Carrot Cake and Cryptic Clues

by A. R. Winters

  The stunned silence lasted for a moment.

  I was the first to speak.

  “Are you sure?” I said. “I’ve never heard about this.”

  Fred shrugged, looking sheepish. “I wouldn’t want to get Howard into trouble. But now that Celeste’s gone, I guess the secret’s going to come out sometime soon.”

  “Are you sure?” I repeated. “Are you absolutely sure?”

  “Of course,” said Fred. “I walked in on them kissing one day. Howard made me promise not to tell anybody. Said Celeste would ruin him. So, of course, I promised.”

  “That does sound like Celeste,” Beth mused. “Did Sharon know?”

  “No,” said Fred. “I’m pretty sure only I and maybe one or two of their closest friends knew about it.”

  “Do you know how long they’ve been together?” I asked.

  Fred shook his head. “But she’s been working there a long time, right? I’m guessing that they’ve been together awhile. And what’s more discreet than sleeping with somebody who’s already sleeping under your own roof?”

  I nodded, shocked by the revelation.

  After a few moments of silence, Fred said, “Is there anything else I can help you with?”

  “Um.” I forced my brain to think hard. Right. The cake. “What time did you show up on Saturday?”

  “I had lunch with the family,” said Fred. “After that, I hung out with Sharon in her room, and then I joined the guests for dinner. Sharon and I left afterward to go clubbing.”

  I nodded. “Did you notice the cake that was served?”

  Fred looked at us seriously. “You mean, the cake that killed Celeste? Sure. I even had a slice of it. It was delicious,” he said, turning to Beth. And then he remembered. “Oh, right. You say you didn’t make it.”

  “I didn’t!” said Beth indignantly. “I’d never make a mistake like that.”

  “Sure,” said Fred, nodding sympathetically.

  “Helen said she put the desserts out on the countertop,” I said. “Do you remember seeing them?”

  Fred shrugged. “I’m afraid I can’t really remember.”

  “Okay,” I said, handing him a business card. “Please let us know if you think of anything else.”

  “I will.” Fred put the card in his wallet. He paused for a second, and then he said, “I hope you don’t tell anyone else what I’ve told you about Howard. I know he doesn’t want his relationship with Helen to be made public yet.”

  “We’ll be discreet,” I said, smiling. “As discreet as Howard.”

  Chapter Eighteen

  The next morning, Neve and I had just finished our breakfast of leftover chocolate lava cake and steaming hot coffee, when there was a knock on the door.

  I opened it to find Ethan standing there.

  “Why, hello, kind sir,” I said, putting on my best Southern accent. “I do believe we’ve met before.”

  Ethan smiled grimly and stepped inside.

  “Hi, Beth,” he said, nodding at my friend. “Hope you’re doing okay?”

  “I am,” she said, sounding as mystified as I felt.

  “Hello,” screeched Pixie, suddenly very excited. “Hellohellohello.” And then she let out a loud screech.

  This was the first time Ethan had come to my apartment, and the very first time Pixie was seeing him.

  “Calm down, Pixie,” I said. “There’s no need to throw yourself at this man.”

  Ignoring me completely, Pixie screeched again. It was amazing to think that the tiny creature had such a loud voice.

  “Hello, sweetheart,” cooed Ethan, stepping towards Pixie. “Who are you?”

  “Pixie,” said Pixie. “Hello. Pixie. Stepup.”

  “That’s about her entire vocabulary for now,” I said.

  Proving me wrong, Pixie said, “Mmm, yum yum. Cake.”

  The three of us burst out laughing, and Ethan said, “It’s a good thing I already know your secret addiction.”

  Pixie cooed at Ethan, and he said, “See? She likes me. She’s got good taste in men.”

  I said, “She just thinks you’re a big nut.”

  Ethan looked at me and smiled, his dark eyes glimmering. “What about you?” he said. “Do I seem like a nut to you?”

  My chest squeezed tight, and I wondered how I’d ever been able to walk away from him. “Sometimes,” I said.

  “As long as it’s sometimes,” he said, smiling again. “And someday you’ll learn how to reply to text messages.”

  “What’re you doing in my apartment, anyway?” I said. “Last I checked, we were keeping our contact limited to texts.”

  “I’d heard rumors of your magical bird,” Ethan said. “I thought I’d see for myself.”

  As if she’d understood what Ethan had said, Pixie purred loudly.

  I smiled. “You might fool Pixie, but you’re not fooling me. What’s going on, Detective?”

  Ethan sighed, looking serious again. “We had a visit from a very annoyed young lady last night. Neve.”

  I groaned. “Oh no.”

  Ethan nodded. “Oh, yes. She’s insisting that you’re badgering our potential witnesses in the Celeste Rocheford murder investigation, Celeste’s daughter and her husband.”

  I sighed. “We’re not badgering anyone.”

  “But you were at their house, yes?” Ethan said, looking from me to Beth.

  Beth nodded silently, and I said, “We were just there for lunch.”

  “And how did you get invited for lunch?” Ethan had his cop-face back on, and I decided against making wisecracks.

  “Sharon, Celeste’s stepdaughter, is Beth’s friend from high school.” I left out the part about the two not having been in touch till recently, or the part about telling her we were looking into the investigation. “Sharon thought it’d be nice for us all to catch up.”

  “That’s not how Neve tells it,” said Ethan. “You know she’s interning or something at the DA’s office, right?”

  I snorted. “More like doing some free work for Liam.”

  “Your ex,” Ethan reminded me.

  “I didn’t always have good taste.” I smiled despite myself. “But we weren’t badgering the Rochefords. They invited us.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “I’m sure.” I nodded. “In fact, they told Neve she was bothering them. Neve walked in when we were having our dessert, and she tried to get them to talk to her. They weren’t pleased.”

  “She’s not supposed to do that,” said Ethan.

  “Well. You can ask Sharon and Howard what happened. And I think perhaps you should sort things out with the DA’s office. Like, what kinds of things can their intern actually do?”

  Ethan sighed. “Neve never bothered us until you traipsed back into town.”

  “I’m sorry my being here makes things so complicated,” I said, trying not sound bitter.

  Ethan smiled wanly. “Well, stay safe. As long as you’re not actually interfering with the police investigation, you shouldn’t really be in any trouble.”

  “We’re not,” I fibbed, while mentally planning out my day. I still needed to chat with Helen’s niece and her friends—the two girls who’d helped out at Saturday’s party.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Norma and her friend Fiona were roommates who lived in an apartment a few blocks from Santa Verona University. Norma was going to major in accounting, she told me, and Fiona was studying art history.

  We were sitting in the girls’ living room—a cozy affair with a black-and-white print rug, two sofas, and lots of wooden armchairs. The place was set up for a crowd, and the girls seemed like the friendly type who threw lots of parties. Fiona was skinny, average height with mid-length brown hair; Norma was tall and slender, and her dark hair was styled into a short pixie cut.

  “We’re lucky Aunt Helen asked us to work that night,” Norma said. “We’re trying to save up for a trip to Aspen in the winter.”

  Fiona nodded. “We’ve never been skiing before. W
e’ll take lessons, drink hot chocolate by the fire—”

  “Hopefully meet some cute skiers,” Norma said.

  The two giggled, and Beth and I smiled. They seemed so young and hopeful.

  “What was the party like?” I asked.

  “Kind of stuffy,” said Norma. “We served drinks and hors d’oeuvres for two hours, and people sat around in the living room chatting with each other. And then the food was served buffet-style, and people helped themselves. We just had to run around and make sure everyone’s drinks were refilled. Everyone talked in really low voices and they didn’t seem to discuss anything interesting.”

  “How was Celeste behaving?”

  Norma shrugged. “She seemed just like the rest. They all behaved like polite robots, you know.”

  Beth said, “Had you met Celeste before?”

  “No.” The girls both shook their heads, and Fiona said, “I heard she was mean, so we made sure to stay out of her way.”

  “And what about the walnut cake?” I asked. “Did you see that?”

  “Aunt Helen took it out of the box and put it on a cake stand for us to take into the dining area,” Norma said. “I didn’t really pay much attention to it at the time.”

  I exchanged a glance with Beth. So far, we hadn’t learned anything new.

  I turned to Norma and said, “How was your relationship with your aunt?”

  She shrugged. “She used to live out in Arizona when I was younger. I think she moved here for this job. I saw her once in a while, and she’s nice, but it’s not like we were that close.”

  “What about your parents?”

  “They live up in Palo Alto. I guess they chat with Aunt Helen over the phone sometimes? We see her at family do’s once in a while.”

  I said, “Does she have a boyfriend?”

  Norma looked puzzled. “I’m not sure. I’ve never really seen her with a man. I guess she must’ve dated at some point, but I can’t really remember.”

  “So—you’re not sure if she’s got a boyfriend at the moment?”

  “No. I guess she might have a man, but if she does, she likes to keep it private. It’s not like we pry into each other’s lives.”

  I nodded, and Beth said, “When you got to the house, what did the kitchen look like?”

  The girls looked at each other, puzzled, and then Fiona said, “How d’you mean? Like, it was white marble and big.”

  Beth shook her head. “No. I mean, was it messy? Did it look like someone had been baking?”

  “Oh, no,” said Fiona. “It was clean as a whistle. No pots and pans or anything. No signs of baking.”

  So that meant that the walnut cake definitely hadn’t been baked in the house. Unless Helen had baked it, and then washed up the baking pans before the girls arrived.

  We asked the girls a few more questions, and then finally, I thanked them, left my card, and headed out with Beth. We were going to the Rochefords’ house again, and I’d do my best to find out whether Helen and Howard really were having an affair.

  Chapter Twenty

  Helen led us into the kitchen, but she didn’t look all that pleased to see us. “I’m making a dip,” she explained. “Guacamole, cream cheese, tamarind, sesame seed.”

  “It sounds complicated,” I said, watching her move around, arranging ingredients. “Where are the Rochefords?”

  “Sharon drove down to LA to work with some clients there, and Howard’s in his home office, dealing with some files. Why don’t you come back later, if you’d like to talk to them?”

  “Actually,” I said, watching her carefully, “we’re here to talk with you.”

  “Oh?” She glanced at us, disinterested, and then went back to work. “I don’t know that I can help you much.”

  “It’s about Howard.” I kept an eye on her, but her expression didn’t change. “You mentioned he was probably having an affair with someone.”

  Helen shrugged. “I don’t remember saying that.”

  “Sure,” I said. “Or maybe it was someone else. They said Howard was having an affair with some secretary at his office.”

  A flicker of surprise crossed her face. “I’ve never heard that,” she said.

  “Really?” I tilted my head, waiting for her to say something. But when she didn’t, I said, “What have you heard?”

  “I’ve heard nothing,” she said.

  Beth and I looked at each other. This was like squeezing water out of a stone. And then it struck me—if they really were having an affair, she probably had a few messages from Howard on her phone.

  “My phone’s not working,” I said. “And Beth left hers at home. Could I use yours?”

  She glanced at me and shook her head. “My battery’s dead. You can use the phone in the hallway.”

  She indicated down the end of the hall, and I thanked her and made my way over. There was a semicircular glass hall table towards the end, next to a large potted palm tree. A handset lay on the table. I picked it up and pretended to talk. As I muttered to myself, I paced down the hall, past two doors. I stopped when I heard Howard’s voice drifting through a closed door.

  I was standing in front of his home office, I realized.

  I stood quietly, and tried to hear what he was saying. His voice was muffled, but a few seconds later I was able to make out a few words.

  “Yes,” he said. “Yes… Mm-hmm... Look, I know... She liked to spend… I’ll pay all her debts… Don’t bother fighting it… Yeah…” A short laugh, and then, “Well, she’s dead, so why bother… Don’t fight the charges… I just want to pay it and move on with my life.”

  There was radio silence for a few seconds, and then I heard footsteps approaching. I quickly ducked behind the large potted palm, and Howard didn’t notice me. He headed towards the kitchen, and I knew that Beth could keep him busy for a few seconds. Perhaps he was going to get a glass of water.

  Either way, I had at least a minute. I ducked into his home office and closed the door behind me.

  The room looked the same as it had the last time Beth and I had been in here. Bookshelves lining the walls, a small leather couch. Big mahogany desk on the far side of the room, near the large window.

  I stepped quickly toward the table. Howard’s cell phone lay on it, still warm from his phone call. And it was unlocked.

  I hurriedly found the messages icon, and then I scrolled through to find what I was looking for. Bingo!

  Text messages to and from Helen.

  There were quite a few steamy messages, complete with heart emojis and unmistakable intentions to perform loving acts. I put the phone down quickly, unwilling to read any further. I’d found out what I needed to.

  I headed towards the door and was about to open it, when I heard footsteps getting closer. I froze, wondering what to do.

  The door opened, and Howard Rocheford peered down at me, not looking too happy to see me.

  “What’re you doing here?” he said. “You’re not supposed to be in here.”

  Chapter Twenty-One

  “I—I’m sorry,” I stammered. “I was making a phone call and then I needed to use the bathroom and I thought this was the bathroom.” I realized I was babbling, but hopefully I looked too clueless to be considered a threat. “I’m really sorry,” I said. “I was just leaving.”

  Howard looked like he didn’t believe me. “The bathroom’s at the other end of the hall.”

  “Well, thanks,” I said. “No one told me that. I just assumed—anyway. I’m really sorry to have bothered you.”

  “That’s okay,” he said.

  He stepped aside for me to leave the room, and then I hesitated.

  “Actually,” I said. “I did have one question for you.”

  He blinked. “Oh?”

  “Yes. It’s about Helen.”

  His face didn’t change expression, but I thought that perhaps his spine stiffened. Either way, he didn’t say a word.

  I let a few seconds go by, and then I said, “I know you were havin
g an affair with her.”

  More silence.

  I tried again. “I’ve got proof. You were having an affair with her, weren’t you?”

  A few more seconds went by, and then finally Howard said, “What do you want?”

  “I don’t want anything,” I said. “I just want to know what happened.”

  “Everyone wants something. Are you trying to blackmail me?”

  I shook my head rapidly. “No, not at all. I’m not interested in you and Helen.”

  “Then why bring it up? You know I can’t let this thing get out in public.”

  I looked at him in surprise. “Not even now that Celeste’s dead?”

  “That doesn’t matter much. The people I need to deal with won’t be too happy to hear I’m having an affair with the housekeeper. That kind of thing doesn’t fly with them.”

  “Wow.” I looked at him, trying to keep the surprise out of my voice. And here I was, thinking that with Celeste out of the way, Howard and Helen could finally have a normal relationship. I should probably give Fred the message that he didn’t have to bother trying to impress Helen, after all. “So what happens now? With you two?”

  Howard shrugged. “Same as always, I guess. I’ve gotten used to keeping it a secret. Perhaps I’ll be a lifelong bachelor.”

  “You don’t think you’ll remarry?”

  Howard cracked a wry smile. “My wife died just a few days ago. We might not have had the best relationship, but still. It just happened. Her Porsche is still parked in the garage. I’m trying to get my head around this.”

  I nodded thoughtfully. All this time, I’d been convinced that it had been Howard who’d ordered the cake. But the more I considered it, the more likely it seemed that the killer was someone other than Howard. I was forced to consider the fact that someone else could’ve ordered the cake. It could’ve been any other man, or it could even have been a woman with a deep voice, or a woman pretending to be a man. Anyone could wear a loose shirt, a fake mustache and sunglasses and a cap to seem like an anonymous man when they picked up a cake. The bakery owner probably never even gave the person a second glance.