The Mud Pie Murderess: A Bakery Detectives Cozy Mystery (7 page)

T
he courtyard was filled
with dappled sunshine, the weather clear for the first time in days, and it was also filled with incredibly good-looking eighteen-year-olds. I suppose private school attracts a certain type. I suddenly felt extremely old. And extremely poor, next to all these wealthy teenagers.

We'd only managed to sneak into St. Michael’s Private School by saying that we were the older sisters of a graduating student, and luckily no one had asked us to show any hard proof of that. But we did have to wear nametags. Chloe had given the name "Bridget" and I'd gone with "Diane."

We each grabbed a flute of champagne (real as well, these private school functions didn't spare any expense) and started to do a lap of the sandstone courtyard.

"I wish I'd gone to school at a place like this," Chloe mused. "I just went to the local public school. We had steel bars around the perimeter, not sandstone."

"You should have been born a politician's daughter then," I said, taking a swig of my champagne. It was a little strong for my tastes. I actually preferred the weaker, sweeter taste of sparkling wine.

"There she is," I hissed, grabbing Chloe by the arm. "There's Angel." I stood very still, stepping back behind a sandstone pillar as I watched her. Her thin frame was wrapped in a black graduation gown, which made her look like she was in heavy mourning. The people surrounding her, patting her gently on the arm with sympathetic looks, added to look. She looked positively downtrodden.

"It's still strange that she's here, though," I murmured. "How deep in mourning can she actually be if she can leave the house to attend graduation?"

Chloe took a deep breath. "Well, it's now or never. You need to go talk to her. That's what we're here for, isn't it?"

I nodded and took another sip of champagne before I readied myself. We started to cross the manicured, bright green lawn to where Angel stood, surrounded by well-wishers.

"You should be doing this, Chloe," I said. "I mean, Bridget," I corrected myself, looking at her nametag. "You're closer to her age than I am."

Chloe looked me up and down. "You're only thirty, though. That's not that old."

I just stared at her. "I'm twenty-six."

She went bright red. "I'm sorry, Rachael, I didn't mean anything."

But there wasn't time to worry about that then, or to take any offense. I'd probably just stew on the comment later.

I had to do this before I lost my nerve.

I finished off my champagne and headed straight towards Angel Styles while Chloe hung back a bit.

She smiled a little uncertainly as I approached her. It was my intention to appear as though I knew her, like we'd met before, and I figured she'd be too polite and too well raised to question it, at least to my face.

"Hi there, Angel," I said warmly, as though I was greeting an old friend.

She nodded and kept the smile on her face as she glanced nervously at my nametag. "Hi...Diane," she said, before I reached out to embrace her.

"It's good to see that you're looking so well, after everything that has happened," I said, pulling away from her, but with both hands still on her shoulders. "I'm really sorry to hear about your mom," I said. "She was a wonderful woman."

"Thanks," Angel said. She kept looking around nervously for someone to save her from this awkward encounter.

"I'm Andrew's sister," I said. "Do you not recognize me?"

"Of course I did," Angel said. So, she was polite. But was she a murderer?

I tried to look around to find Chloe for some help. She was younger, closer to Angel's age. She might know what to actually say to a teenager. I was stuck there feeling old and awkward.

I took a sip of my champagne to bide some time while I thought about how to get the info out of her.

I needed to find out whether she'd snuck into the bakery while her mother had been in there.

I wasn't quite sure how to casually work it into the conversation, especially since our conversation hadn't been casual at all. Polite and well mannered as she was, I could see her eyes darting around, looking for an exit strategy. I could tell she was about to excuse herself to go talk to someone with better social skills. Or at least someone she didn't have to pretend she knew.

"So how are you coping?" I asked quickly, desperate to keep her in front of me. If I lost her now, I'd never get her back.

She blinked slowly a few times. "It's been tough," she said quietly. "Just trying to make it through today, you know?"

I nodded. "I know you wish your mom was here," I said. "I bet she'd be really proud of you to see you graduating."

"It's just high school," she said, looking at me a little strangely. "Kind of the least that my mother expected of me," she said, a little bitterly. She took a sharp breath. "I didn't get into the college she wanted me to," Angel continued, looking into her own champagne flute, which I stared at as well for a second, trying to figure out if it was non-alcoholic. "We were arguing about it the night before she died," Angel went on candidly. "She was furious at me." She shook her head and took a large swig. There were tears glistening in her eyes as she drank. "She was threatening not to pay for my college at all, saying she was going to cut me off for attending what she considered an inferior college."

Huh. This was interesting. Very interesting indeed. That definitely spoke towards motive. Money was a very powerful motivator in murder cases—I'd learned that already. I couldn't believe how lucky I was getting, how Angel was just opening up to me like this. Maybe it was because I was older. Maybe I reminded her of her mother.

"I'm sure your mother knew that you loved her, though," I said, placing my palm gently on her forearm, trying to be comforting. I watched her face closely for signs of strain, signs that she was faking this grief.

I cleared my throat. "And I'm sure you tried your best to make it right with her," I said, fishing for more info.

She nodded. "At least, I tried to," she said sadly. "I knew the bakery she was meeting her friends at that day," she said, a dark look coming over her face as my heart skipped a beat. Was she about to confess that she had been there? Her face took on a very strange expression. "That place has never been good in my opinion," she said, shooting me a look. "It's the worst bakery in Belldale."

My mouth dropped open a little and it took all my strength to change it back to a neutral expression. I had to remind myself that she was talking about the place her mom had died. "Well, yeah," I said. "I suppose you hate it now."

She shook her head. "No. It's always been terrible."

Keep your face neutral, Rachael.

Angel sighed heavily. "Anyway, I didn't like that she was going there, but I planned to drop by and surprise her anyway, after our fight."

My heart started beating a little faster. "And?"

Angel shrugged a little. "I sent her a text, and she replied back letting me know that she was still angry at me. So I didn't end up going in. I didn't want her to yell at me in front of her friends. Again." She finished off her drink.

My heart sunk. Still, I clung onto a little bit of hope.

"So, had you seen your mom at all the day, well, you know, the day it happened?" I asked, my face scrunched up in sympathy.

Angel shook her head vehemently. "No," she said, nodding towards a friend nearby with pale blonde hair, who was nearly as skinny as Angel. "Anna and I decided to get the heck out of town. She'd also disappointed her parents by not getting into any college at ALL, not even her backups, so she was happy to skip town. We loaded up our trunks and started driving upstate to Sherman." I knew the town well, but my face must have entirely fallen because Angel stopped and asked me what was wrong.

"You were out of town the whole day?"

"Yes," she said. "Well, until we heard about Mom. Then we turned around and drove back." She frowned. "What is it to you, anyway?" she asked, her polite facade cracking for a moment.

"I just..." I looked over at this so-called "Anna" girl. "Can your friend confirm that you were out of town the entire day?"

Angel crossed her arms. "What are you asking that for?" she asked. "What are you, a..." she trailed off, something catching eye over my shoulder. "Speak of the devil," she whispered.

I spun around to see what she as talking about. My heart stopped. Jackson Whitaker. Wearing his detective badge. He was headed straight for us. But was he heading towards me? Or Angel?

"Rachael Robinson?" he called out.

I gulped. Guess that answered my question then.

"Rachael Robinson?" Angel said, looking surprised and worried as she stared back at me and looked me up and down. "I thought your name was..." She looked at Jackson then back at me with a suspicious expression as she backed away. "Who the heck are you?"

Jackson kept striding towards me. "We need to speak to you. About the Olive Styles investigation."

Angel shook her head and backed away until she was huddled in a corned of the courtyard with Anna, the blonde girl who was Angel's alibi. I was so focused on them for a second that I didn't even respond to Jackson. When I finally saw the look on his face, I realized that whatever it was, I was in big trouble.

He cast me a long dark stare. "What did I tell you, Rachael, about doing things that make you look guilty?"

I had no idea what he was talking about. Unless he meant me stalking Angel. Oh right, that probably didn't make me look great either way. "I'm here to support a friend of mine. He’s graduating today," I said meekly.

Jackson shook his head and cast a furtive look in Angel's direction. "I know you're here to speak to Angel Styles."

My stomach dropped. "Jackson, I..."

"And after arresting you at her home, I cannot believe you are anywhere near the girl," he said, almost wearily. "But believe it or not, that's not why I am here, Rachael."

I just blinked a few times. "I've done something else that makes me look guilty?" I asked, incredulous. I was aware of the feeling of a dozen pairs of eyes staring into my back. I wished we weren't causing such a scene. I glanced around to check for Angel and found her whispering to Anna. When she pulled away from Anna's ear, I saw that her eyes were full of betrayal as she stared back at me and I felt so guilty for betraying her trust, even though I had just met her. But I knew that she'd trusted me, thought she was someone she could open up to.

Then I saw something else in her eyes. Suspicion. Hatred.

It hit me in the pit of my stomach.
She thinks I did it. She thinks I killed her mother.

I felt like I couldn't break her stare for a few seconds. I wanted to call out to her—heck, I wanted to run over to her—to scream, "I didn't kill your mother, Angel!"

"Rachael," I heard Jackson's voice say. "This is serious."

I turned back to him. "I didn't do anything," I mumbled. "I don't know what you're talking about, Jackson."

His eyebrows were raised. "So you didn't go inside and tamper with the crime scene?"

"Tamper?" I asked, shaking my head. "No, of course I didn't."

Now it was his turn to blink slowly. "So I suppose you can't tell me why there is now a smashed bottle of chocolate syrup on the floor of the bakery? One that was definitely not there when we first did a survey of the scene?"

Oh shoot. "The wind could have knocked it over," I whispered. "You don't know that I did it."

He just gave me a steady look. "Plus the sign was turned around. From Open to Closed."

"Well, I didn't want anyone to think we were open, did I?!" I snapped, accidentally revealing too much emotion. I saw Angel's eyebrows shoot up and I cringed. Stay calm, Rachael.

Jackson glanced around. "Maybe we should do this somewhere else."

"So you think I'm guilty?" I asked him. He had one arm extend, ready to place it on my shoulders to escort me out of the courtyard, but it was frozen in midair. "You think I killed Olive Styles, don't you?"

His voice was very quiet. "Not intentionally. Rachael, it will be all right."

I backed away from him. My mouth was open. "Not intentionally?" I repeated. I couldn't believe what I was hearing. "What are you saying then, Jackson?"

"I'm saying that you've been under a lot of stress lately, Rachael. Maybe your mind hasn't really been on the job."

I was completely offended. After everything we'd been through, how could Jackson stand there and accuse me of killing a customer, accidentally or otherwise?

But there was a terrible thought in the back of my mind.
Could he be right?

I
needed Pippa
. I really wished she was the one with me instead of Chloe.

Chloe, who had been hanging back and watching the whole thing from a distance, suddenly chased after me as I charged towards my car. "Rachael, where are you going?"

"Home," I snapped back. I didn't mean to take my anger out on her, and I knew it wasn't her fault that she wasn't Pippa, but at that moment, I resented her for that very fact.

She looked dumbstruck as I climbed into the car and started the engine. "Well, are you at least going to give me a ride?" she asked through the window.

Right. We'd arrived together. I nodded and took a few deep breaths. "Sorry," I said as she climbed into the passenger side. "I'm a little stressed out."

"What did you find out about Angel?"

"A dead end," I said, gripping the steering wheel even though we weren't actually moving yet.

"And that detective?" Chloe asked unsurely, like she was nervous I was going to snap at her again. "What did he want?"

I shook my head. "Nothing. Please, I just want to get out of here."

* * *

"
P
ippa
!?" I called out as soon as I entered the apartment. I desperately needed to speak with her, but I wasn't sure she was even awake, let alone ready for a full on chat.

I wasn't sure she was even still speaking to me after the fight we'd had.

I stopped when I heard music blaring from the kitchen. It sounded like she was awake, at least. Whether she was still angry with me was another question, though. I raced in to find her bopping around, baking up a bunch of brownies.

"Gluten-free!" she called out with a wink. "So you can eat as many as you want." She gave me a guilty little smile. "My way of apologizing for being a little brat earlier."

I smiled at her and nodded. "Apology accepted. As long as you accept mine as well."

She kept dancing around to her music as she dumped three eggs into the batter and started mixing.

"Wow," I said. "You look a lot better, Pippa."

Pippa was practically jumping around, she was so full of energy now. "I think I've finally recovered." Her grin was wide and her face was full of relief. "I don't know what's been wrong with me the past few weeks.

I smiled. This was about her, not about me. Maybe it was the wrong time to bring up my troubles. I didn't want to spoil her fun. "Well, I'm very happy for you."

She stopped bopping around and frowned at me. "You don't seem that pleased, Rach. What's going on? Are you still mad at me?" I could see her suddenly become worried.

I shook my head and threw my purse down on the coffee table. "I'm not mad at you anymore. I'd totally forgotten what we were even fighting about, to be honest. I'm glad, Pips, don't worry. I've just had a day, that's all."

Pippa handed me the bowl of brownie batter. "Dig in," she commanded me. "And tell me all about it."

* * *

"
I
t's true though
, Pippa," I whispered. We were sitting on the sofa now, the brownies baked and cooling. My mouth was watering at the scent. I couldn't wait to dig in. "My mind had really not been on the job. I was practically falling asleep that day, plus there had been the paint fumes."

A terrible feeling started to play in my stomach. I'd been practically delirious from the paint fumes that day when I'd been baking. What if, instead of sugar, or baking powder, I'd accidentally mixed something else into the batter?

"I could have done it, Pippa...and not even known it." I buried my head in my hands. "If that's true, then I deserve to go out of business. I deserve to be locked up, Pippa."

Pippa left to fetch the brownies. I took the biggest one off the tray and shoved it into my mouth. "You're a better baker than I am, Pippa. You've never poisoned anyone. Maybe you should take over, try to save the business while I'm in prison."

Pippa shook her head. "You can't think this way. Rachael, you seriously cannot blame yourself for this. Jackson is just trying to get inside your head."

I scoffed. "Yeah, well, it's certainly working."

"Then don't let it." She sat down firmly besides me and bit into a of brownie. She immediately made a face and pulled the brownie away, eying it skeptically as she sat it back down on the tray.

"What's wrong?" I asked.

She shook her head lightly. "I dunno, does that brownie taste weird to you?"

I'd been inhaling it so quickly I'd barely had a chance to register how it actually tasted. I took another bite and savored it this time. Nope. It was delicious. Moist, perfectly chocolaty—very heavy on the chocolate fudge actually. Just the way I liked it. "Tastes amazing," I said, taking another bite. "I think your taste buds are broken, Pippa.”

"Maybe. Suddenly the thought of eating it is turning my stomach." She pushed the tray away and we both grew silent.

I couldn't keep eating forever, however much I wanted to. Eventually, I had to return to the topic of my predicament.

"You know you really haven't done anything wrong," Pippa finally said. "Even though I can see from the look on your face, you’re blaming yourself."

"Why do these things keep happening to me?" I whispered. "Honestly, Pippa, explain that then. All these murders, all these crimes. What is the one common denominator in all these cases? It's me."

She let out a nervous little laugh. "Remember when we thought you were cursed?"

I didn't laugh in return. The idea of me being cursed hadn't been very funny at the time and it seemed even less so now.

"What if I really am cursed?" I whispered. "Sometimes I feel like that's the only explanation for everything."

Then she let out a suggestion that I did
not
want to hear. "Why don't you go and pay Tegan a visit? You know that she can help you with all of this stuff."

She was talking about Tegan, a local paranormal expert—I use the word ‘expert’ loosely—who was the leader of the Belldale Paranormal Society. Pippa had once been an active member of the society, and at one stage had become far too invested in it, as far as I was concerned, anyway. At one stage, she'd managed to let Tegan convince her—and me—that I was cursed because I'd bought a shop that contained a haunted painting. It seemed crazy to me now that I'd ever even considered the possibility, albeit briefly. I'd moved into the shop, expanded my bakery, and everything had been fine.

Well, it had been fine. Until a woman had dropped dead inside my bakery.

"What stuff can she help me with?" I asked, clearing my throat. "Nothing paranormal has happened, Pippa. It was a poisoning. There were no ghosts involved, no witches." None of the things that were Tegan's area of 'expertise.'

"I'm not talking about help with the case," Pippa said. "I'm taking about help for you. Personally."

I rolled my eyes. "Tegan can't help me. Unless she for some reason has insight into this case."

Even though Pippa was looking a little green again, she did burst out into laughter. "I doubt it. Tegan doesn't believe in politics. Nor material possessions. Both things your victim and all your suspects are heavily involved with. This case wouldn't exactly be in her wheelhouse." She stopped laughing and gave me a serious look. "But I do think that Tegan will be able to help you, Rach."

I stood up. "Thanks for the suggestion, but I'm not that desperate. I think I'll be able to handle this without the help of a paranormal expert."

I assumed Pippa would take hint and actually drop the subject. Tegan and everything she was involved with creeped me out. I didn't want either of us getting involved with it again. I knew that if I took her advice, it wouldn't be long until Pippa started hanging out with the group again. I knew she was lonely since Marcello had gone overseas and she was vulnerable to their influence again.

I hoped the matter was dropped. But when I awoke the next morning, Pippa was at the breakfast table waiting for me.

"I made you an appointment with Tegan. You can keep it or cancel it. It's up to you."

* * *

I
knew
that Jackson had told me not to go anywhere near my bakery while it was a crime scene, I wasn't even supposed to go in the back to the kitchen or the office, but I couldn't help myself.

I wanted to see it with my own eyes. Wanted to put this idea of the curse out of my mind. What if, all those months ago when I'd purchased the second shop, I really had cursed myself?

I wasn't sure what I expected to find. I just wanted to look at it.

I cruised my car very slowly down the dark street. There wasn't even any moonlight, so I was perfectly hidden just in case the cops were snooping around again.

My car headlights caught the yellow police tape from the other end of the street so I quickly turned them off, even though it was dangerous to drive that way. I didn't want to take any chances. I already looked guilty enough without looking like I was returning to the scene of the crime, again.

But when I finally arrived at the empty shop, I didn't see anything spooky, nothing paranormal about it. And I didn't feel freaked out or scared. I just felt sad to see my bakery like that—lifeless, a shell of its former self. It hadn't been open for almost a week now and it was dying without any life in it, without any customers, without any mixers being turned on, batter prepared, cakes baked and bread rising.

It was just...nothing.

I pulled the car to a stop and just sat there, staring at it. I'd worked so hard to get it up and running. I'd dropped out of college and taken a huge loan when I was just twenty-two, put everything on the line in the hopes of making my dreams come true—opening my own boutique bakery. Nothing about it had been easy. There'd been trouble from Bakermatic for one thing, from almost the word go. I'd only managed to get my first bank loan because there was no other real competition in Belldale, but within six months of opening, the yellow monolith that was Bakermatic had opened up four hundred feet down the street. I'd had to compete with their cut-rate prices and brand recognition ever since.

But I'd managed to stay afloat, managed to make my loan payments every month.

Until now.

This would be the first month in five years that I wouldn't be able to make a payment. I had no idea what I was going to do. And I had no idea what staring into my empty bakery was supposed to do, besides make the growing pit in my stomach even deeper.

What am I doing?
I thought.
I should be working on a solution, not wallowing here in pity.

I was just about to start the engine back up when I saw movement in the front of the bakery. My heart stopped for a second. It was definitely human. I leaned forward a bit, trying to make out the figure in the black cloak of the night. It was definitely a human man. With his face pressed up against the glass. Could that be possible, though?

I blinked a few times, wondering if I was seeing correctly. The man had definitely crossed the police tape. It looked like I wasn't the only one trespassing on a crime scene.

But what was he doing? Why was he trying so hard to see into the bakery?