Murder Takes the Cake Text (3 page)

“No, I don’t suppose you did. Did you tell her about Yodel?”

“Yeah. Was that all right?”

“I guess so. It’ll be in the paper tomorrow anyway.”

“Plus, it’s a really small town, Vi. There were probably a dozen messages on Myra’s answering machine when she got back home. I mean, you heard it at the school, right?”

“I didn’t mean anything by it,” Violet said. “I’m merely cautioning you to be careful of what you say to Myra.”

“With Myra, I find myself mostly listening.”

“I know
that’s
true.” Violet laughed. “I’m only asking you to be careful. As a witness in a homicide investigation, you have to watch what you say to the general public.”

“A homicide investigation? The coroner didn’t send the woman’s body to Roanoke for autopsy until this afternoon. The results couldn’t possibly be in.”

“No, of course not, but Joanne told me Bill said there were indications of foul play.”

“Is that ethical?”

“He only told his
wife
, Daphne.”

“And she told you and who knows who else. What is it with small town dramas?”

“Excuse me, Ms. Big City. I forgot how boring we must be to you now.”

“That’s not what I meant. I just think Officer Hayden should learn a bit about confidentiality, that’s all.”

“Please don’t get him in trouble.”

“I won’t. I—”

“Let’s talk about Thursday. What time will you be here?”

“I was thinking eleven, but I can come earlier if you’d like.”

“No. Eleven’s good. Mom’s spending the night, so I’ll have plenty of help in the kitchen.”

“Then eleven it is.”

After talking with Violet, I went out the kitchen door to sit on the side porch. The autumn air was cool outside, but I had on a jacket. Plus, I was feeling a little sorry for myself and felt better in the big wide open than I did in an empty house.

Violet did have a lot to be proud of. She’d been married for the past fifteen years to a dreamboat of a guy. She had gorgeous eleven-year-old boy/girl twins. She was a successful realtor. She had a lovely home. She had curly blonde hair, blue eyes and a bubbly personality; as opposed to my straight, dark-brown hair, brown eyes, and more serious demeanor. And she had a great relationship with Mom.

I’d been married for ten years to an abusive manipulator who was currently serving a seven-year term in prison for assault with a deadly weapon after shooting at me. Fortunately, he’d missed; and, in my opinion, he was sentenced to far too little time simply because his aim was off. He’d called it a “mistake.” Whether he meant shooting at me or missing, I have no idea. Mom called the whole ordeal a mistake, too. Neither of them could understand why I filed for divorce.

“He said he was sorry,” Mom had scolded me over the phone. “You made the man angry, Daphne. You know how you can be. A person can only take so much.”

I’d hung up on her. A person
could
only take so much. That was nearly five years ago.

I heard a plaintive meow and looked up to see the fluffy, gray-and-white, one-eyed stray sitting a short distance away.

“Me, too, baby,” I told the cat softly as I set out some food for it. “Me, too.”

CHAPTER TWO

I awoke the next morning with my head throbbing. Still, headache or not, it was the Tuesday before Thanksgiving, and I had a lot to do. I wanted to make a cake that Mom would “ooh” and “ah” over; but since that was an impossibility, I had to settle for pleasing myself and Violet’s family. Mom thought I was “silly” for leaving a “perfectly good job in order to stay home and make cakes.”

I pressed my fingertips to my temples and tried not to think about Mom. Instead, I focused on my plans for the day. First stop, ibuprofen and coffee.

I’d planned for the day to be fairly peaceful: shopping, baking, decorating. Little did I know the specter of Yodel Watson would follow me the entire day.

My first errand was going to Dobbs’ Pet Store. Being the only pet store in town, Dobbs had everything from hamsters to poisonous snakes and supplies to care for whatever critter struck your fancy.

Speaking of being stricken, when I walked through the door of the pet shop, I came face to face with a rattlesnake. Fortunately, Kellen Dobbs was holding the snake, but I wasn’t sure I entirely trusted his grip.

“Be right with you,” Mr. Dobbs said. He squeezed the snake’s head, and a stream of golden venom flowed into a small glass jar on the counter. “We’re not supposed to be open yet. I must’ve forgotten to lock the door back.”

I stood dumbly, transfixed by the gray-haired, bearded man milking the snake. I’d never seen anything like it.

A woman came from the back of the store. She appeared to be quite a bit younger than Mr. Dobbs. She had bright red hair and wore too much makeup. I prayed she wouldn’t spook the snake . . . or Mr. Dobbs.

“He does that a lot,” the woman said. “Forgets to lock the door, I mean.”

“I didn’t realize the store wasn’t open,” I said. “I can come back—”

“Nonsense,” Mr. Dobbs said, placing the snake into an aquarium. “Since you’re here, you might as well get what you came after.”

“I’m looking for some sort of vitamin-enriched cat food,” I said. “I moved into town about a month ago and recently learned I inherited a stray cat. I’ve been giving her—”

“Hey,” the red-haired woman interrupted, “ain’t you the one who found Yodel Watson yesterday?”

“Yes. How’d you know?”

“Joanne Hayden told me. Her husband’s on the police force.”

I rolled my eyes.

“They think Mrs. Watson might’ve been
murdered
.”

“Candy,” Mr. Dobbs said, “go grab one of those purple bags of cat food in aisle four.” He looked at me. “How much do you think you’ll need?”

“A five-pound bag should be enough for now.”

“Five-pound bag, Candy!” he called. “What’d they do with the parrot?”

“Excuse me?”

“Mrs. Watson’s parrot,” he said. “What’d they do with it?”

“Oh. They sent it to animal control. They’d hoped to turn it over to a family member, but her daughter lives out of town. I guess she can pick Banjo up from animal control when she gets here.”

“Did you know Mrs. Watson well?”

“Hardly at all. I’m a cake decorator, and—”

“Ooh, how neat!” Candy exclaimed, returning with the cat food. “Do you have a business card? You never know when you’re gonna need a pretty birthday cake or . . . I don’t know . . . a wedding cake.” She giggled.

Mr. Dobbs rang up my purchase. “This should have that cat fattened up in no time.”

“Thank you.” I paid for the cat food and handed Candy a business card.

“Thanks,” Candy said with a glance at Mr. Dobbs. “I plan on callin’ you real soon.”

As I left, I heard one of them lock the door behind me.

*

The next stop on my agenda was the grocery store. I needed shortening and confectioner’s sugar, as always, along with a few odds and ends. When I got up to the register, Juanita, the usual morning cashier, was at her post. Sure, I’d only been back in town for a month, but when you bake as much as I do, you get to know the people who work at your grocery store.

“Good morning, Juanita. Do you have big plans for Thanksgiving?”

“Oh, yes. My family will have a turkey, but we will also enjoy some of our traditional Mexican favorites like chimichangas.”

I smiled. “Sounds good.”

“It is.” She beamed. “And what of you? What are your big plans?”

My smile faltered. “Dinner with the family.”

Fred, the produce manager, came to the register and began bagging my groceries. He nodded at me in greeting.

“I’m surprised the produce department can spare you this close to Thanksgiving,” I said.

“They can spare me, all right.” He dropped my shortening sticks into a plastic bag. “I’m a bagger now.”

I looked at Juanita, and she confirmed his announcement with downcast eyes and a slight tilt of her head.

“I’m sorry,” I told Fred.

He shrugged. “Not your fault. You’re not the one who complained about the stupid potatoes.” He shook a strand of his long dark hair out of his eyes. “That was Yodel Watson. It was her third complaint about the produce department in a week, and the manager demoted me to keep her happy.”

“Surely, it’s only temporary,” I said.

“That’s right,” Juanita agreed. “Maybe things will go back to normal now.”

“Now that the old bag is dead?” Fred grinned. “Couldn’t have happened to a better person.”

“Um . . . is the manager in? I’ve heard the store sometimes buys baked goods on commission, and I’d like to talk with him about that.”

“Of course,” Juanita said. She called the store manager over the loudspeaker as Fred stalked away from the register.

Within a couple minutes, a short, balding man came hurrying from the back of the store. He looked wary as he shot his hand out toward me. “Steve Franklin,” he said. “What can I do for you?”

“I’m Daphne Martin of Daphne’s Delectable Cakes.” I shook his hand and then gave him a business card. “I’m of the understanding the store sometimes buys baked goods on commission?”

“That’s right. We take whatever you bring in; and if it sells, we get a twenty-five percent commission.”

“That sounds fair. May I put my logo and phone number on the boxes?”

“Of course.” He tilted his head. “Tomorrow is one of our busiest days. How many cakes can you bring me before the store opens tomorrow morning?”

“Any special requests?”

He shook his head.

I mentally took stock of my freezer. “Then I can bring ten.”

“Fantastic. I’ll set up a display table right here at the front of the store.”

“Thank you, Mr. Franklin. I’ll see you in the morning.”

*

I was happy to get back home and get to work. Raging rattlers and bitter baggers did not make for a pleasant morning. Nor had they helped my headache one bit. The ten-cake order, on the other hand, had done wonders for my mood.

I’d finished putting my groceries away and removed the ten cakes from the freezer when Myra knocked on the door.

In the spirit of Banjo, I called, “Come on in!”

Myra came in and deposited her penny loafers by the door. I told her she looked pretty in her peach-colored pantsuit.

“Thanks, honey,” she said, sitting down at the table. “What’s with all those cakes?”

“I stopped by Save-A-Buck, and the manager ordered ten cakes for tomorrow morning.” I grinned. “Thank you for the heads-up.”

“You’re welcome. Glad I could help.” She cocked her head. “I didn’t know you could freeze cakes.”

“Oh, sure. Baked cakes will be fine for up to six months, but be sure to let them thaw to room temperature before you ice them or else they’ll crack. Of course, people traditionally freeze the top tier of their wedding cake to eat on their first anniversary, but that takes some special procedures.” I smiled. “What have you been up to this morning?”

“I’ve been to prayer meeting. And guess who joined us this morning?”

“Queen Elizabeth?”

“China. China York.”

As if there could be another
China. “Did she say, ‘Now that Yodel’s dead, I’m back?’”

“Not in so many words, honey, but that was obvious.” Myra gave a nod of satisfaction. “Of course, she didn’t mention Yodel directly, but we all talked with China like nothin’ had ever happened. Not that none of us had seen China since the blowup, mind you. We just hadn’t seen her at church.”

“Did it all seem to come back to her? Like riding a bike?”

“Why, yeah, she—” Myra scoffed. “Now you’re pokin’ fun at me.”

“I’m not,” I said with a smile. “I’m only kidding. It’s just so insane that this woman would get mad at Yodel Watson and not come back to church until the day after Yodel died.”

“It’s strange, all right.”

“Actually, I had a strange thing happen this morning myself.” As I got out my mixer and made up a batch of icing, I went on to tell Myra about Fred and about the rattlesnake being milked at Dobbs’ Pet Store.

“Maybe I’ll get some business from the pet store visit, though,” I said. “A girl who works there took a business card and said she hoped to be calling me soon.”

Myra nodded. “That Candy?”

“Uh-huh.”

“I’ll tell you one thing, Janey Dobbs sure ain’t liking that strawberry tart workin’ for Kel.”

“’Strawberry tart’? That’s a good one.”

“Janey’s words, not mine,” Myra said. “I’ve seen her, though—Candy, I mean—and I don’t blame Janey for not wantin’ her working shoulder to shoulder with Kel all day.”

“Then why doesn’t she take Candy from her baby?” I chuckled at my own joke, but Myra didn’t seem to think it was amusing.

“I don’t know,” she said. “She could, you know. Janey owns the shop.” She chewed on her bottom lip. “In fact, she holds the purse strings period. Her family used to own a snack cake factory down next to Greeneville.”

“A snack cake heiress, huh? I could deal with that.”

“Me, too.” Myrna stood and smoothed out her slacks. “I’d better get home, honey.” She walked over to the door and slipped on her loafers. “
Y and R
will be on in a few minutes, and it might be about that sweetie Paul today. I met him one time when he came to Kingsport for a store opening. He’s the nicest thing.” With that she was gone.

I smiled. Myra and her soaps.
The Young and The Restless
had stood the test of time, though. My sister had watched it nearly all her life. She’d even named my nephew and niece Lucas and Leslie after some long-forgotten characters. Vi hadn’t forgotten them, though. She must’ve watched the couple during her formative years or something. I suppose it could’ve been worse. She could’ve named the twins Jack and Jill.

I guess she got her naming talents from Mom. I was named after Daphne du Maurier, and Violet was named after Mom’s other favorite author, Violet Winspear. You might say Mom has eclectic tastes in literature.

When I was a little girl, I’d tell the other kids I was named after the Daphne in the
Scooby Doo
cartoons. I thought she was cool. Plus, Violet and I would play
Scooby Doo
with two boys in our neighborhood—Joe Fenally was Freddie and Ben Jacobs was Shaggy. Naturally, I’d be Daphne, and Violet would be Velma. Vi hated being Velma.