Never Trust a Skinny Cupcake Baker (Death by Cupcake Book 1) (4 page)

BOOK: Never Trust a Skinny Cupcake Baker (Death by Cupcake Book 1)
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Chapter
7

An
apple a day will keep anyone away, if thrown hard enough.

“Oh my god!” Anna shouts and comes running into the bakery
from the kitchen. She has her phone in her hand and doesn’t look up. She nearly
crashes into me.

I put a hand on her to slow her down. “What’s going on?”

She shakes her phone in my face. “It’s Dolly. She’s dead!”

“What?” I gulp. I try to grab the phone from her, but she
pulls it away so she can continue reading.

The bell over the door rings and two policemen enter. They
immediately move to the counter. “Ms. Muller?” asks one of them.

“Just a sec,” I respond. “This is important.” I turn back to
Anna. “What happened?”

“It doesn’t say. Just that she died on Tuesday.” She looks
up at me, her eyes wide in her face. “That was when we had class.” She shivers.
“We saw her on the day she died.”

Ben comes rushing into the bakery. “Callie!”

I turn and smile at him. “Hi, Ben.” His face is hard, and he
looks frantic. “What’s wrong?” He moves behind the counter and shields me with
his body. “What in the world, Ben?”

He ignores me and turns to the police officers. “She didn’t
do it! You can’t arrest her.”

“Arrest me?” I peek at them from behind Ben’s back. “What’s
going on?”

“Callie Muller?” One of the officers says and reaches behind
his back for his handcuffs.
What the…?
He waits on my nod and then
continues. “You’re under suspicion for the murder of Claire Horne. You need to
come with us.”

“Who?” Anna and I ask in unison.

Ben turns to me. “It’s your pole dancing instructor, Dolly.
They think you murdered her.”

“What?” I reel back at Ben’s words. “Murder? Dolly was
murdered? And they think I did it?”

The officer who isn’t holding the handcuffs grabs Ben.
“Sorry Detective, but you know we have to bring her in.”

Ben reluctantly lets me go. He steps back. “I’ll get you
out, sweetheart. Please, don’t worry.”
Don’t worry?
I’m being hauled into
the police station for murder. If there is a time or a place for worry, now is
it.

♥♥♥

Somehow I end up in what I assume is an interrogation room
at the police station. I’ve been sitting here for what feels like hours. There’s
no way to tell how much time has passed. There’s no clock and I don’t wear a
watch when working at the bakery. I didn’t even get a chance to grab my purse
or phone before the police handcuffed me and hauled me in.

A man opens the door and grabs a chair across from me. I
assume he’s a detective from the way he’s dressed – a suit and tie with an
obvious bulge from his waistline which can only be a sidearm. “Dr. Muller, I’m
Detective Duchamps.” Another man walks in. He closes the door and moves to a corner
where he stands with his arms crossed over his chest. His badge and weapon are
clearly visible. I nearly roll my eyes at this obvious display of good cop/bad
cop. “And this is Detective Smits.”

I reluctantly tell him, “You can call me Callie.”

Duchamps nods. “Callie then.” He opens the file he brought
in with him and pretends to study it. He flips through the pages, but I know
when someone’s faking reading. I lean back against my chair and sigh. I’m
nervous as all get out, but I’m innocent of any wrongdoing. I’m sure they’ll
figure that out quickly enough.

The detective finally gives up his perusal of the file and
shuts it to stare at me. He just waits. And waits. And waits. I’m usually
pretty patient, but I am in an interrogation room and I’m not even sure what’s
going on. I give up. “Maybe you can tell me why I’m here?”

The detective leans forward and raises an eyebrow at me.
“Didn’t you hear the officers? You’re under suspicion for the murder of Claire
Horne.”

I sigh and keep a reign on my temper. “I didn’t murder
anyone. Jeez, I didn’t even know Dolly was dead until like thirty seconds
before the police barged into my bakery.”

“Dolly? Who’s Dolly?”

I scrunch my eyebrows in
confusion. “Isn’t that who we’re talking about?”

Detective Smits decides to join the conversation. “Dolly is
Claire Horne’s nickname.”

Duchamps nods and leans back. “Rumor has it you and Dolly
didn’t get along.”

I snort. “Dolly was a bully and thought because she was
beautiful she could say and do anything she wanted.”

“Is that why you keyed her car?”

“I didn’t key her car. Why would I key her car? I have
better things to do with my time than key the car of someone I don’t like.” My
lecture voice is starting to rear its ugly head.

The detective pulls up a picture of a car with a scratch
from the driver’s door all the way to the gas tank. The scratch is obviously
deliberate. “You didn’t do this?” I shake my head. “Several witnesses in the
gym say they heard Dolly accuse you of keying her car.”

Now it’s my turn to raise an eyebrow
at the detective. “Seriously? I’m not an expert, but I’m pretty sure the
definition of hearsay is information received from other people, which cannot
be substantiated. In other words, a rumor and completely inadmissible. Did any
of your so-called witnesses also mention that I couldn’t have done it as I was
in the gym talking to the manager when the incident happened?”

The detectives look at each other but don’t comment. I shake
my head at them. “There’s video surveillance as well. Look,” I start to stand,
“if this is all the evidence you have, then you best let me go now.”

“Why don’t you sit back down, Ms. Muller?” Detective
Duchamp’s use of my last name concerns me. I sit back down and stare at him,
hoping my elevated heart rate isn’t obvious. “Why did you rush off after class
on Tuesday without showering?”

“I never shower at the gym.” I shiver. “I’m not comfortable
with showering in front of other people.”

The detectives sneer at that. “You better get used to it. No
private showers in prison.”

I throw my hands in the air. “I know you’re trying to goad
me into making some sort of confession or slip up or something, but I didn’t
kill anyone. Why in the world would I kill Dolly? She’s not even a blip on my
radar. I’m a successful business owner, I have a PhD, I teach at the
University. Why would I risk all that for someone like her?” Unfortunately, my
voice has turned condescending. Probably not the best attitude when accused of
murder. 

That’s when Duchamps pulls a card out of the file. It’s in a
clear plastic bag, which I assume is an evidence bag, but it’s still obvious
what the card is – a
Callie’s Cakes
postcard. The yellow and white
striped postcards are free with a gift box. “I assume you know what this is.”

“Of course, I know what that is.” There’s no sense denying
the truth even though I’m a bit apprehensive as to why they have a card from my
bakery.

The detective pushes the card across the table, and I look
down. “
Sorry about your car, Callie.”

I push the card back and stare at the detective. “Seriously?
This is your evidence?” The detectives look smug. I’m going to enjoy bringing
them down a peg. “First of all, I can prove that I didn’t key her car.” I count
off on my fingers. “And secondly, that’s not my handwriting. Not even close.”

I see a moment of doubt in Duchamps face before he recovers,
and his face is once again a mask. He grabs the evidence bag and puts it back
in the file. “We’ll see about that.” He stands. “In the meantime, you’ll be
rotting away in jail.”

The door opens, and a man I don’t know enters. “Oh no, she
won’t.” He turns to me and holds out his hand. “Dr. Muller, if you will.”

I will!
I stand and follow the stranger out of the
room and through the maze of the police station before arriving at front desk.
A police officer, a desk sergeant I presume, shoves a piece of paper at me.
“Sign here, Callie.” Shocked that the man should know my name, I look up to see
a frequent visitor of
Callie’s Cakes.
I raise my eyebrows in an unspoken
question to the man who freed me, and he nods. I sign my name and hand the
paper back.

“We’re really sorry about this,
Callie. Most of us don’t believe you did it, but a murder is a big deal and
those detectives are trying to make names for themselves.” He shrugs and blushes
at me.

I smile. “I believe you.”

My rescuer grabs my elbow and gently pulls me out of the
station. Once outside, I take a breath of fresh air before turning to the man.
“Who are you anyway?”

He smiles at me with good nature.
“I’m your attorney.”

I shake my head. “I don’t need an attorney. I didn’t do
anything wrong.”

The man raises an eyebrow. “Because that stopped the police
from bringing you in.”

I shake my head and laugh because this situation is beyond
absurd. “Yeah, okay, you got me there.”

Chapter
8

A
recent study has found that women who carry a little extra weight live longer
than men who mention it.

“What now, big guy?” I ask the man who claims to be my
attorney.

He smirks at me and holds out his hand. “It may be time for a
proper introduction. I’m Fred Advocaat.” I giggle and his smirk turns into a
grin.

“You know that…” I mumble through my giggles.

“Yes,” he sighs. “I’m well aware that my name means attorney
in Dutch.”

“Okay, then.” I manage to get myself under control. “I’m
Callie Muller,” I say and finally reach out to shake his hand.

“Do you want a ride back to your bakery?” he asks and
indicates his car which is parked in the thirty-minute zone in front of the
station. With that kind of confidence in his ability to spring me from jail
maybe the man is aptly named after all. It’s a quick ride back to the bakery.
When you’re not in the back of a police car, it’s actually a pleasant journey.

“You’re back!” I hear screamed seconds before I’m tackled by
a pink-haired fairy. Anna pulls me into a fierce hug. After a few moments, she
releases me and starts shouting questions. “What’s going on? How could anyone
think you committed murder? Are the police stupid or something?”

I shush her and indicate an empty corner table. Luckily, the
place is fairly quiet with only two customers sitting hunched over their
laptops. Anna moves off to make us some coffee while Advocaat and I settle into
our chairs. I’ve barely managed to sit down when I’m hauled out of my chair.
Ben picks me out of my seat as if I weigh nothing and pulls me close. He rests
his head in the crock of my neck and breathes me in. “I’m so sorry,” he mumbles
several times.

Anna thumps Ben on his back and shouts, “Give her some air!
I need answers!”

Ben chuckles and loosens his hold on me. “Are you okay?” he
asks as he stares into my eyes.

“I’m fine. My attorney… hey, did you hire an attorney for
me?” I’d smack myself upside my head if I weren’t imprisoned by Ben. How could
I forget to ask Advocaat how he came to my rescue?

Ben leans down and rests his forehead on mine. “Yeah, I
hired him. I know him through my work.” He gives me a quick kiss and then
releases me. He settles me in a chair before dragging a chair over to our table
and sitting uncomfortably close to me.

Anna plonks coffees down in front of everyone. “So,” she
says as she plops down in a chair. “Is someone going to explain to me what’s
going on before I explode or what?”

I grab my coffee and take a deep drink before answering.
“Apparently, Dolly was murdered and they’re convinced I did it.” I snort.
“Which is completely absurd. Why would I risk everything to kill an annoying
pole dancing instructor?”

Anna scratches her pink locks. “But why do they think you
did it?”

“Someone’s framing Callie,” Ben answers.

“WHAT?”

I cover my ears and wait for the ringing to stop. When I’m
fairly certain Anna’s going to be quiet, at least for a few minutes, I respond.
“Apparently someone took one of our
Callie’s Cakes
cards and wrote on it
as if they were me.” I scratch my head. “Although, now that I think about it,
I’m not really sure what that has to do with the murder.”

Ben grabs my hand and squeezes. “They think Dolly was
poisoned by one of your cupcakes.” I gasp. Not a cupcake! “The cupcake was in a
gift box with the card which was supposedly written by you.” 

“I didn’t write that card! It wasn’t my handwriting! And I
didn’t key her car so why would I apologize for that?”

Ben pulls me into a sidewise hug and kisses the top of my
head. “Shhhh sweetheart, it’s okay. We know you didn’t do it.”

Anna snorts and rolls her eyes. “Can you see Callie keying
someone’s car?” She shakes her head. “And there’s no way she would ruin one of
our cupcakes by putting poison in it.”

I take a deep breath and turn to my attorney. “What do I do
now?”

“I’ll make some inquiries about the surveillance video from
the gym when you allegedly keyed Ms. Horne’s car. Otherwise, this is a matter
best left to the police,” he says and stands to leave.

“Left to the police!” Anna huffs. “It’s not like they’re
doing such a great job now, is it? We should look into it ourselves. You know
like Miss Marple.”

Ben stiffens next to me. “No, it’s too dangerous. You don’t
know who the killer is or even why Dolly was murdered. Too many unknowns. Leave
the police work to the police.”

I nod. “I agree. Leave it to the police.”

Anna huffs and crosses her arms over her chest before
leaning back into her chair. I can already see by the gleam in her eyes she’s
planning her next attack. I shake my head. As far as I’m concerned, the matter
is settled. The police will investigate the murder and find the killer. Even
the obviously inept Duchamps and Smits will realize I’m innocent.

It takes four days before my
rose-colored glasses shatter.

♥♥♥

Anna comes bouncing in my office carrying the mail. “It’s
getting busy. I could use some help out front,” she says and skips away.

“I’ll be right out,” I shout as I leaf through the mail. I’m
about to stand and go help Anna when I see a letter from the University. It’s
probably just a class list or something of the like, although they usually
email those. Hmmm. I tear it open.

My eyes quickly scan the letter, but I can’t believe what
I’m reading. This can’t be true. It just can’t be. Who do they think they are?
Putting me on probation for being accused of a crime. A crime I didn’t commit.
I grab my purse and stuff the letter in it.

“I’m heading to school!” I shout to Anna as I nearly run
through the kitchen. Anna pokes her head through the swinging door and starts
to ask what’s going on, but I don’t hear her. I’m already out the back door.

I grab my bike from my apartment hallway and hightail it to
the German Department. Unfortunately, the bike ride does nothing to tame my
temper. I’m seething when I arrive. I wouldn’t be surprised to see steam
billowing out of my ears. I stomp to the dean’s office and demand to see him.
His secretary starts to protest, but one look at me has her calling Dean
Jorgenson to tell him I’m on my way.

I open the dean’s door without knocking and throw the letter
at him. “What’s going on?” I demand.

Dean Jorgenson stands and tries to usher me to a seat.
“Please, Dr. Muller take a seat so that we can discuss this like two rational
beings.”

 I’m not sitting anywhere. “Rational beings? Rational
means exercising sound judgment or good sense. You put me on probation and
threatened my job at the University. How is that rational?”

The dean looks embarrassed but doesn’t hesitate to reply.
“We just can’t have people accused of murder teaching our students. We’ve
already received some calls from concerned parents.”

Although Dolly’s murder has been widely publicized, I was
only mentioned in one report as a ‘person of interest’. It’s not like my name
and face has been plastered all over the news. “What about innocent until
proven guilty?”

The dean looks slightly guilty but shakes his head. “I’m
afraid that just won’t do. Not when we’re shaping tomorrow’s leaders.”

“I’m innocent! When I’m cleared, I’ll sue you and the University
for false dismissal.” I have no idea if that’s something I can even do, but you
can bet your bottom dollar I’ll be checking out the possibilities.

The dean’s face turns red.
Unfortunately, he’s not embarrassed. He’s enraged. “Who do you think you are?”

“I’m a woman who has been falsely accused of a crime and
instead of my employer – who has known me for years – standing behind me, he’s
threatening to fire me. That’s who I am.” Two can play at the enraged game. I
take a deep breath. Yelling at each other is not going to solve anything.
“Can’t we reach some sort of compromise?”

The red lightens somewhat on the dean’s face. “If you can
prove – beyond a shadow of a doubt – that you are innocent before the semester
starts, I will rescind the probation and delete it from your employment file.”

I start to protest. The semester starts in two weeks. How in
the heck am I going to be cleared of any wrongdoing in such a short time? I
know the wheels of justice are squeaky and rumble along at a pace slower than a
grandma out for a Sunday drive, but one look at the dean squelches my protest.
His face is set in stone. I’ve pushed him as far as I can. I nod.

“Okay. I’ll prove I’m innocent.”
I turn on my heel and head out of his office. As I’m shutting the door, I can’t
resist shouting in as cheery a voice as I can manage. “See you in two weeks!” I
just hope I’m right.

BOOK: Never Trust a Skinny Cupcake Baker (Death by Cupcake Book 1)
5.42Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
ads

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