Pistols & Pies (Sweet Bites Book 2) (Sweet Bites Mysteries) (3 page)

He looked amused. “And would you have fired her?”

I shrugged. “I was still trying to decide when she left. Mistakes are just that, but there were other issues.”

Tingey snorted a laugh. “There always are.” He finished off the first cinnamon roll and took a second.

“You mind if I turn on the recorder now?” His free hand went to the machine.

“That’s fine.” I wanted it over with, and I was still glad he had taken my disappearance so calmly. He certainly wouldn’t have a few months earlier. We went over the afternoon ad nauseum while he asked the same questions in a dozen different ways, trying to pull out new information or shake up my memory. It was nearly nine when my best friend, Honey Anderson, came knocking on the door.

Detective Tingey nodded and turned off the digital recorder. “We’re done anyway. Could you fill out the paper for me? I’ll come back for it in the morning,” he said.

“Sure.” I had the funny feeling I was going to see the wrong side of midnight before I was allowed to close my eyes. “Are you headed back to the crime scene?”

“Yeah, the guys are still there.”

“Good.” I jumped up and headed around my counter, reaching for a bakery box. “Everyone probably needs to refuel by now.” I started filling the box with a mix of items while he opened the door to let Honey in. When I passed it over to him, he thanked me and headed for the door.

Honey locked it behind her. “Okay, seriously, another body? What are the odds?”

This made two since I moved to Silver Springs in March, which was two too many in my opinion. “Tell me about it.” I started her a caramel steamer—she didn’t drink caffeine this late at night. “And Angela quit after she dropped a cake on the floor this afternoon.”

She shook her head. “You have the worst possible luck with employees.”

“I know. You think I could sweet talk you into helping out in the store for an hour tomorrow?”

“Sure, I take payment in pastries.” She accepted the drink from me and I passed over the cream cheese-filled strawberry cupcake she’d been eyeing.

“You’re welcome to them. In advance if you like.” I gave her a long look. “How did you know what happened?”

“Someone mentioned it in the store, and George overheard them talking about it. He said he’d take care of the kids so I could see how you’re doing. Figured you could use a listening ear.”

“I could, but do you mind talking while I work on this cake?” Tingey had been in my bakery longer than expected and I really did want to get to bed sometime before sunrise.

“No problem.” She settled in to watch from the cutout in the wall between the kitchen and seating area to finish her snack while I washed my hands and donned a fresh pair of gloves.

“So, was it gruesome?” she asked.

“Yeah, a bullet to the head isn’t exactly pretty.” I pulled out my fondant smoother and started working the edges.

“Was it bad? I mean, like a bullet hole or, you know, worse?”

I looked at her while she munched away at the cupcake. The woman should be a doctor, nothing bothers her. Thankfully she respected my more delicate sensibilities. “It was small. Thank goodness. I definitely would have hurled if it had been worse.” I was unsettled enough as it was.

“Who was it? George couldn’t get a straight answer.”

Tingey would have my hide if the story got around before their press release came out, but it wasn’t like Honey would tell the world. Not tonight, anyway. We chatted about the details while I finished covering the rest of the cake layers and began decorating them. My peach sugar camellias were the perfect color against the creamy fondant they’d chosen and the green foliage made me smile.

When we’d finished speculating about the murder, we moved on to the next topic, keeping up a steady stream of chatter. Yeah, we’d already talked for an hour earlier in the day, but we’d never run out of topics to discuss in the twenty-five years we’d been friends.

“So, are you going to do some more sleuthing on this one?” Honey asked. “Because that was a lot of fun.”

“Yeah it was, except for the fact that I nearly died.” I was talking as though I didn’t care about the murder, but actually I wanted to investigate—I just didn’t have a good enough reason to justify it. The whole risk of death in the previous investigation wasn’t all that appealing.

“Not so much, huh? Aren’t you just a little curious?” She adjusted the elastic on her cornrows, never taking her eyes off me.

I bit my lip as I put the last cake tier back in the pantry and moved to the front of the store. “Okay, yeah, seriously curious. I mean, the guy wasn’t exactly my favorite person, but he seemed too bland for someone to want him dead.”

“But you’re going to keep your nose out?” She looked disappointed, even while watching me empty the rest of my display cases into a box for her to take home.

“Unless I have a compelling reason to get involved, I’m staying out of this one.”

Yeah, famous last words.

Cake mix:

2 cups white sugar

1 (3 ounce) package strawberry flavored gelatin

1 cup butter, softened

4 eggs (room temperature)

2 3/4 cups sifted cake flour

2 1/2 teaspoons baking powder

1 cup whole milk, room temperature

1 tablespoon vanilla extract

1/2 cup strawberry puree made from frozen sweetened strawberries (about 1 cup before pureeing.)

Filling mix:

1 (8 ounce) package cream cheese, softened

1 egg

1 teaspoon vanilla extract

3 tablespoons brown sugar

Preheat the oven to 375 degrees F. Grease and flour 24 muffin cups, or use paper liners.

In a large bowl, cream together the butter, sugar and dry strawberry gelatin until light and fluffy. Beat in eggs one at a time, mixing well after each.

Combine the flour and baking powder; stir into the batter alternately with the milk. Blend in vanilla and strawberry puree.

To make the filling: In a medium bowl, beat cream cheese until soft. Add egg, vanilla and brown sugar. Beat until smooth, then set aside.

Place batter mixture in muffin cups about 1/2-2/3 full. Then add one tablespoon of the cream cheese mixture right in the middle of the batter. Try to keep cream cheese from touching the paper cup. The filling will sink as it cooks.

Bake at 375 degrees F for 20 to 25 minutes.

I finally dragged upstairs shortly after midnight, hoping the paper I’d written for Detective Tingey actually made sense. My eyes burned and I knew I had to be back downstairs in six hours, putting the muffins and other goodies in the oven for the morning crowd.

I turned on the air conditioning since the summer sun had been beating on the upstairs apartment all day, and poked through a few of my cupboards. I really needed to do some grocery shopping one of these days. If only I could get a regular employee who I trusted to leave alone in the shop without worrying every minute.

I had no idea how my grandma ran a restaurant all of those years without having a nervous breakdown.

Her picture sat propped on the end table and I picked it up. After my parents’ deaths a dozen years earlier, Grandma had been my last relative. I’d been nineteen at the time, but still too young to be an orphan. Cancer took her away and left me alone. It had been a long three years without my family. I missed having her to turn to—maybe I wouldn’t have been stupid enough to accept Bronson’s proposal if she’d still been around. That was over now. Worn out and missing her more than ever, I touched the image of my grandmother, then returned it to its spot and headed for bed.

I think she would be pleased with how I was using her restaurant now. I’d have to content myself with that.

The wedding cake was loaded into my Outlander the next morning and Honey and I were going over some last-minute instructions when a mid-forties, mousy blonde walked into the store. Her face was blotchy, her eyes red-rimmed and bloodshot and she looked very determined. I’d seen her somewhere before. The previous night?

“You’re Tess, right?” she asked, looking at me.

“Yes, how can I help you? Do you have a celebration coming up?”

“No. I have a funeral.” Her breath hitched as she tightened her hand around a pink handkerchief that perfectly matched her pantsuit. “I understand you solved a murder last spring.”

“Um, yeah, I guess you could say that.”

“I’m Sandra Hogan and I want you to find out who killed my husband. I understand you found his body. The police think my son did it, but Michael’s a good kid. He couldn’t have done that. And they’re overlooking the most obvious suspect because he’s a former cop. I need someone impartial to take the case.”

I stepped back, surprised by the fervor in her voice. Really, she thought because I’d been lucky enough with one case that I’d be better than a trained detective? Flattered, I firmly reminded myself that I was very busy with my business and couldn’t possibly afford to spend the kind of time investigating that I had in the previous case. Still, I couldn’t help but ask, “Why do they think your son killed him?” I shot a glance at Honey, whose eyes were bright with curiosity.

I stepped from behind the counter and led Sandra to a table to sit and talk. I had a few hours before I needed to have the cake set up, so I could spare a few minutes for the poor widow before making my delivery. “Come have a seat and you can tell me everything,” I said.

That was all she needed to open the floodgates of information. “You see,” she said, once we were seated, “I’ve only been married to Eric for about a year, but I have three teenagers from a previous marriage. Michael, my youngest child, is seventeen and he and Eric were always arguing. My son is a bit of a, um, free spirit.” Her shoulders fell and she shook her head. “You won’t talk around town about what I say here, will you? Because I can’t tell you everything if you’re going to spread gossip.”

“Of course we won’t say a thing.” To anyone else—though Honey and I would probably discuss it thoroughly if it was interesting enough.

Honey pretended to lock her lips and throw away the key.

“Okay.” Sandra plucked at the damp handkerchief and stared at her hands. “One of the reasons I was so glad to move here is because Michael was in a bit of trouble back in Denver. He hung with the wrong crowd and I knew if we stayed there he would get into serious trouble. Falling in love with Eric and his proposal were the answers to my prayers. It was a bonus that he lived so far away so I had a good reason to pry Michael away from his friends.”

She used the handkerchief to pat the gentle tears trickling down her cheeks. “And then there’s my ex-husband. He’s … unconventional at best. Michael all but worships the ground he walks on, and that’s not the direction I want him to go.” She sucked in a calming breath. “Anyway, Michael and Eric never got along, both at home and in public. Eric had a definite idea of the difference between right and wrong and the importance of coming clean. After the last one disagreement, Michael yelled something about how Eric would be sorry.”