Devil's Food Cake (14 page)

Shawn nodded. “Yep. You were right.”

Sadie hit him playfully in the arm. “Told you so.”

Shawn rolled his eyes. “I also found Thom Mortenson’s website,” he said, clicking on another open tab. A moment later a website with a gray background and basic black type came on the screen. The title was simply “Thom Mortenson.” There were a couple of photos of Thom speaking back when he looked a whole lot younger and healthier, as well as a cover for
Devilish Details.

“I’m assuming Josh’s mom didn’t give you a motive for why her son was snapping pictures of the dead guy?”

“She said Thom had asked Josh to come and take pictures for his website,” Sadie said, no more satisfied with the answer than Shawn was.

Shawn clicked on the “Events” tab and then frowned at the blinking words on the screen: “Website under construction. Come back soon!” He went back to the home page.

“I hope they hired a web designer to work on a new layout along with the new pics,” Shawn said. “There’s not much here.”

“Except that the pictures Josh ended up taking were pictures of a murdered agent.”

“Okay, so it doesn’t make him perfectly legit, but it explains him at least being there—he’s friends with Thom. It’s a start, right? So he called on the other line when you were talking to his mom?”

“Yeah,” Sadie said, turning away from the computer. “I wish she’d have put me on hold and then come back on the line. I mean, where is he? Why didn’t he call her sooner? What’s he been doing all this time?”

“You really think she’d have told you all that?” Shawn said, turning his chair around to face her.

He made a valid point—Sadie was a stranger to Josh’s mother. Why would she want to tell her anything? But then again . . . Sadie’s eyes drifted to the Angel Snowball cake still sitting on the counter. There were only a few slices left, but how many pieces of chocolate mousse-filled cake did a divorced mother need to convince her that Sadie Hoffmiller was concerned for her welfare—which she was—and that she was also willing to listen to anything she had to say about her son?

People lowered their defenses pretty fast when chocolate was on the line. She only needed a little more information and then she could hand over a nicely wrapped package to Pete.

Her eyes went from the cake to her own son and she raised an eyebrow. “How fast can we get to Morning Glen Road on the west side of town?”

Angel Snowball Cake

1 loaf angel food cake, sliced into 1⁄2- to 1-inch slices (day-old cake is easier to slice)

1 8-ounce package semi-sweet baking chocolate

3 tablespoons water

3 tablespoons powdered sugar

5 eggs, separated (room temperature)

1⁄2 teaspoon vanilla

1 pint whipping cream

1⁄4 cup powdered sugar

Line a 4 to 6 quart bowl with wax paper. Line the bottom and sides of the bowl with slices of angel food cake. In a double boiler, break up chocolate and melt on low heat, adding water and 3 tablespoons powdered sugar when chocolate is mostly melted. Stir until smooth. Remove from heat and add egg yolks, one at a time, stirring well after each addition. Set aside.

In a separate bowl, beat egg whites until stiff. Add vanilla. Carefully fold the egg whites into the chocolate mixture, stirring until combined. Pour chocolate mixture over the sliced cake. Cover bowl with plastic wrap and refrigerate 12 to 24 hours.

An hour before serving, carefully invert bowl onto a large platter. Remove wax paper. Whip whipping cream and 1⁄4 cup powdered sugar. Frost the cake. Refrigerate until ready to serve. (You can refrigerate leftovers for up to four days.)

Serves 12 to 18.

Chapter 16

It wasn’t until Sadie was trying to negotiate her slick front steps in her heels with her purse and a plate of cake in one hand and her clothespinned skirts in the other that she realized wearing an evening dress for this meeting wasn’t the best idea. Muttering under her breath, she handed the cake and her purse to Shawn while turning back to the house.

“I’ve got to change,” she called. “Start the car. I’ll be right out.”

“Okay,” he said right before she closed her bedroom door and began fighting with the zipper on her dress. She eyed the purple velvet sweat suit still lying on her bed from that morning. The outfit had been a birthday gift a few years ago from Sadie’s brother, Jack—a man with no sense of color at all. Purple emphasized the blue tones in Sadie’s skin, which tended to wash her out. However, while the color was all wrong, the clothes were incredibly comfortable and had deep pockets. Sadie appreciated that since many sweat suits were definitely subpar when it came to adequate pockets. Because she refused to buy new clothes to accommodate the weight she’d gained, the outfit that had sat in a drawer for so long had been put to good use these last six weeks. She also didn’t have time to try on anything else in hopes something would fit better tonight than it had this morning.

She threw on a white T-shirt before pushing her arms and legs into the velvety fleece. She grabbed a pair of socks out of her drawer and hopped toward the closet on her left foot while pulling on her right sock. She then switched legs and had chosen her slip-on clogs by the time both feet were properly socked. As she ran through the front door and down the steps a minute later, she used her fingers to fluff up her hair despite the fact that it was still snowing. Multitasking—she’d never get anything done without it, and while this wasn’t an emergency, Sadie was a big believer in striking while the iron was hot. Besides, Pete could call her back at any time and he’d tell her to stay put. But if she was already on her way . . .

“Phew,” she said as she closed the passenger door mere milliseconds before Shawn began pulling out of the driveway. “I must have set a new world record.”

He’d put the plate of cake on the dashboard, and Sadie moved it to her lap to keep it from ending up all over the car when he made his next turn.

“Two minutes is hardly anything to brag about, Mom,” Shawn said, looking over his shoulder. “I can go from turning off the shower to fully dressed in thirty-six seconds. My roommates timed me.”

“Whoop-de-do,” Sadie said as dryly as possible. Two minutes was still impressive for a girl. She flipped down the visor so she could check her makeup and hair. Just as she’d feared, the purple was playing havoc with the circles under her eyes. She fluffed her hair again. It didn’t help much. With a grunt, she flipped the visor back up and pretended she hadn’t looked. Glancing down, she realized she’d chosen white socks. Adding them to her purple sweatsuit and her brown clogs was not going to win her any fashion contests, that was for sure.

The wind had picked up and the snow was coming at the windshield at a angle, making it look like they were traveling at warp speed on the USS
Enterprise.

“Have you called your boyfriend about any of this yet?” Shawn asked.

Sadie’s stomach sank at the reminder, and she worried a little over how quickly she could forget all about Pete. But she knew why. Thinking about him automatically reminded her that he’d asked her to stay out of this and she wasn’t. But, she quickly rationalized, she had called him
and
texted him. He hadn’t called or texted her back. What was she supposed to do? She’d like to see what the police thought of her sitting at home twiddling her thumbs while Josh Hender jumped on a plane for Switzerland!

“I was hoping to wait until I had more answers,” Sadie said.

“Hey,” Shawn said as though defending himself. “It’s all cool by me. I’m just saying he might be ticked or something. You know how cops can be.”

Sadie worried what kind of example she was setting for her son if she didn’t call, and so, while trying to hide her hesitation, she pulled her cell phone out of her purse and typed out another text to Pete.

PLEASE CALL ME!

She spent the rest of the drive alternately wishing he’d call her back and hoping he wouldn’t. She also pondered the information she’d learned about Josh, wondering if it might come in handy in the next few minutes: Damon’s best friend; parents are divorced; Mom never remarried since she was still listed under Hender; Josh lives in Virginia; Mom says he had a full-ride scholarship to art school . . . but Amber said he barely graduated high school at all. Hmm.

“So what are we going to do when we get there?” Shawn asked as he leaned into a right-hand turn faster than he should have. Sadie held the cake plate on her lap with both hands and looked at her son with reproach. He was squished into the driver’s seat and looking rather miserable. Sedans were not made for a man of his size. She decided not to give him a hard time about his driving and instead took comfort in the knowledge that since all the police in town were likely at the hotel, Shawn’s chances of getting a speeding ticket were slim.

“I just want to talk to her,” Sadie said. “See if I can get any other information about Josh or where he might be now.”

“Here’s Morning Glen,” Shawn said, putting on his left-turn signal and slowing down. “It only took us six or seven minutes to get here.” He was obviously very proud of himself.

“The house number is 1318,” Sadie said, leaning forward in an attempt to see through the snow. “Slow down so we can read the addresses.”

There wasn’t really a need to slow down. The fourth house on the right had its porch lights on, illuminating the numbers 1318 placed above the door. The house had a single-car garage, but a brown Honda Accord was parked in the driveway and covered with at least an inch of snow. Sadie suspected that Mrs. Hender’s garage was too full of stuff to park her car inside it. She could sympathize; her garage was stuffed too.

“Drive past,” Sadie said quickly, hitting Shawn’s arm to ensure he was listening to her.

“Stop it,” Shawn said when Sadie didn’t stop hitting him as they passed the house.

She dropped her hand. “Sorry.” She craned her neck to watch the house. “Drive to the end of the block and turn around. And kill the lights.”

“Bond, James Bond,” Shawn said with a British accent as he turned around. He switched off the lights, pulling to a stop across the street and two doors down from 1318. “Seriously, I thought you were bringing her some cake. Why the subterfuge?”

“I’m just trying to take in my surroundings,” Sadie answered, watching the front door of 1318. After a few more seconds, she opened her car door. She’d come all this way, now was no time to hesitate.

“Whoa,” Shawn said, reaching over and putting a hand on her arm. “What’s the plan?”

“Well,” Sadie said, giving grave emphasis to her words as she met her son’s eyes. “I thought I would get out of the car, cross the street, go up to the front door, and knock. What do you think?”

Shawn narrowed his eyes at her attempt at humor. “And I wait here?”

“If I’m not back in five minutes, come after me.” She smiled at him as she pushed the door open, then shut it quickly, cake in hand. Her right foot was poised to step off the curb when the Hender’s front door opened. Caught off guard, Sadie glanced around quickly, looking for somewhere to hide so that their meeting would be on her terms. She spotted a tree a few feet away and darted for it—never mind that the trunk was no more than six inches in diameter. Good thing the streetlight was several houses away. She hoped the snow would help hide her as well. She needn’t have worried, though. A woman in what looked like her late-forties—Mrs. Hender, Sadie assumed—stepped onto the covered porch and she wasn’t looking for people hiding behind skinny trees.

The woman had a heavy bag thrown over her shoulder and she walked toward the steps, then paused and put the bag on the porch with a thud. Sadie wondered where Mrs. Hender was going in such a hurry. Mrs. Hender went back in the house, leaving the door open. She must have forgotten something. Keys to the snow-covered car perhaps?

Sadie stepped out from behind the tree, looked both ways, and crossed the street in hopes she could intercept Mrs. Hender when she came back out. She hurried up the steps, looking through the front door as she stood under the porch covering and shook the snow from her hair. She didn’t see anyone inside, so she glanced at the bag on the porch. It was a duffel bag. A large black one.

“Hello?”

Sadie looked up at the woman standing just inside the door. She had long, brassy blonde hair, pulled into a ponytail at the base of her neck and she wasn’t wearing any makeup. Even her clothes—a buttoned-up, purple-and-pink striped shirt and baggy jeans—looked tired. When a woman worked too hard, it showed, and Mrs. Hender was most certainly a woman who had worked very hard.