by Patti Larsen
“Is Crew there?” I wiped at the tears on my cheeks. At least I could get this right and not screw up his case.
“The sheriff?” She sounded confused. “No, I don’t think so.”
Damn, I must have missed him. Didn’t matter. “I’ll be there in about ten minutes.”
“Thanks, Fee. See you soon.”
Mom and Dad were on their own for now. I had a murderer to out.
I parked and was circling the building toward the back door when I hesitated, so focused on making this right I realized I probably should call Crew. But when I tried his number it was busy. I left a hasty message as I entered the back door by the ski lift, not wanting to be seen entering the sound stage. I had something to check first before I talked to Molly and I needed a moment of privacy to do it.
He’d just have to catch up with me.
The stage was quiet, empty. I circled around and checked the maintenance door again, found it clear, looking down the side of the construct to the front of the room where the camera took in the full space. The bulk of the front wall of the Cake or Break set cut off the view of the security feed into the murder scene, but, as the video Alicia shared proved, the line of sight to this door was free and clear. Some fingerprint powder and a comparison would reveal that my guess to the sneaking figure’s identity was correct. Considering that person had no reason to use this particular exit paired with the video… looked like I had myself a murderer.
I hurried to the set kitchens, looking under the counters. I’d expected the contents to be gone, and I was right. That sent me into the green room area. My luck was with me, at least. The crew had packed everything into big plastic bins, each marked with the number of the kitchen set. Janet’s had been #1, Molly’s #2 and Mom’s #3, before it became Joyce’s. When I dug into the box I was looking for, I pulled out the dish and tasted the sugar.
That’s all it was, just powdered sugar. Wasn’t it? Right. Gelatin was odorless and tasteless. The only way to know for sure was to take it and test it. But maybe I was wrong and the gelatin had been in the flour. Or something else in this kitchen was sabotaged. Janet wouldn’t have made that accusation lightly, I was positive of it, and the gelatin made the most sense. What didn’t was who I suspected of cheating. I guess because I just wanted to believe there was good in people after all.
Didn’t change the fact someone was lying to me and I had a few questions as to why.
I turned to the exit of the room, heading out into the halted deconstruction zone on the other side. I’d have this jar tested, and tell Crew to bring the rest to the lab just in case. Head down, so focused on the container in my hands and what I thought it meant, I almost missed the scuff of feet nearby, the furtive movement of air close to me. I spun, too late, to the slow, silent collapse of the wall beside me as it crushed me under its weight and carried me to the floor.
***
Chapter Thirty One
I’d never really considered myself lucky per se, though I have been in quite a few scrapes along the way and typically come out the other side intact, or mostly intact. Case in point, as the wall fell I acted on instinct and dove to the right, the canister still clutched against me. I aimed for a pile of stacked chairs that normally graced the dining room. I just managed to slide under them, head and shoulders protected, as the crashing set landed on my legs, pinning me a moment while I coughed from the dust raised by the collapse.
Panting and jerking on my boots that caught on the top edge, I finally wriggled my way out from under the stack, shaking from the adrenaline surge but happy to be intact. I’d be a bit bruised later, and likely sore in places I wasn’t feeling yet past the rush of tingling that told me I was alive despite myself. At least this time I didn’t end up with a concussion or in the hospital. I’d take it.
As I waved at the cloud of dust and gasped around particles trying to choke me, other hand in a death grip around the container of what I hoped was doctored sugar, I realized I wasn’t alone. And froze, gaping, heart pounding, at the sight of Molly Abbott staring back at me from the other side of the fallen wall.
Right where someone would have to stand to push it over.
“Fee!” She lunged for me as I backpedaled from her, heading into the set proper, catching myself on the edge of the judges table and using it to support me while I fumbled for my phone. Molly came to an abrupt halt, face already pale now peaking with pink on her cheeks, big eyes wide as she seemed to make some kind of mental connection. She whipped her head around, almost her whole upper body, before pivoting back, shaking her head, hands outstretched when I tried my best to scroll through my contacts and call Crew with fingers that wouldn’t behave. “Fee, I didn’t have anything to do with what just happened.” I met her eyes, positive I couldn’t trust her because I was an idiot and should have known all along she was a liar. Even now, authentic honesty shone through her worried expression, the way she leaned toward me but didn’t try to approach. “Are you okay? Did you get hurt?”
I shook my head, hair whipping my cheek while I fought to speak, still holding my phone tight, the canister. “You tried to kill me.” Hey, not the first person to give it a go and probably not the last if I was going to continue to push my luck. But seriously. I was so over it.
She shushed me softly, like I was a terrified animal she needed to soothe. “It’s okay, you’re all right. Fee, I swear to you, I had nothing to do with it.” She dropped her hands, tears in her eyes. “I came into the set to find you and heard something out back so I went looking. I figured it was you. I was almost to the green room when I saw someone pass around the back of the set heading to the rear stairs. When I followed they disappeared.” She rubbed her upper arms with both hands in a brusque motion, nervously looking behind her again. “Could that have been the killer?”
I almost spoke before she closed the gap between us, now clearly afraid.
“Fee, I think I know who murdered Ron.” She shivered as she whispered that in the now quiet of the set. No one had come to investigate the noise, so it must have been less of a bang outside the confines of the dining room than it felt when I’d been in the middle of it. I clutched my phone, wishing my fingers wouldn’t stop shaking, as I nodded to Molly, chest tight with tension, my anger at my own gullibility came rushing back.
“So do I,” I said. “And I’m looking right at her.”
Molly gaped, fish lipping, shaking her head ever so slightly, those points of pink on her cheeks now mottled patches climbing down her neck and under her collar. My fingers finally functioning, I pulled up the video Alicia sent me and stuck my phone in Molly’s face, let her watch the evidence unfold, shaking the glass canister of sugar in my other hand while I spoke and she stared, guilt crawling over her features. Had I chosen the right ingredient to threaten her with? Didn’t matter. It was pretty clear from her reaction I had her pegged.
“Yeah, that’s right. You didn’t know there was a camera that could pick up the maintenance stairs, did you? Well, there was. And it caught you coming back down to sabotage Janet.” Every statement made her waver more, crushed her further but I was on a roll and she wasn’t getting away with this. Not any of it, including cheating. “You found Ron still here, probably gloating over his fight with Clara and you hit him over the head with the pot from Mom’s box and then smothered him with the plastic bag to frame my mother.”
Way to get myself worked up and ready to punch her in the face.
Molly’s hands rose and covered her mouth, tears now free flowing down her cheeks, but she didn’t argue so I knew I was right. I had her. And now that my fingers were working, I found Crew’s number, hovered my thumb over dialing, even as Molly lunged for me and stopped me, misery in her eyes.
“I did it,” she whispered. Flinched. “Not Ron. But Janet.” She looked suddenly ill, a little green as she sagged, hand still tight on my wrist. “I cheated, Fee.”
Of course she’d admit to the lesser accusation. Why then did it look like she wished she’d admit
ted to murder before coming clean about sabotage?
Damn it, compassion, take a hike.
“I couldn’t stand it anymore.” She released me, made no further effort to stop me from calling Crew while she sank to the stool that had been Ron’s and sagged over the counter before her like half-empty bag of flour. “She cheated and cheated and got away with it. And Clara supported it. I didn’t know in the beginning, Fee, I swear. I wouldn’t have been part of the show if I had known. It’s not worth it to me.” She held my gaze despite her guilt. What, to prove to me she was telling the truth? And I was falling for her story, wasn’t I? Sigh. “When I found out I almost left the show, I told you that already. But Clara came to me, she told me the only way to save it was to cheat, to keep the ratings going. She said the fact I was in first place meant people already thought I was cheating.” She snuffled, wiping at her cheeks with both hands. “I didn’t know what to do, but I refused to go that far. Until this stupid special!” She wrung her hands before her then, fingers damp with tears. “If I hadn’t had to bake against Janet, maybe I could have just let it go. But the way she treated Lucy, Fee. Your mother didn’t deserve to be hurt that way. It wasn’t her fault, and Janet needed to be taught a lesson.”
“You knew they’d finish filming the show.” I clenched the phone in my hand, Crew’s number undialed, the canister of truth still between the two of us.
“Clara told us even before the sheriff came. She refused to stop. And I knew that meant Janet would be coming after me next.”
“So you decided to do something about it.” I guess I understood that. But I’d have been more direct.
“I knew what she did from the taste I snuck of Lucy’s cupcakes.” Molly settled, no longer overly emotional but rather empty, deflated. “And I also knew I’d never get away with going as far as she did. I needed something to add to her mix she wouldn’t taste in the batter, but that would ruin her bake in the oven.”
“Gelatin.” I was right. Wasn’t I? “Am I right?”
She nodded. “How did you know?”
No way I was confessing the internet told me. “I guess I’ve picked up a thing or two.” I sighed, relenting a bit myself. “That doesn’t let you off the hook for Ron’s murder.”
Molly’s distress returned. “I thought he was gone, that everyone had left,” she said. “I didn’t want witnesses, you should understand that.” Fair enough, yes. She hesitated. Flinched. “I found the body, Fee, before you did. He was already dead. But I didn’t say anything to anyone because I knew how it would look.”
“Because of the cookbook,” I said.
Molly stilled, quieted. “What are you talking about?”
***
Chapter Thirty Two
I’d had enough of her lying to me. “The cookbook, Molly. The one Ron was launching full of all the recipes your grandmother developed over her lifetime. The ones he stole from her when they were on the show together the first season. The same ones he was claiming were his own and planned to turn into a TV show.” I scowled at her, made an ugly connection. “The reason you signed up for this circus in the first place.”
For a moment I thought she was going to deny it. Lie again and ruin the small bit of credibility she’d built with me. Then, she shrugged, sad but not defiant. “I figured someone would make the connection eventually.” Her little smile was weak. “Nice catch.”
I didn’t bother telling her it wasn’t me, because Vivian wasn’t getting any kudos for her part, thanks. Not even in the quiet of my mind. “So it’s true,” I said. “You auditioned for the show because you found out he stole the recipes.”
“No,” she said. “But I knew about it after the fact.”
Okay, I believed her when maybe I shouldn’t have. “A coincidence?” Did that come out as heavily laced with disbelief as I aimed for?
She exhaled heavily. “Clara called me to audition. It was the tenth anniversary season and she wanted me on the show for the shock value. They were going to reveal my identity and the connection to my grandmother in the final episode.” She stared down into her hands. “I almost said no. Grammy had terrible memories from her time with Cake or Break. But everyone encouraged me to do it so I caved.” She met my eyes again, so tired it showed in lines on her face, augmented by the dust my near-death raised to settle on her pale skin. “Ron gave me the creeps from day one, but he wouldn’t leave me alone. I heard about the cookbook from him, the first time he hit on me. Like he didn’t care he stole the recipes or that he was plagiarizing by publishing them.”
“So you admit you knew prior to his death,” I said in an ah-ha kind of tone because she just made my case for me despite the fact she immediately shook her head in denial. “You’re telling me you didn’t want to kill him for stealing your grandmother’s recipes?”
“No,” Molly said, swallowed. “Because while Ron stole them from Grammy, she wasn’t innocent either.”
She said what?
Molly’s face pinched, her whole body shifting as she seemed to settle into resignation. “The recipes Grammy used on the first season of Cake or Break were already stolen,” she said, “from her friends and other bakers she knew from the old country. People who didn’t watch television and wouldn’t say anything even if they did.”
Yikes. Quite the legacy to follow up. Vivian wasn’t going to like this one bit, was she? And why did I care how the Queen of Wheat felt about her idol’s dark past? Well, I didn’t.
Now who was the liar?
“Grammy was as bad as Ron,” Molly said, enough self-judgment in her voice I knew her whole angst over cheating to get back at Janet was deep rooted in personal reasons that went beyond mere honesty and into what had to be a lifetime of swearing to never be her grandmother. “The collection of recipes she brought with her went missing the last night of the show, the night Ron sabotaged Grammy and took first place. She was furious, but there was nothing she could do. He found out about the thefts thanks to being a sneaking scumbag.” She should talk, considering her grandmother was one, too, but that was for later. “He told her if she protested he’d tell Clara the recipes weren’t hers.” So Ron already knew? “When I tried to tell him they were already stolen, wondering if Grammy lied about his threat, he laughed at me. Ron said he figured enough time had passed and he was famous enough he could do whatever he wanted.” She bit her lower lip, glaring at me now, her anger the final piece I needed to accept her story. “Happy now?”
I wasn’t and shook my head so she’d see it. “Let’s say I believe you,” I said. “That doesn’t mean you didn’t kill him.”
“I would have rathered he published,” Molly said then, suddenly a hissing, furious bundle of revenge so startling I took a half step back. She pulled herself together, choking a moment and finally clearing her throat, fingernails digging into her thighs while she fought visibly for control. “I planned to win this show, Fee. To use my fame to expose him for a fraud and a thief. Take him down with his own arrogance. And if that meant my grandmother’s name was besmirched, all the better.”
“What did he do to you?” I almost hated to ask because that much vitriol hidden behind her innocent, kind mask? Couldn’t be good.
“He assaulted me,” she said, shaken but collected, “on several occasions. I always managed to escape. I tried to turn him in to Clara the first time, but she wouldn’t listen.” My disgust meter skyrocketed. “That day, the day he died, he grabbed me, kissed me before I could stop him. Oh, I wanted to kill him. But I didn’t.” She sniffed, stiffening with her jaw set. “No, I’m not sorry he’s dead. Still, there’s a part of me that would have rathered see him suffer.”
Revenge I bought hook line and sinker, to the point I set the canister down on the counter between us and reached forward toward her. Molly flinched like I threatened her then sobbed once when she realized I was offering support. Probably the first show of anything of the kind since she joined this wretched show, poor thing. Sheesh, I was such a sucker. But if showing compassion
to someone meant I had softhearted issues, so be it.
She grasped my hand tightly in hers, lips twitching before she was able to speak. “I know I’m a terrible person who would have made sure his reputation was burned to the ground,” she said. “But I had no reason to kill him. I’m not a murderer.”
Likely I’d lost my mind in the last few minutes, but I believed her. “Did you see anyone else on the set when you were planting the tainted sugar? Or do you know of anyone who had a reason to kill Ron?”
Molly hesitated then, biting her lower lip, tears returning. She gestured at my phone and I handed it over. Watched her close the call screen and bring up the video again before turning it toward me.
“The person who showed me that way onto the set,” she said, “the same person who promised me there wasn’t a camera watching it and who made sure I could get on and off without anyone seeing me just in case I needed a way to escape Ron.”
“Who?” I met her eyes as a voice interrupted, soft and low.
“I guess that would be me.”
***
Chapter Thirty Three
I spun, gasping in fright, memory of the falling wall and being struck on the back of the head so hard I passed out flashing through my mind. I ducked as I turned, on impulse, though I must have looked ridiculous, because the person standing behind me, watching Molly with haunted, sorrow-filled eyes, wasn’t lunging for me. Though the gun he held in his hand wasn’t exactly a kindly offer to come quietly.
Dale only had eyes for Molly, ignoring me while I slipped with the kind of baby deer awkwardness I seemed to default to, grasping at the counter and using it as a lifeline while the pair stared at each other as if I didn’t exist.
