1 Nothing Bundt Murder (3 page)

CHAPTER FIVE

I awoke the next morning feeling totally refreshed. I
’d only planned to take a short nap the night before and then catch up on some reading and maybe refinish a set of drawers I’d rescued from someone’s trash. I had a new homemade chalk paint recipe that I really wanted to test out on it. Instead I conked out right after dinner and slept through the whole night.

As I pulled my shoulder length sandy-colored hair into a smooth pony tail and put on a neat black skirt and white top, I studied myself in the mirror. It wasn’t my best look, but it was neat, clean and appropriate for the bridal shower we were dessert-catering.

The party was at the bride-to-be’s mother’s house and we were setting up the dessert table in the dining room, arranging everything on a lovely blue and white striped silk table cloth.

It looked beautiful, there were flowers everywhere and a cornucopia of Bundt cakes of every size and variety. Some were on silver tiered cake plates, some were spilling artistically out of blue Tiffany boxes, all were gorgeously decorated, in the “Breakfast at Tiffany’s” theme, with pale blue frosting, white pearls and tiny black sunglasses made from fondant.

Babette’s artistic talents were on full, gorgeous display and the bride-to-be, a sweet faced blonde in her mid-twenties, loved it. She went around excitedly hugging everyone—including Babette and me.

After everyone arrived and placed their blue-wrapped gifts on a table in the living room, Dahlia Wiggins, the hostess of the event, finally made her grand entrance down the grand staircase in the living room.

As I looked at her, I realized it was no wonder she’d chosen the
Breakfast at Tiffany’s
theme. With her dark hair swept up in an Audrey Hepburn coif and big dark sunglasses, she looked dark mysterious and gorgeous. But then again, she probably looked dark mysterious and gorgeous no matter what she wore.

I watched her make her way down towar
d the other girls and overheard one of them whispering to one another, “Isn’t the bride supposed to make the big entrance? Not the maid of honor?”

The other girl laughed in response
.

I smiled to myself.
My thoughts exactly.

As Dahlia entered the living room and exchanged air kisses with her guests, I glanced over
at Babette to see her reaction. But from what I could tell, she seemed fine. So fine in fact that I couldn’t believe she knew anything about Dahlia Wiggins and her supposed affair with Doug.

Though Babette was obviously tired from being up late
, baking the night before, other than her bloodshot eyes, she was her usual perfectionistic self. She was focused solely on her delicious creations as she gave some last final tweaks to the table.

The ladies went outside for breakfast, and after about an hour of
feasting on French toast, eggs Benedict and fresh fruit, they came in for dessert.

Everyone was oohing and aahing over the lovely Bundt cakes on our table. As I poured cups of tea for those who wanted them, I overhead a pretty redhead to my left talking to a tall blonde. It was obvious they were talking about some guy they both thought was handsome and I didn’
t pay much attention at first. Until the redhead mentioned how much she loved his British accent.

I looked up wondering if they were talking about Casey but then realized there had to some other Brits in the area. He couldn’t be the only one
.

“His family’s very successful in real estate,” the blonde said. “And I think his father’s a lord.”

When the redhead mentioned his gorgeous green eyes, I knew for sure it had to be him.

As I moved towards them, to ask if they wanted some hot tea, I couldn’t help but hear even more of their conversation. Red was saying that the future Lord Baron was gorgeous
, and even though he was dating someone she knew, she still hoped he’d asked her out. But Blondie said he had a fiance back home in London, so what was the point anyway?

I went back to the cake table, disappointed, for some reason. I mean, I knew Casey was a snake, per Babette and h
er dealings with him. But still…was every guy a cheat? Were there no honorable men left?

I took a deep breath and told myself it didn’t matter—it had nothing to do with me. I needed to focus on myself and my work.

“How’d the gluten free Bundt come out?” I asked Babette. “Which one is it?" I was looking around the table but didn’t see anything labeled gluten free.

“Oh dear, I must’ve left it in the van! I better go get it.” Babette fluttered her hands down her apron and rolled her eyes at her own absent-mindedness. “Must be from lack of sleep,” she said and then hurried through the living room and out the front door.

As people chatted quietly, I poured more tea and answered questions about the different cake flavors. Dahlia came to the table, champagne glass in hand. I offered her a cup of hot tea but she shook her head, ‘no’ as she scanned the table.

“Babette went to get the gluten free cake for you,” I volunteered
.

She gave me an icy smile then she went back into the living room where she sipped her champagne and stood, looking around the room, a thoughtful expression on her pretty face.

“Girls,” she called out, then waited until she had everyone’s attention.

Most of the ladies had taken seats on chairs or on the sofa and were nibbling on their cakes and sipping their tea. They looked at Dahlia who was standing at the head of the room, by the fireplace
.

“Okay. Girls,” she said with a sly smile. “It’s time for another shower game. Ready?”

Some of the girls nodded. Some groaned.

“This game is called two truths and a
lie,” Dahlia said, and there was something about her tone that caught my attention. Though I had just started preparing another pot of tea, I looked up at her, wondering why I suddenly felt so uncomfortable.

She was standing at the head of the room, smiling. But something about her
seemed sly. Her whole body appeared electrified, like a cat, just before it pounced.

I tried to ignore my sense of danger but I couldn’t quite shake it.  

“Now I’m sure many of you have played this game before,” Dahlia said. “But for those who haven’t, it goes like this. Someone will stand up here and tell us three facts about themselves. Two will be true and one will be a lie. And we each have to decide which one is the lie.”

Dahlia looked out at the girls, then took a sip of her champagne. “Now who wants to go first?”

The ladies all looked at each other in between nibbles of their cakes but no one volunteered.

Just then Babette came back into the dining room, holding the purple box containing the gluten-free cake. “How’s it going?” she whispered to me as she came over and put the box on the table.

“Great. Everyone loves the cakes. They’re playing a game now so we have a bit of a break.”

Babette nodded and opened the box,
searching the table for just the right plate to put the cake on.

In the living room, Dahlia was still standing in front of the group as one of the girl's volunteered.

"Actually," Dahlia said with that same sly smile on her face. “I think I'll go first.” Then she turned and looked at the ladies. “ Okay, now don’t guess until the end…but…” She bit her lip and frowned, as though thinking hard. “ Fact number one. I went to school in Wiscosnin.”

Somone shouted out “lie!” and Dahlia shook her head. “You’re supposed to wait until the end.
But okay, fact number two…” She glanced in our direction, then she took a breath and continued. “I’m getting married soon too!"

The bride screamed and applauded. “Oh my gosh! You are?”

Dahlia didn’t answer, she kept going on with the game. "And fact number three…my husband-to-be is going to divorce his wife…who happens to be in this room.” And with that, Dahlia smiled and looked straight at Babette.

Everyone gasped and went silent. Some of the girls looked over at Babette who stood staring down at the lilac box in her hand. I shot a glare at Dahlia then walked over to stand in front of Babette, so as to try to block everyone’s view of her. There were tears in her eyelashes as she stared down at the box in her hands.

“Babette,” I said quietly.

She shook her head. Then she stepped around me. She was the picture of dignified grace as she walked up to Daliah. “Your gluten free cake,” she said in an even tone as she handed Dahlia the pale purple box. "I hope you choke on it.”

Everyone gasped again, even Dahlia.

But she recovered quickly. She smiled at Babette with a cold expression on her face as Babette hurried outside.
I ran to the door after her, but when I got outside she was already in the
Bundt Baby
van, pulling out onto the street, tears streaming down her cheeks.

I stood outside, watching her drive away and noticed my own fists were clenched in rage. I angrily headed back inside, ready to give Dahlia a piece of my mind, and though I didn’t know exactly what I would say, I figured it would be some kind of reiteration of Babette’s wish that she choke on the gluten-free cake.

When I stepped inside the living room, however, I noticed that everyone was crowded around Dahlia who seemed to be putting on some kind of weird performance. She was hopping around, holding her throat, making strange noises.

But no one was laughing. In fact, as I got closer, I saw she wasn’t dancing at all.  To my disbelieving eyes, Dahlia was doing the very thing I was about to wish on her—choking on the gluten-free Bundt. She had a piece of it in her hand, and some spilling out of her mouth, which was now contorted in distress.

“Call 911,” someone screamed out in horror. “She’s choking!”

Dahlia’s eyes, once so cruel and smiling now looked terrified and confused. She was pale and sweating, clutching her throat and her stomach, her mouth dripping saliva. One of the guests attempted to Heimlich her
, but it obviously didn’t work.

As we all watched helplessly, Dahlia fell to the floor and started to have some kind of seizure. Then she lay still, her eyes open--her lips, ironically, a perfect shade of Tiffany blue.

CHAPTER SIX

An
ambulance finally arrived, but by that point there was nothing anyone could do to revive Dahlia. She was clearly dead. One of the paramedics called the police and a uniformed detective arrived not long after. The coroner and another two uniformed officers arrived not long after that.

By that point, the other guests and I had all been ushered out on to the patio where the girls were all comforting each other, sobbing and expressing their disbelief at how this could have happened. At a wedding shower of all places! It was unbelievable!

And truly, it was.

Though I had secretly wished Dahlia dead, in the very manner in which she died, seeing her actually choke to death on that Bundt cake was too horrible to imagine. I felt bad for ever having thought of such a thing.

I was standing up, looking through the sliding glass doors into the living room, watching as the bride-to-be and her mother spoke to the detective. Nearby, the coroner studied Dahlia’s body. He and one of the officers were starting to zip her into a big black heavy plastic bag, when the coroner bent down and put his nose right up near Dahlia’s mouth. He leaned in and seemed to be sniffing it. Then he looked over and spotted the purple Bundt cake she’d dropped on the floor. He picked that up and sniffed it as well. Then he called the detective over and they conferred.

The detective came out onto the patio a few minutes later and looked around
, stroking his handlebar moustache. We all stared at him, waiting for him to say something, as he obviously had something on his mind. But he seemed to be taking his time.

Before he could speak, the blonde who’d been gossiping earlier, stood up. “Can we leave now?” She stood and grabbed her purse. “I have somewhere I have to be.” She started walking back into the house but the detective blocked her path.

“Sorry, Miss,” he told her. “You need to sit back down.”

Her face turned red in irritation and she refused to sit, though I noticed she didn’t make a move to leave, either.

“I really have to go,” she said. “I mean, I’m sorry about Dahlia’s accident and everything. It’s awful. Just terrible. But I don’t see how any of us can help at this point.”

“Hmn, yes, well, we’ll see about that
.” He was looking around at all of the bedraggled of Holly Golightly wannabees. “We’re gonna need to take statements from all of you.”

“Statements?” the redhead said. “Why? We already told you what happened. It was an accident, right? Dahlia choked. I mean...it wasn’t a murder or anything. Was it?”

Some of the girls gasped, everyone looked at him waiting for an answer.

“So,” he continued, still stroking his big moustache, ignoring her question. “What we’re gonna do is to take all of your cell phones and video cameras and see what we have on there. And then we’re gonna take statements from all of you.”

Some of the girls handed over their phones, eager to help while others looked reluctant to part with them, even for a short while. The blonde was grumbling about it angrily.

“Don’t worry,” the detective said. “We just want any video you might have of the party. You’ll all get ‘em back soon.”

As if realizing that it was useless to fight, the blonde handed her phone to the officer, which caused the other reluctant girls to follow along and do the same.

“But you don’t really think that one of us is a murderer do you?” the redhead asked, aghast. “We were her friends.”

“Mmn, we’ll see,” the detective replied. Then he looked around as though searching for someone in particular. His eyes came to rest on me and didn’t move.

“You,” he grunted.

I looked at him surprised. “Me?”

“You work at the bakery? The one that made the cakes?”

I noticed he was looking at my
Bundt Baby
apron and realized it was useless to deny it. I nodded, nervously. “Yes, I work there,” I squeaked—probably sounding guilty of murder.

“Follow me, then,
” he said. He walked back through the sliding doors into the living room.

I could feel the eyes of all the girls on me as I followed him back into the house.

Sure sure, blame the help.

By now, Dahlia’s body had been removed and the bride and her mother had been moved somewhere else—upstairs probably. Another officer was busy collecting evidence from the living room but the cake table remained untouched.

“Tell me about the cake she was eating when she died,” the detective said to me. “It was in its own box, separate from these other ones here?”

“Yes,” I nodded. “It was gluten-free. Babette, my boss, made it special for…for Dahlia. She was on a special diet and requested it.”

“Did she specifically request that it be almond?”

“Almond? I don’t know. I honestly can’t remember. Dahlia may have decided on the flavor herself. Or she may have left it up to Babette.”

“Hmn,” he said, touching his long moustache.

“Why? Is that important?” I asked, but he didn’t answer. “Was she poisoned?”

He looked at me warily. “Why would you say that?”

“Because you’re asking about the cakes. It makes sense. Plus, isn’t there some kind of poison that smells like almond?” I couldn’t remember what it was but I
’d once read something about it.

“Hmn,” he grunted, not answering me one way or the other. “So, any of these other cakes here gluten-free?” He motioned to the dessert table.

“No. It was just that one. For Dahlia. Babette accidentally left it in the van when we were setting up and she went out to get it right before…before…” I let my voice trail off. I was unsure how to finish the sentence without making Babette look bad. Though, to be honest, I was pretty sure it already looked quite bad for Babette. First Dahlia practically comes out and says she’s going to steal her husband away from her. Then five minutes later Dahlia is dead from a cake she baked just for her.

The detective grunted as if reading my mind. “So I guess we need to talk to your boss. You know where she went?”

“No. She just drove off, upset.”

“Right. After a big confrontation with the victim. You know anything about Dahlia sleeping with Mrs. Berwick’s husband?”

“No,” I said. I didn’t think I needed to mention Nana’s gossip about Doug.

“ Okay. Well, you can go for now but you’re going to have to come down to the station to give a statement. You can pick up your phone then.” He put his hand out and waited for me to give him my phone.

I had no idea if it was even legal for him to confiscate our phones that way but I decided not to fight it.

“Oh, wait,” I said as I was about to put the phone into his hand. “Can I just call my Nana first and tell her why I won’t be home on time?”

He shook his head no, but then frowned at my phone which was now all lit up.

“What’s going on there?” he asked. I looked down to see that the phone was in the middle of voice-dialing Nana’s number.

“Oh, sorry.” I reached over to press the ‘end call’ button, realizing I had to be more careful in the future. “I just installed voice dialing and when I said I wanted to ‘
call Nana’
it must’ve interpreted that as…”

He frowned and pressed the ‘end call’ button again, since the phone was again attempting to dial Nana. “Mnph. Sensitive program,” he said, studying the phone.

“It sure is,” I agreed.

***

Later that day, after going home for a shower and a bite to eat and stopping in to see if Nana was home (she wasn’t) I went to the police station to collect my phone and give my statement
.

The front desk was being manned by a tall, lanky surfer-looking guy who
answered the phone just as I walked in.

My guess was that he was dealing with a pushy reporter
, because he said, "No comment," several times and then, “We can’t release that information yet.”

Finally he hung up the phone and smiled at me. “Reporters,” he said rolling his eyes. “Now what can I do for you…Rosie?”

I looked at him, surprised that he knew my name.

“You don’t remember me I guess,” he said. “You used to baby sit for me sometimes when you were down visiting your grandma. Way back when. Steve Logan.”

I covered my mouth with my hands. “Stevie? I can’t believe it! Wait. Are you a…a policeman?”

“Nah,” he said. “I just work here answering phones. I usually work overnight when it’s dead quiet. But with all this craziness today, they asked me to come in and help with stuff. Are you here to give a statement?”

I nodded. “Yeah, and to get my phone. I was working at the party when she died.”

“Oh, okay, sure
. They’re back here. Lemme grab it for you.” He walked over to a shelf behind him to look through a basket that held several phones. He picked them up one by one, checking their labels. “I remember your grandma said you were in town for awhile,” he said as he finally found the right one and brought it to me. “Here ya go.”

“
Thanks.” I took it from him and peeled off the small piece of tape with my name on it. “Wait. You talk to my Nana?

“Sure
. I see her around town. She was in my gourmet cooking class a few months ago. Don’t know why she needed the class though—man, her cooking. Have you ever had her chicken Paprikash? Man.” He shook his head, practically salivating at the memory.

“Yeah, she’s a great cook,” I said. “Too bad it’s not hereditary.”

Just then, Detective Sanders came out front and motioned me to follow him.

We went into his small office where I sat in a chair in front of his desk and answered
his questions while he wrote down what I said. When we were almost done, he got a phone call and sat stroking his moustache, listening to what the person on the other end was saying.

Finally he said, “Okay, thanks doc,” and hung up. He made note on his notepad then looked at me. "Well, she was definitely poisoned. By the cake that you made her. Cyanide," he said.

“Well, like I told you,” I said, sitting up straighter. “ I didn’t make it. Babette did. But Babette would never purposely hurt anyone,” I said emphatically. “Have you even talked to her yet?”

He didn’t answer as he continued to stroke his handlebar moustache. “It’s surprising what people will do. Especially to their husband's mistress."

“But…even if that cake was poisoned, how do you know someone else at the party didn’t do it? Maybe someone else put something in the cake. I’m sure Dahlia had a lot of enemies."

“We’re looking into that. We’re looking into all the evidence. But from the footage we  found on
the cell phones and video cameras, it sure looks like your boss handed the cake to the victim herself. No one else at the party ever touched it.”

“Well then maybe someone poisoned it when it was in the van! Did you look into that?”

“Don’t you worry,” he said, standing up. “We’re looking at all the evidence. For now, you’re free to go.”

I
got up and walked to the door, then I stopped and turned to him.

“You’re wrong about Babette
, you know. Even if she wanted to kill someone, she’d never do it with her cakes. She loves them. They’re like her babies.”

He studied me, as tho
ugh considering what I’d said. He was about to say something when his his eyes looked past me.

I turned to see what he was looking at. Or whom.

It was Babette. She was being led in, her head hung in defeat.

“Babette!” I cried, running
up to her.

“Rosie!” she said, looking at me teary-eyed. “Make sure you feed Cupcake, okay?”

“Of course I will, but…”

“And keep the store open for me. I can’t let this destroy everything I worked so hard for.”

“But you’ll be out of here soon…” I started to say.  Before I could finish, the officer behind her grabbed her arm and started to lead her away.

“Please,” she said, looking back at me, miserably. “I don’t know when they’re going to let me leave. Remember, it’s business as usual.”

I nodded then, looked back at the detective who was standing in the doorway of his office, looking at Babette.

Hmph. So much for waiting for all the evidence.