Banana Muffins & Mayhem (2 page)

"Congratulations!" Sophie said as she used tongs to refill a platter of mocha brownies. "Kendra said your muffins were incredible."

Amy grabbed the sides of her pink taffeta circle skirt and curtsied. "Thank you. Although I bet Phoebe didn't like them since she announced before the judging began that nobody could top her homemade muffins. She had the big ego and bad attitude diva persona going full force today."

Sophie shrugged. "When I asked Kendra what it was like to work with her during the judging, she didn't want to talk about it." She waggled her eyebrows. Mischievousness sparkled in her chocolate-brown eyes. "We could ask Phoebe what she thought of your recipe, but she hasn't shown up yet."

"That's okay. I'm good with not knowing her opinion." Amy looked around. All of the other celebrity guests, a famous local romance author and the mogul skier who had competed in the Olympics, were easy to locate. They were surrounded by people. Phoebe Plymouth's bleach-blonde hair was nowhere to be seen. "She seemed pretty cranky and aloof, but I can't believe she would blow off a party where she is one of the guests of honor. Especially since I know the organizers paid her quite a bit to be here. I chatted with Aubergine earlier today, and her appearance fee was a lot more than I had imagined it would be considering her show is only on Michigan public broadcasting instead of a national cable syndication."

"You could've hit the nail on the head. She is
one
of the guests of honor. If she's as big of a diva as it sounds, maybe she doesn't like sharing the spotlight." Sophie flipped her espresso-brown ponytail over her shoulder with the back of her hand. "Every time I've heard her name mentioned today, it has been to complain about her behavior. Perhaps she realized she's been obnoxious, is embarrassed, and decided to stay out of hostile territory."

"Considering the impression she's made on everybody today, I bet that if she doesn't show up at all tonight, there will be plenty of theories as to why being gossiped about tomorrow."

*   *   *

"That was the last bag," Amy said as she bumped the back door to the kitchen shut with her hip. It had been her fifth trip to the Dumpster behind the coffee shop. The Cabin Fever Cure wrap-up party had been a success, with business owners partying in Riverbend Café's dining room until midnight. But all of the fun had left behind a mess.

Since Alex had to stop by his office that morning, Amy had decided to have him drop her off at the coffee shop to help clean up, even though she wasn't scheduled to work. Although she had been employed at Riverbend for over a year, she had recently reduced her part-time hours so that she could concentrate on her blog. On one of Amy's many visits to The Cookbook Nook, Kendra had planted the seed of writing a cookbook in her mind. So she was using Amy's Kitchen as a vehicle for achieving that goal. Many food bloggers were also writing cookbooks, a trend she hoped to follow soon.

"Thank you." Sophie wiped her hands on her chocolate-brown apron, leaving behind streaks of white flour from the bread dough she was kneading. "I'm glad it's been a slow morning, so we didn't need the seating in the dining room. I really appreciate you coming in today to help get everything back in order. I was so tired last night that I just left the mess, went home, and collapsed into bed."

When Amy had arrived a little after 7:30 a.m., she found the room where the party had been still blocked off from the main coffee shop area with a rice paper screen. She had helped unearth the partition from the storage room before leaving the party the previous night. Amy had hoped that erecting the barrier would relieve some stress for the always-tidy Sophie. Her thought was that customers looking for their morning caffeine fix wouldn't be bothered by a mess they couldn't see, so the baker wouldn't wear herself out by trying to clean while doing her usual baking duties. And she had been right. Sophie had retreated to her happy place, the kitchen, while Amy and a couple people from the waitstaff returned the dining room to its normal appearance.

Amy smiled. "Helping clean up this morning wasn't a problem. I had so much fun last night, it's the least I could do. You hosted a great party."

"I wonder if it would've been as much fun if Phoebe had been present. Her entourage was in this morning, and they still have no idea where she is."

Interesting.
One—Amy didn't realize Phoebe was a big enough star to have an entourage. Two—what had happened to cause her to ditch them along with her guest appearance duties? "Wow. That's crazy and kind of scary. Do they think something is wrong?"

Sophie rolled her eyes. "No. I guess she's notorious for walking away from things that don't go her way. They figure she probably went to the casino in Detroit to party because she was bored with little old Kellerton."

"If only we could all do things like that in unpleasant situations." Amy batted her eyelashes and faked a pout. "I don't like waiting in long lines at the grocery store. I think I'll just go to a fancy hotel and order room service instead of bothering to shop and cook."

"From all of the things I've heard about her over the last day and a half, I'd say that is exactly how she would act."

Amy and Sophie chatted a few more minutes while Amy's orange mocha was being made by one of the café's skilled baristas. Once the warm beverage was ready, she bid good-bye to the baker. Alex hadn't called to say he was done working yet, so she would just join him in his office. The Quantum Media building was only a block away from the café.

The sun was shining as Amy walked along the service road, which ran behind the businesses along the last block of the downtown district. Quantum's three-story building stood at the corner of the next block. As she walked, she sipped the sweet, chocolatey coffee and pondered what she had learned about Phoebe Plymouth. Watching a spring tablescape demonstration that the TV show hostess had done with Charlotte, the owner of Unique Decor, had been Amy's first glimpse at the star's tactlessness. The ill-mannered woman had declared that she did not like any of the items the local interior decorator used and suggested what she would replace everything with instead. Phoebe answered questions from the audience after the demo, but the tone of her responses made it sound as though she thought the inquiries were stupid. Had the minor television celebrity finally realized how rude she had been to the residents of Kellerton and fled like her friends figured she had?

Since it was Sunday, Quantum was closed. She would need to use the employee door Alex had promised to leave unlocked for her. The entrance was in the back of the structure, facing the parking lot. Amy rounded the back corner of the building and headed toward the door. In the far corner of the lot, the door of the wooden fence enclosure, which hid the Dumpster, slowly swung open. Someone had forgotten to latch it. If the wind picked up, the hinges could be damaged from the door swinging wildly. She walked past the entrance door of the building. There was no sense in leaving the enclosure to break so that Alex would have something else to worry about.

A large gray garbage bag was wedged between the Dumpster and wooden fencing. Someone had apparently missed the trash container as they were tossing in bags. She decided to deposit it into the Dumpster so that it wouldn't get left behind when the waste management truck did its rounds. Amy bent over, grabbed the end of the bag, and pulled. It wouldn't budge.
What was in it—cement blocks?
No wonder it didn't make it into the Dumpster. She grabbed the heavy-gauge plastic with both hands and tugged again. Instead of moving, the bag ripped open. A silver, strappy sandal fell out…attached to a woman's foot.

"So that's where she went."

Every person, from the coroner to several curious bystanders who had gathered on the nearby sidewalk, turned to look at Amy after her declaration. Okay…so she could've phrased that better. The trash bag had just been opened completely to reveal that the sandal and attached leg belonged to the very obviously dead Phoebe Plymouth. She swallowed and added, "I mean, nobody knew where she went last night. Unfortunately, this explains why she didn't show up at the wrap-up party."

Detective Bruce Shepler, the husband of Amy's best friend, took a step closer to Phoebe's body. His shadow fell over the garbage bag, which had been extricated from the Dumpster enclosure and now lay in the middle of a nearby parking space. When the coroner sliced open the bag there was no doubt who was inside. The TV star's signature white-blonde hair was drenched with blood. She stayed frozen in a fetal position even though she had been freed from the confines of the plastic tomb.

Amy turned away before she added vomit to the crime scene. She had seen dead bodies before, but that didn't mean her stomach enjoyed the experience. The more she gawked at the blood-covered star, the queasier she became. She wasn't a fan of horror stories—in books, on the movie screen, and especially not in real life.

Shepler pointed to the landing in front of Quantum Media's back door. "Why don't we go over there and chat."

A tall woman with limp dark-blonde hair tagged along as he, Amy, and Alex made their way to the cement pad. "This is Detective Lauren Foster," Shepler said as he nodded at the woman. "Since the victim was found here, I have a conflict of interest being friends with you two. Detective Foster will be taking care of this case." He gestured at Amy. "This is Amy Ridley, who found the body, and her husband, Alex. He owns Quantum Media."

The corner of the female detective's mouth twitched. Her eyes were ice-blue and just as cold. "So you know the victim?" she asked Amy.

"Well…I don't
know
her. I know who she is. That's Phoebe Plymouth, the host of the public broadcasting show
Old House/New Style
. She was a guest at the Cabin Fever Cure downtown yesterday—doing several presentations with local business owners and judging the recipe contest where I won one of the categories. So I did chat with her briefly while our pictures were being taken by a photographer."

Detective Foster looked at Shepler as though he could translate the strange language Amy was speaking. Fine. She understood that all people didn't have the same interests as she did, so she could elaborate. "Main Street was blocked off yesterday for the event. There were tents set up to host craft, cooking, and home decorating demonstrations. Also, there were sidewalk sales and a cooking contest where all of the dishes had to be made in muffin tins." Amy sucked in a breath when Shepler shot her a cease and desist glare. "But maybe you know all of that."

"I saw coverage of it on the news last night." The detective's low ponytail flipped over her shoulder as she turned to look at Alex. "Did you know the victim?"

He shrugged. "I have never seen her television show…or her until now."

"She isn't from around here," Amy volunteered. "She lives in Traverse City, and that is also where the show is filmed."

The detective frowned. She used a stylus to write notes on a tablet computer. "So when was the last time you saw the victim alive, Mrs. Ridley?"

"Around 4:00 p.m., during the trophy presentation for the recipe contest. She just sat at the judge's table playing on her phone instead of showing any interest in what was happening around her. It was very strange behavior, but she had been like that all day. I saw her do a demonstration where she had no filter—saying whatever popped into her head with no apparent thought about how inappropriate or offensive she was being. Her actions were upsetting since so many people were looking forward to seeing her in person."

The two detectives exchanged stone-faced glances. Shepler shook his head slightly and said, "That's just the way she is."

Apparently, there was some kind of law enforcement silent communication language. What body language-posed question was Shepler verbally answering? Amy pulled her shoulders back so that she stood a fraction of an inch taller. Both of the police officers and Alex still towered over her—she was always the short tulip in the bouquet of life. She had gotten used to that. Neither her height nor her personality were going to change, so she may as well own up to the latter with pride. High-heeled shoes didn't even help with the other situation. They only made her feet hurt, which then made her cranky…and still shorter than the average thirteen-year-old.

"Do you know of any other people who thought Ms. Plymouth was rude or unpleasant?" Detective Foster asked Amy.

"She was one of the main topics of conversation at the party last night, both because of how she acted throughout the day and because she wasn't there. Nobody was impressed with her behavior, but nobody was anywhere near upset enough to murder her."

"In your opinion," the female detective added to Amy's sentence.

The conversation paused as they all turned to watch Phoebe's body being lifted onto a stretcher. A man wearing a vest with
CSI
printed on it took pictures of the area where the trash bag had been wedged. The coroner zipped up the black body bag, driving home the fact that Phoebe Plymouth was dead. And her body had been found at Alex's business.

Detective Foster cleared her throat. She stared at the alley that ran between the other buildings on the block and connected to Quantum's parking lot. "There are a lot of Dumpsters in that alley. I wonder why the body was dumped next to this one." She glanced at Shepler before heading toward the enclosure. Apparently she didn't care to have her audible questions answered.

Shepler very studiously avoided making eye contact with Amy as he addressed Alex. "I'm confident Lauren will be able to solve this case quickly. She has good instincts."

Amy tilted her head to the side so that she could see around Shepler and watch his female counterpart as she squatted down in front of the green trash bin. That was an odd comment. Why did he feel the need to say he was confident in her murder solving skills?

"I just remembered I need to make a quick phone call," Amy said as she pulled her phone out of her purse. Before either of the men could respond, she turned and hightailed it to the main sidewalk. Once she was safely on the other side of the building, she dialed Carla.