Dying for a Cupcake (16 page)

Noah’s face appeared on the screen of my phone. “Everything’s fine.”

“Are you in Haiti?” I asked. The wall behind him was an anonymous gray.

“Uh-huh.” Noah nodded. “I had a little time until the evening rounds, and since I miss you like mad, I decided to call you rather than go to eat with the others.”

“You shouldn’t have done that.” A ball of guilt settled in my stomach. What if he’d called while I was chowing down with Coop? He had forgone food to talk to me, and I’d given in to the lure of a spicy pizza and a spicier firefighter. “You need to keep up your strength.”

“I’ll grab something quick later, but I wanted to see your face.” Noah touched the screen. “I thought I’d try out the video chat feature on my new iPhone. It’s not as good as being with you in person, but at least I can look into your beautiful eyes while we talk.”

“That’s so sweet.” I tucked a stray curl behind my ear, conscious that I hadn’t bothered with makeup that morning or combed my hair all afternoon. Even in the rough conditions of a field hospital, Noah looked perfect, while my appearance had undoubtedly not improved with the events of the long day I’d had. “Tell me all about what you’ve done so far.” I attempted to get his attention off my lack of grooming.

After giving me a rundown on what his team had accomplished so far, he asked, “How’s the Cupcake Weekend going?”

I filled him in, and then, feeling as though I had no choice since someone—and by someone I meant my dear friend Boone—was bound to mention Coop to him when Noah returned from Haiti, I added, “The new fire chief is involved in the investigation because
of the arson. He dropped by the store a little bit ago to bring me up to speed.”

“Really?” Noah leaned forward. “Then he was only there for a few minutes, right?”

“Uh.” I bit my lip.
Hell!
Boone would spill all the details, so I had to fess up. “Well, not exactly. The pizza place messed up his order and gave him a large instead of a medium, so he shared it with me.” I quickly added, “You know, waste not, want not.”

“Pizza’s not very good without beer,” Noah commented in a deceptively mild tone.

“Coop had a six-pack with him,” I confessed. “He was on his way home to eat his dinner when he saw that the dime store’s lights were still on, so he decided to drop in. None of this was planned.”

“Of course not. Why would I think that this sounded like a date?” Noah’s pearl gray eyes darkened. “Just because my nurses were all talking about how handsome McCall was before I left doesn’t mean you’d go out with him, right?”

“Right.” I choked out the word.

“The women at the clinic were excited that he wasn’t some paunchy old man like the previous chief,” Noah continued as if I hadn’t spoken. “Have you met his wife?”

“Is he married?” I squeaked, before it dawned on me that if Coop had a wife, he wouldn’t be inviting me over to cook dinner for him.

“Maybe not.” Noah sighed, as if I had confirmed something in his mind, then made a big deal of checking his watch. “I’ve got to get over to the clinic to give out the evening meds.” He blew me a kiss and said, “Miss me.”

“Always,” I promised. Before I could add anything, the screen went dark. I couldn’t help comparing Noah
with Jake, who rarely found time to call me while he was on assignment. As I turned out the light and went to get my purse from the back room, I mentally tallied the score between the two men in my life—Noah 1, Jake 0.

A tiny voice in my head asked me what Coop’s score was, but I firmly told that voice to shut up. I also hushed my conscience when it asked why I hadn’t told Noah that I was seeing the fire chief Monday night. After all, I was just repaying a debt, and I didn’t want to distract Noah from his important work.

Absolving myself from the sin of omission, I grabbed my shoulder bag from the desk drawer and went to find the first suspect on my list.

“S
on of a bitch!” Noah roared as he slammed his fist into the metal filing cabinet next to his chair. He winced, both from the throbbing in his knuckles and the knowledge that he’d handled Dev all wrong. Ending the call so abruptly had been exactly the opposite of what he should have done after hearing about her little tête-à-tête with McCall, but he couldn’t stand the intrigued look on her face when she said the guy’s name.

Hanging up was his only option, because the lump lodged in his throat made it almost impossible to speak. Where was his famous cool demeanor? It seemed to disappear whenever he was anywhere near Dev. When she worried her lip between her teeth, all he’d wanted was to kiss away the marks she made in the moist pink skin.

Noah had been so happy when he discovered that he had cell reception. Then when everyone had headed out to dinner and he’d finally had some privacy, it seemed like the perfect time to video-chat with Dev. What would he have seen if he’d been able to call half an hour earlier? Or would she have been too occupied
with the new fire chief even to bother to answer the phone?

Once again, Noah pictured McCall’s face on the cabinet and drew back his fist for another whack at the guy, but he stopped himself in midswing. No matter how much he hated the man who had snagged Dev’s interest, damaging his hand because of his bruised ego was not an option. It would be too selfish to give in to some childish impulse and not be able fully to perform his duties to his patients.

He paused, thinking that an injury might get him sent home early, which would give him a chance to stop whatever was starting between Dev and Fire Boy. No. Noah shook his head. He’d made a promise and he wasn’t the kind of man who went back on his oath, even if keeping his word put his own happiness in jeopardy. But hell, wasn’t competing with Deputy Dawg enough? What kind of sadistic universe threw Mr. July from the firefighters’ calendar into the mix?

Maybe he was blowing the whole situation out of proportion. Noah ran his fingers through his hair. The fire chief would certainly be eager to solve his first case of arson in his new job. And the whole pizza dinner thing could have been the result of a messed-up order and chance. Dev did say that McCall had just dropped by the dime store.

Nope. No matter how much he tried to convince himself differently, Noah knew that Dev was attracted to the guy. When she talked about McCall, her cheeks had gotten as red as a schoolgirl’s. And the Dev he knew and loved for so long never blushed.

Noah slumped back in his chair. So what was he going to do about this new development? Maybe he should give Del Vecchio a call. Certainly, Officer Friendly had as
much to lose as he did if Dev fell for McCall, and he was only a few hours away from Shadow Bend.

Lacing his fingers behind his neck, Noah gazed at the ceiling, considering the pros and cons of involving his rival. On the pro side, Del Vecchio could and probably would mop the floor with the fire chief. On the con side, the marshal might look a little too much like a knight in shining armor riding in to battle the dragon for his lady fair.

Damn! That might be a worse move than hoping Dev’s interest in McCall would fizzle and die once she got to know the man. So whom could he call on for help? Boone would be happy to see Dev interested in another guy. For entirely different reasons, neither Noah’s mother nor Birdie Sinclair wanted to see Dev and Noah together. And Kern Sinclair’s feelings about his daughter’s relationship with Noah were still a mystery, which left Dev’s father out. Who did that leave?

Poppy! Noah straightened. She was perfect. She thought Noah and Dev made a good match. And she had the added advantage of being a knockout. She could lure McCall’s interest away from Dev. But was it kosher to ask Poppy to steal a guy from her best friend?

Noah stared at his phone. No. It was wrong on too many levels. Despite his gut saying that all was fair in love and war, he couldn’t do it. He couldn’t ask Poppy to betray her friend and he couldn’t manipulate Dev in that way. It might rip his heart out if he lost her, but he wanted her to be with him because she loved him, not because he’d eliminated any other temptations from her life. That was why he’d agreed to go along with Dev dating him and Del Vecchio at the same time.

Dev was a feisty, passionate woman who fought for what she believed in. Noah didn’t want to change her
or take away any of her choices. He wasn’t going to try to outmaneuver her, but he also wasn’t going to let anyone, especially some Don Juan fireman, get between them, either. As soon as he got home, he’d redouble his efforts to win her love. He’d had it once and he was going to get it back again.

Sighing, Noah glanced at the clock. Patients were waiting for him and all he could think about was the color of Dev’s panties. Were they lacy black ones that matched the bra he’d glimpsed the last time they were together? Or were they pink and sweet like the ones she’d worn in high school?

He pushed back his chair and got to his feet. Time to put Dev and her underwear out of his mind and do his job. But damn, he loved that woman. And soon she was going to realize that she loved him back.

A
fter making sure both the front and back doors of the dime store were locked, I tucked the key into my purse, settled the strap on my shoulder, and walked outside. As I crossed the street to the town square, a huge sphere of silver and gold burst overhead, illuminating the ebony sky. Craning my neck, I watched as a trail of sparks arched from the dome of stars. The result reminded me of a glittering weeping willow tree.

Evidently, the fireworks were beginning. I had thought they were scheduled for earlier, but apparently the planned starting time was when the party began, not the actual pyrotechnic display. No doubt, people had staked out their slice of lawn by six o’clock and since then had been enjoying the patriotic music provided by the Shadow Bend Band, as well as the food and drinks for sale from the Presbyterians. I should have realized that shooting off fireworks before it was totally dark would have been too stupid even for our mayor, whose intellectual blunders were legendary.

It was a challenge to navigate the narrow paths between the blankets and folding chairs covering nearly every inch of the grass. And as I tiptoed through the
maze, I saw that the gazebo had been reserved for Kizzy, Lee, His Honor, and other key players in the Cupcake Weekend.

When Coop informed me that the accelerant used to set the fire on my second floor was hair spray, I had eliminated Vance Buddy from the first tier of my suspect list. Kizzy’s lawsuit forcing his blog to be removed might have infuriated him, but his extremely close-cropped hairstyle certainly didn’t need Final Net to keep it in place.

I had hoped to talk to the other two judges during the event, but they were behind an impenetrable fortress of town dignitaries, so I moved on to plan B. The contestants hadn’t scored seats on the gazebo, which meant they’d be easier to corner.

Unfortunately, the lack of illumination was a problem. The pole lights that lined the footpaths were dimmed so that the fireworks would be more visible, and although many groups had candles or lanterns, just as many didn’t. Fishing inside my shoulder bag, I located my keys and switched on the flashlight attached to the ring.

As I crept through the labyrinth of blankets and lawn chairs, I casually swept the occupants with my tiny Maglite. To say that not everyone was pleased to have a bright beam of light aimed at his or her face would be like stating that snowbirds disliked winter—pretty darn obvious. Gritting my teeth, I persevered, apologizing again and again, but determined to find my quarry.

Just as I was about to give up my search until after the fireworks ended, I stumbled—literally—into GB O’Rourke. Tonight, GB wore green-and-orange-plaid shorts and a neon yellow shirt. His chubby cheeks were the color of the two bright red candy apples he was carrying in his left hand. In his other hand, he balanced
a tray containing four hot dogs and a plate of nachos and cheese. Clearly, there was no chance he or his wife would leave the picnic hungry.

After we both regained our balance, I said, “I’m so sorry. How clumsy of me. If you dropped anything, I’d be glad to buy you a replacement.”

“Not at all. None of the goodies are MIA.” GB smiled. “Besides, I should have been looking where I was going.”

“That’s so nice of you to say. Let me help you with that.” I eased the cardboard tray from his grasp. “Where are you sitting?”

“Millie and I have a blanket right over there.” GB pointed over my shoulder.

“Great,” I enthused. “Lead the way. I’ll be right behind you.”

GB’s spot was only a couple of feet from where we bumped into each other, and his wife waved as we approached. While we put the food down, he explained to her about our little collision, then said to me, “Would you like to join us?”

“That would be nice, but just for a few minutes.” I sat cross-legged, facing the couple. “Don’t let me stop you from eating.”

“Help yourself. There’s plenty here to share.” Millie tsked. “GB’s eyes are bigger than his stomach.” She glanced at her husband’s potbelly, then winked. “Hard as that might be to believe.”

“Thanks, but I already ate.” I wiggled, trying to find a comfortable spot. “Are you two enjoying yourselves in our little town?”

“Very much.” Mille smiled. “I hope your store is going to be open tomorrow morning. I’ve been meaning to stop by, but it seems like our every moment is scheduled with competition events.”

“It’s open until late afternoon,” I assured her. “After that, I figure everyone will be at the award ceremony dinner.”

“I’ll stop by right after church.” Mille picked up a nacho chip.

“Terrific.” I pretended to think, then said, “Oh, yeah. I heard that back in Oswego, GB is a minister. Which faith is your congregation?”

“We’re nondenominational.” GB bit into a hot dog, then spoke around it. “When we travel, we choose the church that has the most welcoming building or the cleverest sign and worship there.”

“That’s very open-minded of you both.” It sounded a little weird to me, but who was I to judge? I’d been a lapsed Catholic for so long I couldn’t remember the last Mass that I’d attended. And if I ever went to confession again, all I could say was that the priest better not have anything else planned for that afternoon.

“Tomorrow we’re trying the Presbyterians. The parishioners doing the cookout tonight were so friendly we decided to go to their service.”

“Great.” I smiled, then asked, “How did the first round of baking go for you today?”

“Excellent.” GB licked mustard from his fingers. “I think I have a real shot to win.”

“That’s wonderful.” I was running out of admiring adjectives and needed to steer the conversation toward his supposedly plagiarized cupcake. “How does that work? Do you bring your own secret ingredients or did you have to provide a list to the contest organizers?”

GB and Millie exchanged glances; then she patted the huge purse sitting at her side. “They have all of the standard fixings, but I’ve got GB’s secret ingredient right here, and unless he wins, no one will ever find out what makes his cupcakes so scrumptious.”

“That seems fair.” I eyed her handbag. It was definitely big enough to hold a bottle of hair spray. Heck. It was large enough to hold the giant economy-size can. “But if the competition officials don’t see your recipe, how can they be sure it’s original? That you just didn’t copy something from the Internet?”

“Why would you ask that?” Millie narrowed her eyes until they looked like raisins studding the buttermilk biscuits of her round cheeks.

“No reason.” I pasted an innocent expression on my face. “Just curious.”

“The contract we all had to sign says if Kizzy Cutler’s Cupcakes discovers the winning recipe wasn’t created by the contestant, the prize is forfeited,” GB explained. “They have thirty days to investigate after the winner is announced.”

“Ah.” I nodded. “Now I understand.” Time to change the subject since I couldn’t figure out what else to ask about the cupcake. “Is it hard to produce your normal quality of cupcake in an unfamiliar kitchen?”

“It was a little tricky.” GB brought a cheese-covered nacho to his mouth. “But the run-through we were allowed on Friday really helped.”

“That’s good.” This was my opportunity to check Millie’s alibi. I didn’t need to know where she was for all three incidents. If she had an alibi for one, I was willing to put her on the bottom of my suspect list. “So, did you all come into town the night before so you’d be fresh and ready for Friday’s practice round?”

“Unfortunately, we couldn’t.” Millie tsked. “By the time we got the word that GB was a finalist, we already had the children’s choir recital scheduled for Thursday evening, and we couldn’t miss that.”

“That’s a shame. But at least you said it didn’t handicap him.”
Hmm
. If they were telling the truth, Millie
couldn’t have been the one who delivered the poisoned package to Fallon. How could I ask for proof?

I was distracted when an eruption of large multicolored stars rocketed across the sky, and then with a loud crackling sound the fireworks broke apart into hundreds of smaller stars. The three of us oohed and aahed over the crisscrossing effect.

As I watched a teenager aim her phone at the display, an idea popped into my head and I said, “I love children’s choirs. Did you record their program?”

Millie gave me a suspicious glance—I guess I didn’t look like the type of person who enjoyed kids singing—but she dug through her purse, took out her cell, and pushed a few buttons. Once she had the video, she handed the device to me and shaky footage of six- and seven-year-olds crooning “God Bless America”
filled the small screen.

“Wow.” I forced admiration into my voice. “Those little ones are amazing.”

“They are darling, aren’t they?” Millie gushed, leaning over my shoulder.

As the camera panned the stage, a hand-lettered sign appeared. Printed in red was:

Christian Assembly of God

Children’s Choir

Thursday, July 2, at 7:00 PM

It appeared that Millie and GB had an alibi for the night of the poisoning. Which meant I could remove them from prime suspect status. I watched the video for a few more seconds, then made my excuses and left GB and Millie crunching into their candy apples.

It was time to move my interrogation efforts to couple number two on my suspect list. I glanced at the sky.
It appeared that the fireworks show was ending, because the bursts were getting closer and closer together. I needed to locate Russell and Lauren Neumann before the finale. When the event broke up, everyone would disperse, and once the Neumanns headed back to their motel room, I wouldn’t be able to talk to them until tomorrow.

Lauren and Russell hadn’t struck me as people comfortable with sitting on the ground, so I concentrated on the lawn chair crowd. It was a little easier to scan them than the folks on the blankets, since there were fewer chairs and their occupants’ faces were less difficult to see. I edged toward the gazebo, thinking that Russell had seemed like someone who would want to sit as close as possible to the big shots in order to have the best possible chance to schmooze with the VIPs and the judges.

My hunch paid off, and I found the Neumanns seated in the first row behind the reserved area. Russell’s chair resembled a blue canvas throne. There was a table attached to the arm and even a footrest. Lauren sat by his side in a smaller version of the same elaborate chair, although hers was pale pink.

I caught Lauren’s eye and she smiled. I waved, and as I drew closer, she said, “Dev, I hope you didn’t have any ill effects from last night’s close call.” She smoothed an imaginary wrinkle in her sunny yellow dress. “Everyone said that you and Ms. Cutler hit the ground awfully hard.”

“Thank you for asking, but I’m fine. The only fatalities were my dignity and white pants.”

I had forgotten Lauren was one of the first people on the scene after Kizzy’s near-roadkill experience. She couldn’t have been behind the wheel of the vehicle that attempted to mow down Kizzy and gotten to us so fast.
But I hadn’t seen Russell there, so he could have driven the car and Lauren could be the arsonist. It suddenly occurred to me that the couples might well be working in tandem. Good thing both the O’Rourkes had an alibi.

“Are you meeting friends or would you like to join us?” Lauren leaped up from her chair, whipped out a stool, and unfolded it. “The Presbyterian ladies outdid themselves. We have some of their delicious roast beef sandwiches left over, if you’re hungry.”

“Thanks, but I’m stuffed.” I edged my ample backside gingerly onto the camp stool and breathed a sigh of relief when it supported my weight. “But I’d love to sit and chat until the fireworks are over.”

“Goody.” Lauren clapped her hands. “How are sales going at your store?”

“Very well, but my fingers are crossed that tomorrow will be the real showstopper.” I smiled at her enthusiasm—and her bright red tights—then asked, “How did the baking go for you today?”

“You’re sitting with the winner.” Russell spoke for the first time. “Her cupcakes were the first to disappear this afternoon when the people who had snagged the golden tickets were allowed to taste and the judges loved them.” He frowned, then asked, “By the way, why was the whole shebang switched from your store to the bar?”

I explained about the fire but omitted Kizzy’s attack. I knew the media had written about it, but I wasn’t sure what details had been released to the public and I didn’t want to get either the cupcake queen or the police chief ticked off at me. I ended with, “I’m surprised you didn’t hear about it. It was on the news.”

“We haven’t seen a paper or listened to television or radio since we got here,” Russell said. “Why bother? It’s all manipulated by the feds or the liberal fringe.”

I wasn’t surprised with Russell’s view of the media. Heck, I half believed the same thing. Except I thought along with the government both the liberals
and
the conservatives controlled various news outlets.

“When did the fire start?” Lauren asked, fingering the tiny ladybug buttons that marched down the front of her dress. “I was at the cooking school prepping and baking from nine a.m. until a little before two.”

“Of course.”
Hell!
I had forgotten the contestants would have been occupied, not to mention filmed during that critical period. “But, Russell, weren’t you downtown to see the fire engines?”

“Nah.” Russell adjusted the crease in his khaki shorts. “I stayed with Lauren at the cooking school the whole time she was there.” He glared. “I was on watch to make sure no one sabotaged Lauren’s cupcakes.”

“Do you really think something like that would happen here?” I asked, barely restraining myself from adding, paranoid much?

“You can’t be too careful.” Russell crossed his arms. “That’s why I had our attorney look over the agreement Lauren had to sign.”

“Oh?” I leaned forward, encouraging him to elaborate. This was exactly the stuff I wanted to hear.

“Yeah.” Russell bared his teeth in what I guessed was supposed to be a smile. “There was a rumor floating around that the ten-thousand-dollar prize money was going to be some kind of structure payment bullshit instead of one big check, so I scanned the agreement and e-mailed it to our lawyer to check out.”