The Diva Frosts a Cupcake (11 page)

Joy’s delusional comments had propelled her into the number-one suspect spot in my mind, though. She was probably still blathering on at the hospital. Maybe she would make a full confession. Would it be valid if someone had doped her up?

Better yet, who would have wanted to do that? Muffin’s killer? Hadn’t Spenser heard Muffin shouting about a ring?

The milk in the hot chocolate began to make me drowsy. Mochie, Daisy, and I headed upstairs and went to bed.

What seemed like only minutes later, the phone on my nightstand rang, waking me from deep sleep. It was Mars, who quickly blurted out, “Humphrey found Martha and took her straight to the twenty-four hour veterinary clinic. We’re with her now.”

I blinked at the clock. Just past midnight. “I’ll join you as soon as I can.”

“There’s no use in anyone else coming, I just wanted to let you know.”

I hung up and eased back onto my pillow. Maybe there was still hope for Martha. Comforted by that tiny bit of good news, I waited for the phone to ring again with an update. Alert in spite of my exhaustion, I didn’t think I would be able to sleep, but I soon dozed off.

Morning dawned with the promise of summer. Unseasonably warm air drifted through the window I’d left open a crack. I stretched leisurely until I remembered the events of the night before. What had happened to Martha? Had she survived? What about the general and Joy? Alex was probably staying at the general’s house. He’d be more likely to tell me how the general was doing than the hospital.

I slung on a light bathrobe and stumbled down the stairs behind Daisy and Mochie. I let Daisy out into the fenced backyard, put the kettle on, and scooped Nell’s Breakfast Blend coffee from Newman’s Own into my French press. I hurried back to the den, with Mochie dancing around my ankles all the way.

A quick search of my personal records produced a home phone number for General German. It wasn’t even eight o’clock yet. Did I dare call this early? What if the hospital had released him, and he was still sleeping? The kettle screamed, and I decided to wait until nine to make calls.

I poured the hot water into the French press, thinking how grateful I was that I didn’t have to man a booth on the final day of Cupcakes and Pupcakes. Nina had talked me into counting the ballots for best-tasting cupcake and cutest cupcake. While it seemed like that might be a rerun of the previous night, more bakeries were involved, as well as a wider range of testers, since anyone could vote. Nina and the other Cupcakes and Pupcakes planners wanted to be as inclusive as possible and give all the bakers a chance.

Voting closed at noon. I’d thought I could pick up the ballot box on my way home from brunch. But given the general’s illness, I suspected that my brunch with Alex was cancelled.

I pushed on the French press, watching it shove the coffee grounds to the bottom. The aroma wafted up to me as I poured it into a mug. A spoon of sugar and a little milk—perfect. I was reaching for a loaf of rye bread I had baked when someone tapped on the kitchen door.

Humphrey opened the door to let Daisy bound inside in front of him. “I’m sorry to come by so early. You’re not even dressed yet.”

“Come on in.” I cinched the belt of the robe tighter. “Coffee?”

He checked his watch. “I’d love some to wake up. I’m not used to so little sleep. Ugh, have you looked at your eye? It’s in full bloom.”

I poured a mug for him but let him add the milk himself. “I heard you were the hero who found Martha last night.”

“She was blocks away from the river, near Cake My Day. It was just dumb luck that I spotted her. I didn’t think she would come to me, but Renee and I were able to corner her. Have you heard anything about her condition?” He sat down on the banquette that ran behind my kitchen table.

“Not yet.”

“I probably should have called, but I’m about to do something awful to you, so I wanted to explain to you face-to-face.”

Oh no. I eased into a chair across from him, dreading what he was about to say.

“I wish to withdraw from the tabulating committee.”

The weight of unknown fears dropped away. It could have been so much worse! “I’m sorry to hear that. Because of work?”

“Because I wish to avoid any scenes like the one Natasha made last night at the banquet. I was mortified. Not only was it embarrassing in front of Renee, but now all of Old Town will think I’m some sort of swindler.”

Natasha had put me in embarrassing positions more than once in my life. I understood Humphrey. But it meant we would be short a ballot counter, and there wasn’t much time to find a replacement. “I can’t say that I blame you. No one will think you’re a swindler, though. Most of those people know Natasha.”

“All the same. I don’t want her saying things like that about me. Ever. I’m very honest. You know that. I won’t put myself in the position of being accused of bias.”

“You know that Natasha isn’t a contestant in today’s voting. She didn’t have a booth.”

He brightened up. “I forgot about that!” His face fell again. “But Renee is involved. If she wins, someone will accuse me of preferential treatment.”

“So this is getting pretty serious with Renee?” I held my breath.

His pale face flushed like a cherry. “She has no place else to live, what with her bakery being a crime scene.”

“She’s staying with you?” I needed a lot more coffee to brace myself for that kind of news.

“Now don’t go telling your mother, because she’ll tell my mother, and that would ruin everything.”

“Mum’s the word, I promise. But don’t you think your mother would be happy that you’ve finally found someone you care about so much?”

Humphrey blinked at me like he couldn’t believe I’d said something so stupid. “You know my mother. No one will ever be good enough for me. If she gets wind of it, she’ll be here in a heartbeat to mash any hope of my happiness to a pulp.”

I wanted to be reassuring, to pooh-pooh his belief, but he was right. Mrs. Brown would chase away any woman who might be interested in a relationship with Humphrey. “Where is Renee now?”

“Back at her booth. Detective Kenner has been really hard on her. She’s already distraught over Muffin’s murder, and Kenner had to hammer away at her like he thinks she did it!”

I’d been through his interrogations in the past. I could understand her distress. Underneath, Kenner wasn’t such a bad guy, but he never believed anyone was innocent until it was proven. “Did he question you, too?”

“Yes, of course. I’m not quite as delicate as Renee. She’s in such a bind, Sophie. Joy took all the money in the Sugar Baby bank account. Wiped her out! Plus, she can’t get into her own bakery to bake or sell cupcakes. She baked all last night at Cake My Day. Early in the morning, when Spenser’s employees arrived, she came to my house and caught a nap. Now she’s back at her booth selling her little heart out. It’s just lucky that Spenser has been so accommodating to her.”

“Joy took all their money? Why would she do that? Shouldn’t they have divided it equally?”

“One would think so. And without Muffin, Renee doesn’t have anyone to assist her. Spenser and I have been pitching in. I’m not much help, but I’m learning. Spenser is much more useful. He’s a wizard at piping frosting. Although, after last night’s disaster, she doesn’t know if she can recover her reputation.”

“Disaster?” There’d been too many. I didn’t know which one he meant.

“With her frosting. Half the cupcakes had frosting that tasted like paste. It was all she could do to hold back the tears until we got into my car.”

“Didn’t she taste the frosting?”

“Of course she did! The one she tried must have been from the good batch.”

His phone jingled. “It’s Renee.” He pushed a button and said, “Hi, cupcake.”

I wanted to barf.
Cupcake?
Seriously?

“I’ll be right there.” He clicked off. “Something’s wrong with the cupcakes. People are bringing them back and complaining about them.”

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

Dear Sophie,

I saw a photograph of your cat walking on a leash. How did you train Mochie to do that?

—Catwoman in Whiskerville, Pennsylvania

Dear Catwoman,

It’s best to start when they’re kittens. Most kittens will object to a harness initially, but once they associate it with going outdoors, they’ll come running when they see you bring the harness out. Don’t expect them to walk like dogs. Cats have their own ideas. Allow them to sniff and have fun at their own speed.

—Sophie

Humphrey rushed out the door faster than I’d ever seen him move. I watched him from the window. While I didn’t want to be like his mother and crush his happiness, I couldn’t help feeling that something wasn’t quite right.

Over the past two days, Renee had lost just about everything. Not only had she lost her assistant in a cruel murder, but Muffin had died in Renee’s bedroom.
Ugh
. Would she ever be able to live in the apartment over the bakery again? I couldn’t imagine wanting to sleep in that bed or in that room anymore. And then Joy had taken all their cash and opened a rival bakery across the street. What a scummy thing to do. Couldn’t she have found a place a few blocks away? I had liked Joy. I didn’t know her very well, but taking all their joint funds was really low. Opening a store across the street that was almost identical was nothing short of despicable.

What would I do if I had lost everything? I shuddered at the thought. Renee was to be admired for forging ahead. She had to be devastated by Muffin’s death, yet she had jumped into her work, trying to dig a way out of the financial hole in which she found herself.

Then why did I feel like she was taking advantage of Humphrey? Maybe she was as smitten with him as Myra was. Still, something wasn’t sitting right with me, but I couldn’t put my finger on it.

It sounded as though Renee thought someone had sabotaged her cupcakes. She’d frosted them at Cake My Day. Humphrey wouldn’t have tampered with the ingredients, but hadn’t he said Spencer had helped, too?
Uh-oh
.

Would Spenser have stooped that low? His offer to let Renee use his bakery seemed so generous. Had he done it just so he could tamper with her cupcakes? I pondered his motives as I washed Mochie’s food bowl, looking out the window over the sink.

Across the street, on the corner of the next block over, a commotion was taking place. The lovely mansion on that corner had belonged to Mordecai Artemus and had sat empty since his demise. A van bearing the logo of The Laughing Hound restaurant was parked in front, and people were carrying things into the house. Surely they weren’t catering a function. I’d have heard about it if the mansion was available as a party rental.

I dashed up the stairs, hopped in the shower, and, wrapped in a towel, scanned my walk-in closet with brunch in mind—just in case it hadn’t been called off.

The truth was that I had grown tired of wearing gloomy black all the time. It might be more slimming, but I wanted to feel summery, and I pawed through clothes until I landed on a berry red dress. If I wore sandals, I wouldn’t be overdressed no matter where we went. Happily, it zipped up the back without a problem. I added gold earrings and a delicate chain. So what if the necklace had been a gift from Mars when we were married? I happened to like it.

But there was no fixing my black eye. I packed on makeup, but to no avail. I slid my feet into beaded sandals and rushed back downstairs.

Clicking a leash onto Daisy’s collar, I opened the front door, and casually walked toward Mordecai’s house to find out what was going on.

We crossed the street and were on the opposite sidewalk when I realized that people were unloading furniture from the van and carrying it into the house. Bernie strolled out. Perfect! It wouldn’t seem as nosy if I asked him what was up.

We crossed to the house, and I flagged Bernie down.

He patted Daisy. “Morning! Don’t you look lovely.”

“Thanks! Who’s moving in?” I whispered.

“Me.”

I was dumbfounded. “Seriously?”

He nodded. “The chap who owns The Laughing Hound wanted to buy it as an investment. They dropped the price, and he bit. I’m bringing my cats over this afternoon. I was tired of living in tiny quarters over Mars and Natasha’s garage anyway, and I’ve had enough of Natasha. Her rudeness last night at the banquet . . . I don’t know how Mars can stand it. That was embarrassing.”

I held out my hand. “Welcome, neighbor.”

He laughed, took my hand, and kissed my cheek. “Now I can watch your comings and goings! Hey, I could use some help buying furniture for the place. There are a lot of empty rooms.”

“Shopping with someone else’s money! Sounds like fun.”

“My mum has been making noises about a visit. I’ve stalled her for a bit, but I’d like to get a couple of guest rooms in shape. Don’t know how long I can hold the old girl off.”

“I’m looking forward to meeting her.” His mother had been down the aisle more times than Elizabeth Taylor and had lived in exotic places like Shanghai. “Where is home for her these days?”

“I honestly thought she might settle in Sydney, but she’s in Tokyo at the moment.”

“Daisy!” Mars waved at us from the front of my house. He jogged over. “There’s my girl. Want to go for a run?”

I handed him the leash. “How’s Martha?”

“Just got off the phone with the vet. She’s doing great. They induced vomiting, gave her activated charcoal, and monitored her overnight, but she can come home later today.”

“It’s so lucky that Humphrey spotted her! Heard you lost your tenant, though.”

“I don’t blame him for wanting a bigger place. Besides, Natasha has plans for the apartment over the garage. So, what’s with you and the general’s nephew?”

I’d forgotten all about him. “What time is it?”

Bernie nudged me. “I’d guess it’s time for him to pick you up. Isn’t that him?”

Sure enough, like a scene in a movie, Alex stepped out of a flashy metallic red BMW convertible and gazed straight at my house.

“That, gentlemen, would be my cue to go.” I hurried across the street and waved. “Alex!”

When I caught up to him, I said, “I wasn’t sure we’d be on after the general fell ill. How’s he doing?”

“It’s a little dicey. I’ll tell you about it over brunch.” He walked to my kitchen door with me.

Leaving him in the kitchen, I grabbed my purse, locked the front door, and hurried back to the kitchen, where I stopped cold. Through the window, we could see Natasha sashaying her way toward us. “Do you want company?” I asked.

“I’d rather it was just the two of us.”

“Follow me.” We heard the door knocker bang against the front door as we slipped out the French doors in my living room and rushed out my back gate, into the alley.

When we came around the front corner of my lot, we saw Natasha dash through my side gate, toward my backyard. Giggling like schoolkids, we did our own hurrying before she reappeared. When we passed by the mansion, Bernie and Mars watched us from Bernie’s front porch like a couple of gossipy old women.

Alex had selected a restaurant on the river. Immediately after we both ordered eggs Benedict, I asked him about the general again.

The waiter brought Bellinis and poured coffee into our mugs.

“This isn’t exactly the kind of thing a guy likes to talk about when he’s trying to impress a lady.”

He needn’t have worried. Those wise eyes and that mouth that looked like it might break into laughter had me mesmerized. I couldn’t imagine anything he could say that would turn me off at that moment.

“Although our last name is German my family is actually Greek.”

Aha. That explained the dark hair and good looks.

“Some people from the Mediterranean have a genetic quirk, a gene that makes them—us—resistant to malaria.”

He could have launched into a discussion of anything and I would have found it interesting. But being genetically malaria-resistant was a new concept to me, and I found it fascinating.

“Unfortunately, there’s a flip side. The condition is called favism, because we’re unable to process fava beans. Well, broad beans in general, but especially fava beans.”

“So you’re allergic to fava beans?”

“Since it’s a genetic thing, it’s not technically an allergy, but I shouldn’t eat them.”

I thought back. What had he ordered for brunch? Eggs Benedict—no beans in that.

“In the simplest sense, they make us anemic. It appears that’s what has happened to the general.”

“You didn’t ask if fava beans were in anything on the menu.”

He laughed. “Hannibal Lecter’s tastes notwithstanding, they’re not all that popular or common on menus. I’ve eaten a bite or two by mistake—I feel crummy a few hours later, but so far, as long as I don’t eat more of them, I’m right as rain by the next day.”

“The general has this condition and ate fava beans?”

“That’s what the doctors think.”

“But there weren’t any fava bean cupcakes served. Did you feel ill?”

He smiled broadly, the tops of his cheeks crinkling up ever so slightly. “I’m fine. I thoroughly enjoyed the cupcake banquet. The general is severely anemic. To have gotten to this point, we think he must have been eating them regularly for some time.”

I thought back on what little I knew about anemia. “Then he’ll be okay as soon as he gets a blood transfusion?”

“Not quite. That has already helped, but there are additional complications, especially at his age.”

“Joy’s condition isn’t related then? She doesn’t suffer from favism?”

“No. The doctors think she’ll be fine, but something entirely different was going on with her.” He inhaled deeply. “She was suffering from hallucinations. I don’t know what caused that, but it wasn’t favism. It was just serendipitous that they sat at the same table.” He paused and gazed around before leaning toward me, and whispering, “They seemed to think she might be in the habit of taking recreational drugs and that she had a bad reaction to something she took.”

The waiter arrived with our orders. I cut into an egg, piercing the yolk, and ate a bite coated with creamy, rich hollandaise sauce.

I examined Alex’s plate very carefully, even though we’d ordered the same thing. Chili, stews, tacos, salads—there were plenty of dishes he needed to be careful about. On the other hand, he was right about fava beans. I didn’t often see them on a menu.

Alex politely asked me about my life and managed to convince me that he was interested. It was fun brunching with someone new, who hadn’t heard all my stories before.

When the dessert cart came around, we both went for the fruit tart—photo perfect rings of blueberries, raspberries, and strawberries in a shining glaze. A sweet custard underneath was the perfect complement to the berries. We took our coffee the same way, too, which meant nothing, yet made me wonder if we shared other tastes.

Eventually the topic of conversation returned to the general, since Alex planned to visit him in the hospital after we ate.

“Surely the general was aware that he had this condition. After all, you know that you have it.”

Alex nodded. “Everyone in our family is aware of it. My sister passed it on to her sons.”

“Then why would the general eat fava beans? Making a mistake once is understandable, but every day? It’s like he wanted to be sick.”

“That’s something I’ve been thinking about since the diagnosis. He’s a very intelligent man, a graduate of West Point, and a brilliant businessman. He would never intentionally eat fava beans day after day. Never.”

Alex looked directly into my eyes. “It could only happen if someone intentionally fed him fava beans every day—without his knowledge.”