Chicken Soup & Homicide (10 page)

Alex saved her from the mixer or no mixer dilemma by appearing in the kitchen doorway. "Please tell me there's fresh coffee."

"There will be in five minutes," Amy said. She had only made a small pot, anticipating that Alex would sleep in. The leftover brew to be used in the cupcake icing was cooling in the refrigerator. Luckily, she was well practiced in making coffee at lightning speed since she often had coffee emergencies. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Alex wince when she pressed the button on the coffee grinder. "Do you have a headache? You must still be exhausted."

He rubbed the rust-colored stubble on his jaw. "I don't have time to be tired. I'll just take a couple aspirin before I head into the office."

Not what she wanted to hear. He needed to slow down and rest before stress and exhaustion, along with the miserable winter weather, ganged up and made him sick. A whopper of a cold could be heading his way if he wasn't mindful of how worn down his body had gotten. She couldn't remember the last time he had used the exercise room next to his office. Her fitness-fanatic husband was too tired to exercise. Yet another disheartening sign that his job was taking over his life.

Alex grabbed one of the orange-and-raisin muffins out of the basket on the island. A little breakfast treat she had made especially for him. Bonus that they were packed full of healthy things like nutrient-rich fruit and whole wheat flour. His worn-out, stressed-out, but still smoking-hot body needed some good fuel. Amy did a quick mental inventory of the refrigerator and pantry, concocting an impromptu nourishing soup recipe that she could make for dinner. Kale, sweet potatoes, and quinoa fit the bill. "Why do you have to go into the office? You've barely gotten any sleep."

"Sorry, honey." He wadded up the paper muffin wrapper and tossed it in the trash can. "I can't stay home. There's just too much to do to get ready for the show tomorrow."

"When are all of these ridiculously long work days going to end?"

He stared out the window as he chewed on a bite of muffin. Was he ignoring her question, or was he so lost in his thoughts he didn't hear it? He wandered out of the kitchen without answering or getting the mug of coffee he had come in looking for. Living in a gorgeous house with a designer kitchen and pantry stocked full of gourmet foods was nice. Barely seeing her husband because he was always working dulled the shininess of the money. She wanted Alex to be successful, but she also wanted him to enjoy his life…with her.

Half an hour later, Alex was gone. It was just her, the dog, cupcakes, and her thoughts. She needed to figure out who killed Chet Britton before she or one of her friends ended up in jail for a murder she didn't commit. And she needed to give Alex some incentive to spend more time with her. At the moment, solving the crime seemed easier.

The coffee buttercream icing smelled like café au lait as she spooned it into a piping bag. It would be perfect on chocolate cupcakes. Probably not so great on the cherry rum cake she was taking to Holly. Oh well. Amy narrowed her eyes at the coffeemaker in between frosting the cupcakes. Was it a friend or foe? Alex had emptied the pot into his giant insulated travel mug before leaving. She
really
wanted more coffee. She could easily make more, but caffeine would not be her friend. She needed to appear calm and friendly while trying to weasel information out of Holly. Hyper and shaky wouldn't work as well.

She piped a beehive of icing onto the last cupcake and set it in the small bakery box. Then she squeezed the last bit of icing from the piping bag into her mouth. A lot of sugar with a bit of coffee instead of a lot of coffee with a bit of sugar. A tasty swap.

Since Holly spent her work days surrounded by cupcakes, Amy didn't think leaving a dozen of the cakes with her would be necessary. Four should be more than enough to sample and analyze. The rest could stay home and be a treat for Alex. Unless the cake and icing combination tasted horrible. Rum cherry pie latte was a pretty funky flavor combo based on an espresso drink she'd had while on vacation in Boston. It wasn't the best coffee beverage she'd ever had. Okay, it was downright odd, but since she had used the excuse of needing a critique to meet with Holly there wasn't time to fine-tune the recipe for optimal taste. She peeled off a wrapper and took a bite. Meh. Holly seemed to be a no-nonsense kind of person. Her opinion could be pretty brutal. Luckily, the cupcakes weren't really destined for a competition.

When she pulled into the driveway of Holly's house half an hour later, Amy had mentally wrapped her ego in a bulletproof vest. Before ringing the doorbell, she reminded herself that she was there to uncover more information about the murder, not worry about inadequate baked goods. When Preston opened the door, she completely forgot about the cupcakes. His resemblance to Jack Nicholson in the iconic scene from
The Shining
was dead on. As in he looked like he wanted her dead.

"What do you want?"

To run away and hope I never see you and your crazy eyes again.
"I'm here to see your mom. I wanted to chat with her about a new recipe I'm working on."

"Whatever." He swung the door open. "She's in the kitchen."

Amy stepped into the living room. It was gloomy outside from the low ceiling of gray snow clouds clogging the sky. The inside of the house took dark and depressing to a scary, hermit-cave level. Light-blocking curtains covered all of the windows. Preston had receded to a shadow-filled corner of the room, leaving her to shut the door. He sat on the black leather sofa, the screen of his phone casting a ghoulish glow on his face. Amy caught a glimpse of a refrigerator in the room to the left.

The difference between the two rooms was literally like night and day. Everything in the kitchen was white, from the cabinet doors to the stove and floor. Little touches of pastel colors, like a baby-pink Kitchen Aid stand mixer, gave the kitchen a shabby-chic vibe. Holly stood in front of the mixer, wiggling and swaying to music from the headphones positioned over her ears. Her gorgeously gray hair was twisted into a messy knot on the back of her head.

"Hello?"

Holly spun around. She placed one hand over her heart and pulled the headphones off with the other. "I'm sorry. I didn't hear the doorbell. Lost in my little baking world, I guess."

"That's a great place to be." Amy set the square bakery box on the worn wood table in the middle of the room. "I really appreciate your help with these cupcakes. They just aren't right, but I'm not sure what to do to fix them up."

"Let's see what you've got going on." Holly wiped her hands on the front of her plain white apron. She flipped open the lid of the box and plucked out one of the cupcakes. "They look nice and smell…interesting. Coffee and some kind of fruit?"

Let the analysis begin. Holly was spot on just from the scent of the cupcakes, and she didn't sound convinced that the flavors went together. "Cherry pie latte with a bit of rum. I had the beverage version last year when I was on vacation and thought the flavors might translate well into a cupcake," Amy said.

Holly nodded. She opened her mouth to take a bite but snapped it shut as Preston stalked into the kitchen. Amy took a few steps backward until her back was pressed up against the wall to make sure she wasn't in his way. He yanked open the refrigerator door and grunted as he bent to study the shelves. After a few seconds of deliberation, he grabbed a can of beer and a carton of French onion dip. Glass bottles in the refrigerator clanked when he slammed the door shut. He leveled another hostile sneer at Amy as he snatched a bag of potato chips off the counter and left the room. Holly exhaled audibly as she crossed the kitchen and quietly slid a pocket door shut behind him. "I'm sorry. He's in a bit of a snit today after that detective showed up to question both of us again."

Pitts was actually doing his job, continuing to question people about the murder. If he had used his signature
I know you're guilty, just give me a confession
interrogation technique, then no wonder Preston was in a grumpy mood. Good that Pitts was doing his job. Bad that she arrived to do her own investigating right after him.

"Oh gosh. No wonder you're doing some baking therapy. Pitts has the personality of a sledgehammer."

Holly chuckled. "Yes, he does. Somebody needs to tell him harassing someone into a false confession is a bad idea. Unfortunately for him, I'm a tough old bat with a fierce maternal instinct. Even though my son is an adult, I'm not going to sit back while he's being bullied."

At least Pitts's tactics were consistent. It wouldn't make Carla feel any better, but Pitts apparently enjoyed playing bad cop all the time. The worm liked to see others squirm. "So Pitts is looking into Preston being involved in the murder?"

"I admit, if I were in the detective's shoes, I would be checking Preston out too." Holly swiped her index finger through the coffee buttercream and licked off the sweet icing. "Good frosting. I'm not sure if you know it, but Preston used to work for Chet. He worked his way up from dishwasher to running Cornerstone's kitchen when Chet wasn't around, which was a lot. Then Chet decided he wanted to open a new restaurant with Preston as the head chef. The restaurant was built and set to open. But it didn't. Something went wrong with the financial backing, but he wouldn't tell Preston what happened. Their relationship deteriorated. Chet fired Preston from Cornerstone. Preston filed a lawsuit against Chet's corporation for breach of contract and lost." She tucked a piece of pewter-colored hair, which had loosened from the hair clip, behind her ear. "He lost his job, the lawsuit, his apartment, and his girlfriend. He's so depressed he can barely move. Sometimes I'm afraid to go to work and leave him here alone."

"That's horrible. I haven't heard a single good thing about Britton."

Holly took a bite of the cupcake and wrinkled her nose. That gesture said a lot, but about Britton or the cake? She turned the cupcake so she could take a bite of the dried-cherry-studded cake without the frosting. "Chet was a high-class slimeball. He didn't care about anybody but himself. I won't go so far as saying anybody deserves to die, but I do think what goes around comes around. Considering Chet's shady business deals, it wouldn't surprise me if he pissed off a loan shark or some kind of mafia person. Personally, I would rather have seen him go through a slow financial death and end up living at the trailer park on the north end of town."

Britton was definitely not loved by the Neale family. Who could blame them after what Chet did to Preston? Holly set the cupcake down carefully on top of its splayed-out wrapper. "As far as your cupcake goes, I like the frosting and the cake, but not together. I would suggest using a vanilla or maybe maple-flavored icing on the cherry cake."

"That's a great idea. I knew there was something wrong but couldn't quite put my finger on it." That's what happened when you only put five minutes of thought into planning a recipe. "Thank you."

Holly nodded. She opened the dishwasher and pulled out an empty rack. "You're welcome," she said as she transferred a batter-covered bowl from the sink to the dishwasher. "Sorry, but I can't stand to see these dirty dishes in the sink. I clean when I get upset."

"No need to apologize. I like a clean kitchen too. I'm sorry if I upset you by bringing up Britton." Amy took a step closer so she could see into the sink. There was only another bowl and spatula in the basin. Nothing other than the bowl was in the dishwasher. She glanced around the kitchen as Holly positioned the second bowl on the dishwasher rack. The counter and table were clear except for the mixer and a few canisters. No cutting board or knife in sight. Amy turned and looked closer at the knife block beside her. One wide slot was empty. The cutlery was mismatched with handles ranging from solid metal to several different kinds of wood. Was the chef knife-sized slot empty because Holly didn't own a knife that fit or because the one that had been there was currently in the evidence room at the police station?

During the entire drive home, Amy couldn't stop thinking about the knife. Holly looked like a sweet cupcake-baking Mrs. Santa Claus impersonator. That didn't mean there wasn't a dark side hiding under the dusting of confectioners' sugar. And Preston. It didn't even take a leap of imagination to figure out he could be a killer. In fact, she and her mind could stay perfectly still to imagine him plunging the knife into Britton's chest.

"This is going to be so much fun," Sophie said as she sorted through the box full of silk ribbon scraps. "I haven't had a night out with friends in forever."

Amy set a stack of flattened bakery boxes on the corner of the table. Her food packaging collection was threatening to take over her entire craft room, edging out the yarn and scrapbook paper. She just couldn't resist cellophane treat bags screen printed with a lace pattern or mint-green bakery boxes with heart-shaped windows. Part of the fun of giving food as gifts was making the package as pretty as possible. She was more than happy to let Trisha and Sophie raid her stash to make their Parade of Desserts offerings beautiful.

"I agree," Amy said. "I'm so glad you guys are here. We can help each other with our desserts and outfits. It'll be like a sleepover, but we get to go to a fancy party instead of end up eating brownies and watching old movies."

"I need lots of help in both areas," Trisha said as she walked into the dining room carrying a mug of coffee. "I can bake well enough, I think. I just never worry about how things look as long as they taste good."

Trisha was a lot like the food she made. Naturally beautiful, no fancy potions or glitter required. In the kitchen her carrot cake, dark chocolate chip cookies, and a cinnamon crumb coffee cake were waiting to be fancied up with icing, glaze, and powdered sugar. The woman could probably make men drool when she hauled manure while wearing baggy overalls, rubber boots, and a thick layer of mud. Amy smiled at the blonde herbalist. "Of course we'll help. People can't sample the baked goods before they bid, so it's a bit of a sugar beauty pageant. Your desserts will be gorgeous by the time we leave here."