Dying for a Cupcake (10 page)

As she finished the refill in one gulp, I asked, “Drowning your sorrows?”

“Nope.” Harlee held out her empty glass for more. “Just taking the little buggers for a little dip in the pool.”

“I’m guessing that Kizzy is why you’ve been avoiding the various activities since she arrived in town,” I said as I poured.

“Yep. I was home when you came by my place last night, I just didn’t answer the door, and I ignored all of Ronni’s messages.” Harlee swirled the wine in her glass. “Considering how we parted twenty years ago, it seemed the easiest way to handle the situation. But your point about needing to show my face to ensure goodwill for my business was well taken.” She sipped. “Kizzy will leave on Sunday, but I plan to be in Shadow Bend for the rest of my life.”

“I take it, back in the day, you two were close friends?” I asked.

“We were besties.” Harlee’s eyes were sad. “Inseparable. We thought we’d go to the same college, marry our high school boyfriends, and live next door to each other.” She sighed. “We had that fatal combination of hubris and a sense of immortality. We believed we could do no wrong and that nothing we did would affect us.”

“Typical teenagers,” I commented, then asked, “So, what happened between you two?” Yes, I knew I was prying, but she had aroused my curiosity. Had Kizzy let the teenage Harlee down the way Noah had me during our high school years? Not having been in school at the same time they were, I had no idea what had happened between them.

“It’s not important now. Too much water has passed under that particular bridge for it to matter anymore.” Harlee reached for her purse and dug out her wallet. “How much do I owe you for the wine?”

“It’s on me.” I waved her offer away. I was feeling flush with all the extra money from the Cupcake Weekend in my bank account and cash register. “You can buy the drinks the next time the Saturday Night Prayer Circle gets together.”

“Thanks.” Harlee stood up, then squinted at my hands and said, “Nice scrapes. Who’s your exterior decorator?”

Evidently, Harlee hadn’t heard about the hit-and-run, so I explained what had happened after the dinner.

Harlee shook her head. “Somehow, no matter what the situation, other people always get hurt and Kizzy always comes out unscathed.” She sighed, then said, “I’m going to go and mingle, since that’s why I came to the party to begin with. See you tomorrow.”

A moment later, when Harlee and Kizzy passed each other in the lounge’s doorway, I noticed that neither spoke. It was almost as if all of the good times they’d shared had been completely erased by whatever had happened that ended the friendship. What in the world had caused that kind of rift? I thought about losing either of my best friends and shuddered. Poppy and Boone were vital to my sanity.

Kizzy took Harlee’s recently vacated seat, glanced at her watch, and asked, “How much longer do you think we need to stay?”

I checked the time and said, “Probably only another few minutes. I think most people will start to drift away soon after midnight. Remember, most small-town folks are early to bed and early to rise.”

“Good.” Kizzy leaned her head against the back of the chair. “It’s been an exhausting day, and having that police chief tell me he thinks that Fallon was murdered and that I was the intended victim of the poison was the buttercream on the cupcake.”

W
hen I arrived home after the party, the windows in my father’s apartment over the garage were dark and only the night-light above the stove lit my way down the hall. As soon as I reached my room, I stripped off my clothes, washed my face, and fell into bed.

The next thing I knew, my alarm was buzzing and it was six the next morning. I’d been too tired the night before to think much about Kizzy’s dramatic announcement, but now that I was rested, her words played over and over again in my mind as I showered, got dressed, and headed to the police station.

Although I had speculated that someone might be targeting the cupcake queen, it was an entirely different matter to hear that the cops agreed with me. And Kizzy’s utter refusal to discuss the situation was beyond frustrating. She ignored my suggestion that a killer running loose in Shadow Bend could drive all the attendees out of town, and she didn’t seem to understand my concern that the contest might be ruined.

Instead of answering my questions regarding exactly what Chief Kincaid had said to her, Kizzy had
gotten to her feet, summoned Lee, and left Gossip Central. I wasn’t used to being summarily dismissed like that, and it irked me to no end that I couldn’t lash out at her. Next time, there was a good possibility that I wouldn’t be able to control myself.

Unfortunately, the chief wasn’t at the PD when I arrived, so I couldn’t try to pry any info out of him or tell him about the discussion I had overheard between Dirk and Q. Instead, after I signed my statement regarding last night’s hit-and-run, I was forced to write him a note outlining the siblings’ conversation. I had briefly considered holding on to that tidbit in order to have some intel to trade for information the police had discovered, but my conscience wouldn’t allow me to do that. What if Q was the one trying to kill Kizzy and her next attempt was successful?

Frustrated, I left the station and drove to work. As I entered the dime store, I mentally ran through the day’s agenda. The store would close up at three, rather than four, which was its usual Saturday closing time. It would reopen in the evening to take advantage of the crowds that I anticipated would gather in the town square for the cookout starting at six and the fireworks show scheduled for nine thirty.

In our frantic planning for the Cupcake Weekend, we had nearly forgotten that Saturday was the Fourth of July. The mayor had hastily arranged for a pyrotechnic spectacular to be staged so that no one would accuse our community of being unpatriotic. In his estimation, the fact that the late-night event gave him a chance to make yet another speech was a bonus. Still, he hadn’t insisted on singing the “Star-Spangled Banner” in his horrendously off-key tenor, so we were counting that narrow escape as one in the win column.

As I walked through my shop, putting on the lights
and readying the cash register for customers, I thought about how to persuade Chief Kincaid to share exactly why he thought Kizzy might be in danger. Did I have anything else to trade? I vaguely recalled something flitting through my mind right before I dropped off to sleep. What had it been?

Just as the idea was about to break to the surface of my consciousness, Dad and Hannah arrived. While I was giving them instructions for the day, the sleigh bells above the door jingled. I checked my watch. It was exactly nine o’clock and the first customers poured into the store. With people clamoring for my attention, all thoughts concerning Fallon, Kizzy, and the near accident fled my mind and I concentrated on helping folks spend their money.

The continued flow of shoppers was amazing, and even Gwen Bourne, who rarely patronized my store, came by to purchase one of life’s little necessities. It was the only place in sixty miles that sold Espresso Addict dark chocolate bars, and Gwen had an eighty-gram-a-day habit.

I was distracted by the sight of Gwen flirting with my father at the candy case, and it took several seconds for me to notice that Kizzy had entered the shop. She wore her usual genial smile as she greeted her fans, but when she got to where I was standing behind the register, her lips pressed together in a displeased moue, which deepened the wrinkles that bracketed her mouth and the crease between her brows.

“Give me the key to your back entrance and the one to the second floor,” Kizzy demanded, holding out her palm and tapping her foot.

“Why do you need the storeroom exit key?” I asked as I handed over the one to the second story. “I don’t like to give that out.”

“I have several cartons of material that I need to take upstairs and I assume you don’t want me traipsing through your sales floor,” she snapped.

“Are you by yourself?” I asked, surprised the cupcake tycoon was doing actual physical labor. “Where’s Lee?”

“She’s at the cooking school.” Kizzy’s lips pressed even tighter together. “My assistant would normally take care of putting the last touches out for the judging.” The cupcake queen heaved a loud put-upon sigh. “But in Fallon’s absence, I’m forced to see to the details myself since apparently no around here wants to earn any extra cash.”

“How inconvenient for you,” I commented, wanting to add that things were a hell of a lot worse for Fallon, but biting back the words just before they left my mouth. “Most available townspeople are already occupied with Cupcake Weekend activities, but I could ask my clerk if any of her friends would like a job.”

“How about you lend me your clerk and you take one of her pals?” Kizzy suggested with a manipulative gleam in her eye. “I assume, since you seem to be a fairly sharp businesswoman, your employee’s competent, or you wouldn’t have hired her.”

“I’m afraid that wouldn’t work for me,” I said firmly. “Let me go open that back door for you.” I apologized to the customers waiting in line and promised that I would be right back, then flipped open the counter and gestured for Kizzy to follow me into the storage room. “This way.”

“It would be easier if you just gave me the key,” Kizzy complained.

“I don’t mind.” I unlocked the rear exit and said, “Please make sure you turn the dead bolt when you’re finished unloading.”

“Aren’t you going to help me?” Kizzy asked, folding her arms.

“Sorry.” I shook my head. “I’m certain you can manage just fine on your own. Last night, you mentioned missing your personal trainer, so think of this as a good workout.”

“Your ridiculous little opinion has been noted.” Kizzy’s eyes swept my curves. “And I’m not the one who needs to get more exercise.”

I drew in a sharp breath. Kizzy was getting damn close to my particular international enough mob, but instead of laying into her, I said, “You saw the line of shoppers waiting for me to ring up their sales. I need to get back out front.”

“You wouldn’t have that crowd if it weren’t for my contest.” Kizzy’s pout was truly impressive. “Without help, I’m going to have to make three or four trips from the parking lot up to the display room.”

“Sorry,” I repeated, edging away from the petulant cupcake queen.

“Fine.” Kizzy narrowed her eyes. “But I’m going to remember how uncooperative you’ve been and you might not be included in my next hometown promotion.” She lifted her chin. “And I just might do this every year. That is, if I can get a little cooperation.”

“Sorry,” I repeated for the third time before hurrying back to the cash register. For about a second and a half, I questioned my decision, but then I mentally shook my head. I seriously doubted that Kizzy would have an annual cupcake contest in Shadow Bend, and even if she did, and she excluded me from the committee, the out-of-towners who attended would still patronize my shop.

Half an hour or so went by and the store was still crammed full of customers when I heard the faint
ringing of the second-floor smoke detectors. For a moment, I froze and a voice inside my head wailed that my schedule was too full for a crisis today. Then my common sense kicked in and I yelled for everyone to get out of the building.

Leaving Hannah and my father to oversee the evacuation and call 911, I grabbed the fire extinguisher from behind the counter and raced over to the door leading to the stairwell. It was cool to the touch, so I yanked it open. When there were no clouds of billowing smoke to greet me, I took the steps two at a time, hoping against hope that the alarm was nothing more than a low backup battery.

Besides someone getting hurt or the store burning to the ground, my worst fear was of the fire sprinklers being triggered. Per the regulations for commercial establishments, the sprinklers had been installed every hundred and fifty square feet throughout the building, and they automatically came on if the temperature exceeded a certain point. Activation would cause an untold amount of water damage.

As I reached the top of the stairs, I called out, “Kizzy, are you up here?” There was no answer and I tried again. “Kizzy, are you here?” Again, there was silence.

Sniffing, I raced down the short hallway. The odor of smoke was coming from the office suite that had been left intact to use as a lounge for the judges. Skidding to a stop, I put my palm on the closed door’s surface. The wood didn’t feel hot, so I eased the door open. Kizzy lay on the floor, surrounded by a ring of burning papers.

Pulling the pin on the extinguisher, I aimed the nozzle at the circle of flames, squeezed the handle, and swept the fire from side to side. Ten seconds later, the fire appeared to be out, which was a good thing since I
had used up all the foam and didn’t have a second extinguisher with me.

Now that the smoke was clearing, I could see Kizzy lying facedown. It looked as if she had been hit over the head with the trophy lying next to her on the floor. The foot-tall Lucite pedestal topped with a crystal cupcake was spattered with gore, and the glass column was cracked near the metal base.

Kneeling by Kizzy’s unconscious form, I grimaced. There was a lot of blood. Kizzy’s French twist had come undone and her hair was matted with the sticky red stuff.

Oh. My. God! Was she dead? I resisted the urge to turn her over, having read that it was extremely dangerous to move an injured person. Instead, I checked for a pulse, then breathed a huge sigh of relief when I felt a strong beat against my fingertips.

I searched my pockets for my cell, until I remembered setting it down on the shelf under the register. As I debated whether I should leave Kizzy alone in order to go downstairs and telephone for an ambulance or wait for help to arrive in response to the alarm, I heard the fire truck’s siren. A few seconds later, booted feet pounded up the stairs, and an instant after that, a firefighter in full turnout gear stomped into the office.

I pointed out the charred trash surrounding Kizzy, and after he made sure that the flames were totally extinguished, the firefighter called for an EMT. He then took my elbow and firmly escorted me out of the building. I joined my father and Hannah on the concrete bench in front of my dime store, and we all watched as various uniformed individuals hustled in and out of the glass door.

While we waited, I filled in my staff regarding the situation inside; then I borrowed Hannah’s cell and called
Poppy. Thank goodness that I had her number memorized. After I explained the situation, Poppy promised to contact Ronni and Lee and have one of them telephone me on my clerk’s phone. As I waited, I vowed never to be parted from my own cell again. If necessary, I would have it surgically Velcroed to my side.

The ambulance and Chief Kincaid had both arrived soon after I had been banished from my store. Both disappeared inside, the chief shooting me a frustrated glare. I wasn’t sure why I was the object of his exasperation, but I was willing to bet that he would soon inform me of the reason. Meanwhile, I fielded questions from the folks who had gathered to watch the spectacle. While I was trying to downplay the incident to the crowd, both Ronni and Lee called and I lowered my voice, hunched my shoulders, and told each of them about Kizzy and the fire.

Speaking of Kizzy, I was surprised that the paramedics hadn’t brought out the cupcake CEO yet, but then, time flies when you’re in a panic. Still I had begun to fear that she had died when I heard her screech, “Put me down this instant. Do you have any idea who I am? I do not have time to go the hospital. I have a contest to run.”

Luckily, Lee arrived just in time to hear Kizzy browbeating the poor EMTs. I noticed she was driving Fallon’s car and wondered how she felt about having to borrow a dead woman’s vehicle. Lee marched up to her business partner and said, “You most certainly are going to the hospital. Devereaux told me that you were struck on the head and unconscious when she found you. Not to mention possible smoke inhalation and loss of blood. You need to be checked out by a doctor.”

She glanced at me and I waved but didn’t join her. I was sitting only a few feet away and could hear the conversation perfectly. No need to get involved and
give Kizzy more reasons to be upset with me. I only wished Lee hadn’t named me as the snitch.

After some back-and-forth between the partners, Kizzy agreed to have a doctor take a look at her. No one was happy with the compromise. Kizzy sulked and the paramedics tried once again to persuade the injured woman to allow them to take her to the hospital.

While the EMTs completed a report reflecting that the patient refused treatment and/or transport, Lee called me over and said, “When Fallon was so ill, Ronni mentioned that there was a medical facility in town, but it wasn’t open that night. Is it open today?”

“Yes.” I pointed. “The Underwood Clinic is two blocks over. Just hang a right when you get past the town square and you can’t miss it. It’ll be the big brick building on your left.”

Kizzy signed the document that the paramedics had prepared, then with the help of her partner eased into the car. Just before they drove away, Kizzy rolled down the window and beckoned to me.

When I approached, she said, “If we can’t have the cupcake exhibition at your store, it is your responsibility to find somewhere else that’s suitable and fund the change.” I opened my mouth to protest, but she warned, “Otherwise, I expect a full refund of all the money already paid to you.” I opened my mouth again and she advised, “Check your contract if you doubt my sincerity.”