he barbecues. My son got it for him as a birthday gift,” she explained. “I like it too. It’s got pockets, you see.”

  “Ah.” Rachel smiled. “I can definitely see the appeal of pockets.”

  “I left my phone on the counter twice while cooking and got it wet,” Mrs. Bingham said. “The pockets are essential. Anyway, come on in, won’t you? The dogs don’t bite. They just like to put up a show for strangers.”

  Hector and Hobbes both had their noses sticking out through the gate and were making friendly noises at Scooter, who approached them in his usual carefree way, tongue hanging from the side of his mouth.

  Once Rachel was sure that the German shepherds were friendly, she left Scooter out in the yard with them. The three had already become best friends, in the way dogs tend to do, and were racing each other around the garden in circles.

  Mrs. Bingham led her inside, through an old-fashioned but neat living room that had graduation photos of three different children, lining the wall, and into a dark kitchen with wooden accents.

  “So.” Mrs. Bingham set out a cup of coffee in front of Rachel, and set out some homemade coconut-and-almond cookies on a dish. “How can I help you?”

  “Oh, I was just walking around and thought I’d stop by,” Rachel said.

  “No you weren’t.” Mrs. Bingham smiled. “You came to talk about the murders, didn’t you?”

  “You got me.” Rachel smiled back. “I couldn’t get it out of my mind, and I thought I’d swing by and ask you some questions.”

  “I was shocked to hear one of the other judges died too. Such a young boy,” Mrs. Bingham said. “You'd better be careful, my dear. The killer might come after you, next!”

  Rachel froze. Somehow, the possibility that the killer was targeting judges from the cake-off had never even entered her mind. But Mrs. Bingham did have a point. It was possible.

  “You look like you’ve seen a ghost,” Mrs. Bingham said.

  “No… just…” Rachel shook her head to clear it. Outside the
window, she saw that Scooter had flopped over on his back, and one of the other dogs was sniffing him. The two rolled around together for a few seconds, then jumped up and ran out of sight.

  “What happened?” Mrs. Bingham asked.

  “The night before the cake-off… did anyone try and break into your house?” Rachel asked.

  “The night before? No. Why?”

  “I thought maybe the killer could have broken in and injected poison into the cake...”

  “Impossible. I only baked the cake in the morning. Got up really early to do it. I didn’t want the judges eating stale cake, after all. The fresher the better.” Mrs. Bingham shook her head. “No. The killer must have snuck in and poisoned the cake when Gina’s back was turned.”

  “But how?” Rachel wondered. “You saw the kitchen; it was full of cakes. That means people must have been coming and going all the time until nine.”

  Mrs. Bingham shrugged. “Don’t remind me. I nearly died in that kitchen! First I nearly slipped on the ice, then I nearly had a heart attack when I saw Gina lying that way. Oh it was nasty.”

  “I’m sorry,” Rachel said. “It’s just that I’m baffled, for the first time. I don’t have a single theory how the killer did it. It all seems too… implausible.”

  “Well I’m sure the police will catch the killer soon, dear,” Mrs. Bingham said. “Don’t worry yourself about it. At least I’m in the clear now! My husband can vouch that I was with him all night yesterday. I haven’t killed Ethan.”

  “Alright,” Rachel said. “There was one more thing I wanted to ask you, Mrs. Bingham...”

  “What’s that, dear?”

  “Gina was blackmailing you, wasn’t she?”

  Mrs. Bingham turned pale, her hands came up to clutch her heart. “What?”

  “Gina. She emailed you to come over, and you did: not because she was a judge, but because she was blackmailing you.”

  Two little spots of red were forming high on Mrs. Bingham’s cheeks. She tried to protest, then, seeing the look in Rachel’s eyes, she gave up. Her shoulders drooped. “I feel so ashamed,” she said. “How did you know?”

  “A guess ” Rachel said. “That’s the one thing that does make sense to me. When I walked into Gina’s house, the entire place was in a mess. Documents everywhere, drawers opened… the killer was looking for something. But what? Then Mia told me that Gina had been blackmailing her, and it snapped together. The killer was being blackmailed, too.”

  “You’re sure the killer’s not Mia, then?” Mrs. Bingham asked.

  “I...” Rachel hesitated. She wasn’t sure. Not really, and a vengeful part of her who still remembered that horrible punch half hoped that it was Mia. But even if she knew the whom, Rachel just couldn’t figure out the how.

  “What was Gina blackmailing her about anyway?” Mrs. Bingham looked interested.

  “Never mind that...”

  “Her serial killer father, maybe?” Mrs. Bingham waggled her eyebrows. “I wouldn’t want that news to spread around.”

  “You know that, too?” Rachel sighed.

  “The entire town does. Your Emily made sure of it.”

  “Never mind that,” Rachel said firmly. “What was it she was blackmailing you about, Mrs. Bingham? You'd better tell me because the police will find out one way or another and—”

  “The police already know,” Mrs. Bingham said.

  “They do?” Rachel was taken aback.

  “Oh, yes. I made a full confession right in the beginning.” Mrs. Bingham sighed. “I couldn’t bear the guilt, you see.” Her hands trembled a little. She gripped the dining table and slowly lowered herself onto a chair. “I suppose I might as well tell you too.”

  “Go on.”

  “My cake: it isn’t made with fresh ingredients. I used store-bought cake mix!”

  Rachel stared at her, trying to process what she’d just said. Mrs. Bingham couldn’t meet her eyes. She was looking out of the window instead, and her lower lip was trembling.

  “Y-you used cake mix?”

  Mrs. Bingham nodded. “That’s the secret. I buy a box of lemon cake mix, a box of lemon pudding mix some eggs, and butter. Mix it all together with some water and easy as that, my cake’s ready. I’ve been winning first prize for years now, and Gina figured it out somehow. She threatened to expose me, and I couldn’t have that… so I did what I had to. I paid her.”

  “Pudding mix.” Rachel was still dazed.

  “Combined with cake mix. That’s the big secret?”

  “It comes out really moist that way.” Mrs. Bingham shrugged. “I don’t know how women manage to handle three growing kids and cook their own food. I always took shortcuts when I could, and my kids hardly ever noticed. They loved my cakes.”

  “I...” Rachel shook her head. “So Gina emailed you to come and see her again that day? Why? What did she want?”

  “I don’t know,” Mrs. Bingham said. “To be honest, I’d paid her already when I dropped off the cake. But I was determined to tell her off. I didn’t care if she exposed me; maybe I deserved it. But I couldn’t keep paying her. Certainly not twice in one day!”

  “You’d paid her?” Rachel frowned. “How much?”

  “A thousand dollars.” Mrs. Bingham’s cheeks turned red again. “I know what you’re thinking. But my reputation...”

  “How? I mean, did you give her a check or—”

  “Cash. Crisp and fresh from the bank. Gina insisted on it. I gave it to her in an envelope. Matter of fact, it’s rather silly: I was in a rush that morning and I couldn’t find an envelope, so I just grabbed whatever I could find. I didn’t realize until later that it was one of my grandchildren’s envelopes, plain white on one side, with crayon dogs and cats drawn on the other.”

  “Did you tell the police this?” Rachel asked.

  “About the cash being fresh from the bank, I mean?”

  “I… well, you see… at the time, I had an attorney present. I didn’t want them to tell my husband just how much I paid. I told them about her blackmailing me, but not the rest.”

  Rachel jumped up. “I think I’ve heard what I need to,” she said. “Thank you, Mrs. Bingham, and don’t worry; your secret’s safe with me! Nobody will know about the cake mix until you want them to!”

  *****

  Chapter 19

  The Fool

  As soon as she was out of Mrs. Bingham’s house, Rachel called Scott. He answered on the first ring.

  “I’m sorry I was so—”

  “Never mind that,” Rachel’s voice was high with excitement. “Scott, when you checked Gina’s house, did you find any loose cash lying around?”

  “Cash?” She could hear the frown in Scott’s voice. “No. Why?”

  Hurriedly, Rachel told him all about Mrs. Bingham and the envelope full of cash. “She said the notes were fresh from the bank. It’s a long shot, but if you can find out which notes and run a serial number trace… we can catch the killer!”

  “Have I ever told you I love you, Rachel?” Scott’s voice was suddenly full of excitement and energy. “Brilliant. I’ll call you as soon as I’ve got news.”

  He hung up, and Rachel found herself skipping down the road. Finally! A break! The noose was tightening around the killer now!

  She paused suddenly. But Mrs. Bingham wasn’t the only one being blackmailed. Mia had been blackmailed too. Or so she claimed. Setting her chin, Rachel rushed over to Tricia’s, wanting to talk to her friend.

  Unfortunately, Tricia wasn’t home, and wasn’t answering her phone either. Rachel waited by her front door for nearly half an hour, before giving up. It was easy enough to guess where Tricia was—Mia’s house. Scooter was exhausted after all his roughhousing with Hector and Hobbes, so Rachel dropped him off at home, and headed out to Mia’s alone.

  It was a sunny day, with a faded blue sky and skinny white clouds sitting low on the horizon. Rachel felt surprisingly optimistic as she walked down to Mia’s. Her usually sharp instincts didn’t warn her
of anything that was to come.

  Mia’s house stood on the end of a fairly deserted street. The yards here were overgrown and wild, and rust was everywhere. Not a car nor a person was visible. Mia’s two-story, A-frame looked deserted and unfriendly. The blinds were all drawn, and a hand-painted sign on the door proclaimed, TRESPASSERS WILL BE SHOT.

  Gulping, Rachel rang the doorbell. She heard footsteps coming down the stairs, and then Mia swung the door open. Rachel nearly didn’t recognize her. She didn’t have a spot of makeup on her today, and instead of wearing her usual loud fashions, she had on a gray T-shirt and blue jeans. Her hair hung damp around her shoulders, and her eyes looked shadowed.

  “What?” Mia snapped. “Come to call me names? Come to give me more of your cake? Yeah, Tricia told me you were the one who baked it. I wish you’d just punched me instead. It would have been simpler.”

  “I… Tricia said I baked it?”

  “You told her so yourself. Don’t act innocent,” Mia snarled. “Now get out before I—”

  “Hang on, there’s been a misunderstanding.” Rachel put her hand against the door and pushed back as Mia tried to shut it in her face. “Mia, I baked that cake, but I didn’t know Emily was planning to use it to harass you. I would never have baked it if I’d known.”

  “Don’t lie!” Mia said. “You’re just as bad as the rest of this town. Nasty, nasty place. I should never have moved here! Not one of you is worth my time!”

  “Tricia is, isn’t she?” Rachel asked. “Come on, Mia, let me in. We need to talk.”

  “Tricia?” A strange smile played on Mia’s face. “Yes. Tricia’s worth it. Tricia’s worth everything. But what does that matter anymore?”

  “Just let me in.” Rachel shoved at the door, and to her horror, Mia went stumbling back and crashed into a table. Rachel rushed in to help her, apologizing profusely. Mia had taken quite a tumble, and a small cut had formed on her head.

  “Stop it. Just Go!” Mia tried to shake Rachel’s hands off her, even as Rachel tried to get her upright again.