Doughnuts & Deadly Schemes (Culinary Competition Mysteries Book 3) (4 page)

"Oooh…when's the big day?" The woman, whose name tag said
Lisette
, clapped her hands. Her voice was in the dog whistle octaves by the time she finished the question.

"Two weeks from now."

Lisette blinked a few times, her pink glossed lips frozen in a toothy, insincere smile. "Oookaaaay. You're kidding, right?"

Amy was afraid to look at Carla. The saleswoman's personality was the kind that drove her no-nonsense friend crazy. The human equivalent of cotton candy. Pretty to look at, but no substance.

Carla huffed out an exasperated sigh. "No, I'm not kidding. Do you have any dresses that I can buy off the rack instead of ordering? I'm looking for something that isn't floor-length, for an informal wedding."

Lisette nodded. The movement was jerky. Maybe she was a cyborg, and Carla's insanely close deadline was blowing out her circuits. The sudden announcement had certainly scrambled Amy's mind.

"I think we have a couple of dresses that may work," Lisette said as she pointed to a circular rack at the back of the showroom. A yellow
Clearance
sign hung from the ceiling above it. "Although our seamstresses here won't be able to fit you in on such short notice. You'll need to find someone on your own for alterations."

"That's fine." Carla gave Amy the evil eye as they trailed after Lisette, who was already flipping through the dresses. She whispered, "See…she doesn't want to deal with me as much as I don't want to be here."

Amy pasted on her own corn-syrup-sweet grin. "She didn't laugh us out the door. She's searching for a dress, so humor me, and look at what she finds."

Five minutes later, Carla was entombed in a dressing room with the half dozen dresses that the almost-back-to-annoyingly-perky Lisette had picked out. Amy browsed the sale racks for her bridesmaid dress. The proliferation of odd colors, unfortunate pleat placements, and gigantic bows made her shiver with dread. The selection seemed to be limited to ugly outcasts in the bridal fashion world. What were they going to wear, and where would they find dresses that wouldn't get them busted by the fashion police? Carla's anti-bridal salon attitude had jinxed them.

A tall woman, with her snow-white hair pulled back into a doughnut-shaped bun, rushed past Amy. "This can't be happening," she muttered as she trundled to the U-shaped checkout counter in the middle of the room.

Amy looked around. All of the black-clad employees were staring at the older woman as she jabbed at a computer keyboard. The vanilla potpourri-scented air felt charged with static as the saleswomen exchanged nervous looks. The older woman banged on the keyboard of a second computer then exclaimed, "Dammit."

Amy turned around. Lisette was staring at the blue screen on a computer terminal sitting in an alcove near the semi-circle of mirrors. Carla emerged from the dressing room wearing her jeans and jacket. She slipped past the distracted Lisette.

"A blue screen is never good," Carla said as she joined Amy at the gaudy dress hall of fame, i.e. the clearance rack. "Looks like a great time to get out of here."

They hurried to the front door before Lisette realized a potential commission was walking out. As Amy held the door open for Carla, she took one more look back. All of the computer screens sported what Alex, her husband, called a Blue Screen of Death.

An hour later, Amy said goodbye to her damp friend. Carla had predicted correctly. It was pouring so hard when they left the bridal salon it felt as if they were running through a waterfall. A fitting conclusion to the disastrous dress-shopping excursion. Amy sent Carla home wearing a pair of too short but dry sweatpants, carrying a pan of fudgy brownies and a travel mug of hot decaf coffee to internally counteract getting soaked by the cold rain.

Amy took a hot shower and then started making lunch for herself. She was concentrating on pouring a thin stream of beaten eggs into a pot of boiling broth, when Alex unexpectedly arrived home. After setting his messenger bag on the table he wrapped his arms around her waist. "Smells good."

"Hot and sour soup. There's some shredded chicken in the fridge, to add to your bowl if you don't want to go vegetarian." She leaned back into the embrace. "What are you doing home? I wasn't expecting you until dinnertime."

"I want to spend some time with my beautiful wife."

He kissed the side of her neck sending a zap through her body that made her toes curl. In a few weeks, her best friend would have her own husband who would come home and kiss her every day. Or surprise her with an unplanned, midday romantic rendezvous. Carla deserved a fantastic marriage. She had been married before, but she and her first husband had been too immature to hold the relationship together after it started crumbling. When that disaster was over, Carla had refused to participate in serious relationships—until she rekindled what had once been a raging, clandestine affair with Shepler. They went together like strawberry shortcake and whipped cream, the perfect pairing. Amy was determined to make sure their union started with the most beautiful wedding she could muster.

As Alex released her to raid the refrigerator, she noticed he was wearing a blue shirt. Her thoughts tumbled back to the blue-screened computers at the bridal salon.

"Hey, honey. Would it be possible for someone to make all of the computers at a business have blue death screens?"

Alex grabbed the bowl of shredded chicken and a bottle of root beer out of the fridge. As he put the bowl into the microwave, he said, "The blue screens mean the computers have crashed. Most of the time the computers in a business are all connected, so if something happens to the main system, it could happen."

"Could a hacker get into a business's computers and do that?"

"Pretty easily."

Amy yawned as she steered her Mini into the parking space next to Sophie's brown sedan. After opening Riverbend, which started life as a small coffee shop then expanded to a full-fledged café, the predominant color theme in the pastry chef's life was coffee brown—from the aprons that all of the café workers wore to the car Sophie drove. The color really did go nicely with the cream-colored logo and coffee-centered business. It just was much mellower than the bright colors that Amy used to decorate her life. Her car was dark blue, but her closet looked like a rainbow inside. Carla said a trip into the walk-in closet was like attending a tie-dye convention.

She wasn't supposed to work at the café that morning. Sophie had given her the day off. Amy needed to make her cake so she could drop it off for the bridal expo competition the next day, on top of whatever help Carla would need with the wedding. But all of the stress had left her wide-awake at 3:00 a.m. So she'd decided to go in to work anyway. At the café, there was no such thing as too many workers. Maybe kneading some bread dough would give her energy and jump-start her brain.

Sophie must have discovered some kind of secret super food energy booster. Somehow she always made it into the café before 5:00 a.m. and, after taking a break in the afternoon, came back to help with the dinner shift. She was the Energizer Bunny of pastry chefs. Or maybe a lot of pastry chefs were like her. Amy didn't know any others well enough to inquire about their sleep habits or lack thereof. There were half a dozen employee parking spots behind the café that eventually filled as more employees came in throughout the morning. However, she and Sophie were always the first ones to arrive. They liked it that way.

In the quiet kitchen each morning, they chatted about anything from Sunday suppers to what to do as a special date night while doing the prep work, like warming the ovens and mixing batters and doughs. Luke's murder would most likely be the morose topic of conversation once again that morning. The tragedy was too fresh to avoid.

Amy fit her key into the lock of the heavy, metal security door. She yanked on the handle. It wouldn't budge. She twisted the key again and gave a hearty tug. The door opened so easily she almost fell backward on her butt. Why had it been unlocked when she arrived? She and Sophie always locked it behind themselves when they were working alone.

Amy stepped inside. The windowless door thumped shut behind her. She blinked as her eyes adjusted to the bright lights reflecting off the stainless steel work surfaces and appliances. Sophie wasn't at her usual spot in front of the humongous floor mixer preparing bread dough. In fact, she wasn't anywhere in the kitchen.

Something was wrong. A coil of fear wrapped around her chest. Amy quietly set her purse on a nearby counter and grabbed a large butcher knife from the magnetic strip on the wall behind the sandwich prep area. She patted her jeans pocket to make sure her phone was there. Her mind was in full-tilt bad scenario invention mode. Luke's killer could be in the building with Sophie
or
the café's owner could be in one of the other rooms of the restaurant checking on something before starting the food preparation. Amy hoped for the innocent, danger-free situation, but she didn't want to holler out a greeting to reveal her presence if there was someone keeping Sophie away from the kitchen.

She tiptoed across the room and peeked into the dark office. Dense shadows loomed like ghosts in the corners, but there was nobody in the tiny space that held a desk and a couple of file cabinets. Amy took a deep breath and moved to the swinging metal doors that led to the dining room. The round windows weren't positioned low enough for petite people to look through, so she would have to use a more conspicuous method of seeing what was happening in the next room.

Slowly she pushed the door open. The Victorian-style street lights outside, located along the sidewalk, dimly illuminated the front part of the room. Through the doorway leading to the coffee shop area, she could see brighter light coming from the back of that space. There weren't any streetlights along the side of the building.

Amy sprinted across the dining room. She flattened herself against the wall beside the doorway and took a deep breath.
One. Two. Three.
She leaned around the corner. One of the lamps in the seating area in front of the fireplace was on. Amy spun back into the dining room and leaned her head against the wall. She hadn't seen anybody, but there were plenty of shadow-cloaked tables to hide under. Not to mention there was a short hallway to the left of the fireplace that led to the bathrooms and an emergency exit.

She adjusted her grip on the knife then ducked down. The order counter where the espresso machine hissed away all day provided a bit of cover as Amy crept toward the back of the room. When she was past the counter, she straightened. There was no use staying in the muscle-torqueing stance when there was nothing to hide behind.
But maybe an intruder was crouched down on the other side of the counter.
She whirled around. No burglars. Just the mini-fridge and stacks of paper bags for to-go pastries in racks on the counter.

A high-pitched groan catapulted her heart into her throat. She whipped around to face the noise, knife in the slice-and-dice-an-attacker position. Sophie let out a strangled squeal as the bathroom door whooshed shut behind her.

"Amy! What are you doing? I thought you weren't coming in today."

The surprise was an electric shock to Amy's muscles. Her whole body felt tingly. Sophie was okay, but Amy wasn't so sure she was since her heart was trying to beat its way out of her chest after the adrenaline surge. She explained, "I woke up and couldn't sleep, so I figured I might as well come in and help for a bit. The door was unlocked, and I couldn't find you. I thought something terrible had happened."

Sophie held up her hands. Her palms were covered in bleeding cuts and swollen scratches. "I fell down when I got out of my car. I didn't want to get blood in the kitchen sink, so I came to the bathroom to wash up."

Amy set the knife on the counter behind her and rushed to her friend. She put her arm around Sophie's shoulder, being careful not to bump her hands. "You poor baby! We need to get some antibacterial cream and bandages on those cuts. Where's the first aid kit?"

"In my office."

"I'm not Carla," Amy said as she followed Sophie through the shadowy rooms, toward the main kitchen. "But I think I can get you patched up for now."

They squeezed into the hole-in-the-wall office. Sophie sat at her desk chair while Amy tried to apply salve to the wounds. It was a game of hit-or-miss because Sophie's hands were shaking violently. Amy fitted the largest Band-Aids she could find in the first aid box over the worst cuts.

"You need to see a doctor to make sure you don't develop an infection. The parking area probably has all kinds of vehicle fluids dripped on the pavement and gravel. I'm sure you're in pain, so maybe a doctor could give you something to help with that, too."

"I'm more worried about an infection than the pain. I'm tough. Have you seen the burn scars on my arms?" Sophie chuckled as she rotated her arms so Amy could see the thick, raised scars scattered on the underside of her forearms. Ghosts of the wounds from bumping searing hot oven racks and scalding pot rims.

Sophie's phone dinged. She winced when she plunged her right hand into the back pocket of her khaki pants. After checking the message, she quickly switched the phone back off and set it on the desk. "I can grit my teeth for now, to make it through the morning."

Amy set down the almost empty tube of antibiotic cream. "There. That's the best I can do." She leaned forward to make sure Sophie was looking her in the eyes, since she had avoided eye contact when promising to visit a doctor. "Please visit a walk-in clinic at the very least. If not, I'll bring Carla and have her make you go. Believe me, you don't want to get on her naughty list. She kickboxes for fun, if you get my drift."

Sophie held up her hands in surrender. Her palms looked as if a third grader had been given a box of bandages and instructions to turn her into a mummy. "Okay…okay. I promise I'll have my hands checked out." She stood. "But for now, I need to get to work. Can't make any money if there's nothing to sell."

Five hours later, Amy and Sophie walked out the back door together, after finally catching up with all of the baking that was delayed by the medical emergency. Extra kitchen staff had been summoned to fill in for Sophie so she could visit a doctor. Amy was on her way home to make the lemon cake that needed to soak in boozy, orangey syrup overnight. With all of the excitement between the wedding and the murder, she was glad she had finished perfecting the recipe weeks earlier. Lemon and elderflower curd sandwiched between the moist cake layers and a simple vanilla buttercream icing to add another subtle layer of flavor. While she was hoping her entry was good enough to win the brand new Trending Flavors competition, she couldn't wait to see the elaborately decorated wedding cakes in the other contest at the bridal show. They were sure to be spectacular.

"Thank you so much for your help," Sophie said as she unlocked her car door with a button on her key fob. "I wasn't expecting you to be in today, but I don't know what I would've done without you."

Amy's shoulders ached from kneading dough. Beyond the usual bread for sandwiches and tartines, a blackberry kuchen was scheduled on the dessert menu for the day. Latex gloves protected Sophie's torn-up hands, but Amy had insisted on taking over her boss's usual kneading duties. There was no way putting pressure on the wounds wouldn't hurt.

"No problem. I'm just sorry that I couldn't fix up your scrapes any better. I was in high school the last time I took a first aid class."

"You did a great job." Sophie grabbed the door handle. Her face scrunched up from the pain as she swung the car door open. "Much better than I could've accomplished on my own."

Amy smiled. As she turned to walk away, she noticed a streak of bright red spray paint on the wall beside the café's door. "I didn't see that paint yesterday. When did somebody do that? It looks like some kind of graffiti, but it's only one line. Weird."

Sophie rolled her eyes as she turned her key in the ignition. "Sometime last night. I noticed it right before I tripped this morning. Just what I need on top of everything else. Now I have to clean up after a talentless graffiti artist."

After waving goodbye, Amy climbed into Mimi. It was much warmer in the car than outside. Feeling like a baking potato was one of the not-so-great aspects of summer. As she pulled the door shut, sealing herself into the Mini Cooper oven, a splash of pink caught her attention. Halfway down the block the lid of the dumpster for Whisper's Intimate Apparel had blown open, revealing a pile of pink trash bags inside. She drummed her fingers on the steering wheel while the vents blew hot air on her arms, effectively transforming the Mini into a vehicular convection oven. The lingerie store would very likely be cooler than the kitchens at Riverbend had been. Pre-chilling her body
would
be a nice way to combat the discomfort of the unavoidable commute.

The trek along the back side of the block then around to the sidewalk along Main Street was pleasant even though her destination surely wouldn't be. During the walk Amy came up with an excuse for visiting the lingerie shop. A gift for Carla's honeymoon.

A synthetic floral scent slammed Amy in the nose when she opened the front door of Whisper's. While she recognized the fragrance as rose, there was no way a real flower would smell so strong, even if there were a dozen bouquets inside the store. The overwhelming odor was probably Rayshelle Applebee's idea for creating a romantic, lingerie-buying ambiance. Nothing about her appearance or personality was subtle, so her marketing tactics most likely wouldn't be either.

Amy flipped through the items on the rack nearest the door in case the airborne assault became too much and she needed to make a run for fresh air. Stretchy fishnet bodysuits were arranged in a neon rainbow. The tags dangling from the garments had a drawing of a light bulb on them. Did they glow in the dark too? As she flipped over a tag to read it, Amy surreptitiously glanced at the checkout counter. Rayshelle, sporting shamrock green hair pulled into a scraggly ponytail, popped up from behind the display case full of adult toys. She slammed a spray bottle full of blue liquid on the counter then bent again and retrieved a roll of paper towels. It looked as if Rayshelle had a cleaning job to do.

The eye-popping bright teddies weren't really Carla's style, but if Amy wanted to talk to the prickly clerk she would need to quickly find something to purchase. She grabbed a tropical-blue bodysuit and headed to the counter, weaving around circular racks full of animal print and metallic lace lingerie.

"I suppose you want to buy that," Rayshelle said as Amy approached.

"It's a present for a friend who's getting married." Amy laid the thankfully inexpensive bodysuit on the counter in front of the Mistress of Poor Retail Service. "I'm sorry for the loss of your friend."

One of Rayshelle's penciled-on eyebrows rose. "You know about me and Luke? You just can't keep your nose out of my business, huh?"

Amy took a deep breath to try to stay calm and instantly regretted it. Her sinuses throbbed behind her cheeks from over-exposure to the toxic air freshener. She was not nosy. Rayshelle's social life was not something she
wanted
to know about either. The only detail she was interested in was why charming, always-friendly Luke willingly dated crude Rayshelle. She sighed. "I'm not trying to interfere with your personal life. I just heard that you were dating Luke and wanted to give you my condolences."