Death by Chocolate Cake: A Bakery Detectives Cozy Mystery (4 page)

"
W
ow
, this place is pretty flashy," Pippa murmured as we stood in front of the Glassview Hotel. "I didn't even know Belldale had a place like this."

"I don't think production spares any expense," I said. "On the crew at least." I'd already had a sneak preview of the dormitory I'd be sleeping in if I actually got selected to go on the show. I'd be sharing a room with another contestant, and a bathroom with another four. At least during the first weeks of shooting. If I managed to remain until the end, the herd would thin out a bit and I might get my own room.

But it was nice to see that Justin was staying in luxury.

"Who is it?" he whispered from the other side of the door.

"It's me, Rachael. Who do you think it is?"

He yanked the door open. "It took you long enough." He stopped when he saw Pippa standing next to me. "Who is this?"

"This is my best friend, Pippa. She helps me when I do this sort of stuff."

Justin sighed and made a show of looking down both sides of the corridor. "People have been after me all day.” He pulled us both inside the room and double-checked the door was locked before heading over to the mini bar.

"Vodka," he announced once he'd found what he was looking for. He didn't offer me or Pippa anything as he took a drink from the tiny bottle. I supposed they were expensive. "Believe me, honey, I need to drink after the twenty-four hours I've had."

"Justin, are you going to tell me what’s going on? You said that you were a suspect, but you're not being held at the police station."

Justin began pacing back and forth across the carpet. "No, but I am being held prisoner in this hotel room." He stopped and stared at me. "The press are all pointing their fingers at me, Rachael." He walked over and shook me by the shoulders. "You gotta help me. I know that you’re an expert at this kind of thing. You solve murder cases." He flung his arms up in the air. "Well, you gotta solve this one! You gotta help me prove that I didn’t do it, otherwise my career is over."

I shot Pippa a look and settled into a chair. "And of course you want justice to be served... You want your good friend Pierre's murder to be solved."

Justin waved his hand. "Yeah, yeah."

Pippa was staring back at me. I couldn't read her mind, but I could read the look of suspicion on her face. She seemed to be saying to me,
But how do we know Justin DIDN'T do it?

I gave her a slight shrug.
I know.

If anything, Justin would have been at the top of my list of suspects. He was the one who found Pierre's body. Clearly, the media had leapt to the same conclusions.

And I didn't want to do that. Jump to conclusions, that is.

"Justin," I said gently. "Calm down for a moment. Take a seat."

He gulped down the rest of his vodka and took a seat at a table by the window overlooking the lake.

I stood and joined him. "Take a few deep breaths." Sitting down, I asked him, "Now, do you have any idea who MIGHT have done it."

Justin began to bite the nail of his left thumb. After a few seconds of deep thought, he nodded. "Really, it could have been anyone who was there that day."

Of course.

"But I'm pretty sure..." Justin glanced up at me. "And don't take offense to this, Rachael."

I leaned back. "I won't."

"But I'm pretty sure it was an auditionee."

I gave him a long stare. "Do you think I did it?"

Justin shook his head. "No, no. Of course not. You were in the green room, after all."

I sighed. "Who then? Do you have any names?"

"Wait here a second." He went and fetched his beloved tablet from the top of his bed. I tried not to groan at the sight of that thing.

It took him a few minutes to find the auditionee list.

"Here," he said, sliding it in front of me. "Here is a list of all the potential contestants who got up close and personal with Pierre yesterday."

I leaned over. "Why are some of the names highlighted in pink?"

Justin raised his eyebrows. "They are the people who acted the most suspicious. Rachael, I had to deal with the whole bunch of you all week, you know. Put up with everyone's tears and tantrums, assure you all you were doing all right, that your hair and makeup looked fine, and that you were definitely going to wow the judges."

Not exactly how I remembered events. Anyway.

"So, I saw everyone. Saw their best, and worst." Justin sat down and stared at me. "I know how desperate some of these people were to get on TV." He didn't break the stare. "Desperate enough to kill."

I felt a little chill go down my spine.

He pushed the tablet closer to me. "There you go, Rachael. Those names in pink. They are the people you need to be talking to."

* * *

J
ustin had narrowed
the list down to two prime suspects. The first one was a woman named Renee, a struggling single mother with five kids under twelve who would have been an almost certainty to make it onto the show—unless someone else had a better backstory than her.

I was worried that person might have been me.

Justin had told me that Renee was desperate for the $100,000 prize money. She'd talked about little else during the pre-audition phase, apparently.

"Pretty good motivation," I said to Pippa as we stood in the front of Renee’s house. I glanced guiltily at the front of her house. It looked like the money really
could
come in handy. The house wasn't just a little rundown. It would take more than just a fresh coat of paint to get this place looking nice. Or even livable. There were planks of wood falling off the exterior and the porch groaned as we stepped on it. I was afraid I was going to fall right through it.

I knocked on the door.

A woman, looking nothing like I was expecting, pulled the door back. "Sorry," I said. "I was looking for Renee Austin?"

"I'm Renee," she said.

"Oh." I stared at the young, perfectly dressed woman in front of me. I tried my best to hide my confusion. I certainly didn't want to be rude, but I desperately wanted to ask how the heck she was so young--or looked so young at least--with so many kids.

And how did she afford to dress so well if she was apparently so desperate to win the prize money? She wore a crisp floral dress in pink and green and her hair was pulled back with a matching headband. She looked the picture of the perfect homemaker. Not someone struggling to put food on the table.

"Can we come in?" I asked, still trying to hide my look of surprise.

"Who are you?"

That was a good question. I should have led with that. "My name is Rachael Robinson."

I saw her face change. Not that it had been soft, exactly, but now her mouth formed into a hard line. "Right. The contestant that beat me to get onto the show. I see."

I didn't know that was official yet. Had I really gotten onto the show?

Right. Not the right time to focus on that.

"What are you doing here? Come to rub my nose in it, have you?"

I shook my head and put my hands up. "No, of course not."

I've just come to accuse you of killing someone.

Probably best not to say it quite like that.

"What then?"

I cleared my throat. "I'm sure you've heard about Pierre's death," I said, trying to be delicate.

Renee raised her eyebrows. "I've heard that he was murdered, yes. On set, apparently."

"Yes. Apparently." I turned to Pippa, begging her silently for help.

"Erm," she said, turning towards Renee. "You didn't happen to see anything suspicious yesterday, did you?"

Renee lowered her eyes. "What is it to either of you two? I've already spoken to the police. Why are you at my house?"

I decided to just be honest with her. "Look. The police in this town don't always do the best job when it comes to things like this. Sometimes they need a little...help. So that's all I'm trying to do. I'm concerned—just like you are, I'm sure—about what happened to Pierre. What does it mean for our town?" I decided to try a slightly different tactic. "What does it mean for the future of the show? I'm sure you're anxious to find out whether you got on."

"What does it matter whether Pierre is alive or dead? I blew the audition."

"Hey, I thought I did too," I said, trying to be sympathetic. "But Justin assured me that I didn't. Apparently I did better than I thought I did."

Renee scoffed. "There was no 'apparently' about it. Everyone knew you were getting through. Everyone knew you were Pierre's little favorite,” she said with a hiss before trying to shut the door on us.

Pippa shot me a
look
.

What is going on here?

"Renee, please, if you could just let us talk to you for a minute! Pierre didn't even seem to like me! He didn't even like my baking that much."

She shut the door with my foot caught between it and that doorframe. "Ouch!"

"I'm sure your baking wasn't the reason he liked you!"

I yanked my foot out before it got jammed again, before Renee slammed the door for good.

"What was all that about?" Pippa asked, clearly enthralled by the drama but trying to look sympathetic for my sake.

"I think my foot is broken." I tried to flex my toes and winced. "And I have no idea what all that was about. That was crazy, right?"

"Had you met her before?"

I shook my head. "This was the first time I ever laid eyes on the woman. I never even heard of her until this morning."

"Well, it seems like she knows an awful lot about you."

"Pippa," I said, slightly offended. "Whatever she was just suggesting, and I'm not even sure what that was, none of it is true. You know that, right?"

Pippa shrugged. "Hey, if you had to flirt with a judge to get onto a reality show, then I don't blame you."

"Pippa! I didn't. I only met Pierre the one time, at my audition. And I was so nervous I could hardly even speak to him. Let alone flirt."

The curtains to the front porch pulled back to reveal Renee's face scowling at us.

"Right. We should probably get off her porch."

* * *

"
S
o who's
next on the list?" I asked as I pulled out of Renee's driveway. She was still peering at us through the curtains as I rolled my car slowly backwards.

Pippa frowned and looked down at the names. "Some guy named Adam Ali."

"Adam Ali," I murmured, glad to finally be out of Renee's crossfire. "Man, that name sounds familiar. I really hope it's not who I think it is."

* * *

I
t was
. Adam Ali was a thirty-five year old man, claiming to be twenty-five, who was convinced that he had been robbed of a life in show business. He had ginger hair that had been highlighted blonde, pale skin, and blue eyes that were far too bright.

It had been
years
since our last meeting.

I knew him because he owned a wedding cake business. When I'd first opened my boutique bakery, he'd tried everything possible to get me shut down, including getting other shop owners and residents to sign a petition that alleged that my bakery sold goods containing illegal substances and that I was a hazard to the family-friendly neighborhood.