Sweet as Pie Crimes (14 page)

Recipe #10

Gâteau au Chocolat

(Chocolate Cake)

1 package of your favorite chocolate cake mix

14 oz sweetened condensed milk

2 squares unsweetened chocolate, melted

½ cup water

1 package of your favorite chocolate pudding mix

1 cup whipped heavy cream

Preheat oven to 350 degrees.  Prepare and bake cake mix for two layers.

Cool and remove from pans.
In a bowl, mix sweetened condensed milk and melted chocolate. Stir in the water, then instant pudding. Chill for 30 minutes.

Remove the chocolate mixture from the refrigerator and stir. Fold in whipped cream and return to the refrigerator for another hour. Place one layer of cake onto a serving plate. Top with 1 1/2 cups of mousse, then cover with remaining cake layer.

Frost with remaining mousse and refrigerate. Garnish with fresh strawberries, raspberries, or chocolate shavings.  Serve and savor!

Mystery #3

CUPCAKE SHOP

CLUES

Prologue

Sea Ridge, California

A Perfect Cloudless Day…

“You don’t want to rent this store.  Legend has it that it’s been haunted for the past 50 years,” Betty, the bespectacled real estate agent advised.

“I don’t believe in ghosts,” I scoffed, brushing a wisp of my pixie cut chestnut hair away from my forehead.

Betty hushed her voice and hissed forebodingly, “I wouldn’t talk that way around here.  You wouldn’t want them to hear you.”

I bit my lip to stop myself from laughing at the older lady’s ramblings.  She was only in her early 50’s and too young to be getting senile.  But not too young to be a wacko.  I glanced away from her to the pearlescent view of the Pacific coastline.  Seagulls called to each other in the distance as vivid sunshine cast a deep glow over the ocean.  Forget about superstition.  This storefront was the picture perfect location for my new cupcake shop.  I hadn’t moved 2,000 miles from Minneapolis to be scared away by some daffy lady with burgundy hair and matching glasses.

“I’ll take it,” I said decisively.  “The rent is in my price range, and I couldn’t dream up a better location for my bakery.”

Betty’s expression soured like fresh lemon juice.  “You’re making a big mistake, Miss Mulrooney.  How old are you anyway?  21 or 22?  You’re so naïve.”

“Actually, I’m 27,” I clarified, frowning at her condescending tone.

“Same difference.  You don’t know anything about life yet.  This is not the place for you to open a bakery.  Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

“Okay, I won’t,” I tartly retorted.  “Now can we see about getting the paperwork drawn up?  I want to set up shop as soon as possible.”

“We can meet in my office tomorrow morning.  I’ll have the lease ready for you to sign,” Betty said tightly.  “But don’t come crying to me when the ghosts find you.”

Chapter 1

2 Months Later

Grand Opening of

Cupcakes by the Sea

I twirled around, smoothing the pleated skirt of my white apron and bracing myself for a flood of customers when my shop opened for business exactly at noon.  11:57.  I chewed nervously on a fingernail, hoping that I had remembered to tend to every last detail.  Did the decorations on the cupcakes look dazzling and artistic?  Would the cakes taste moist and scrumptious?  And did I bake enough to serve the potential hundreds of hungry customers who saw my morning ad in the
Sea Ridge Daily News
?

“Calm down, sweetheart.  Everything is going to be wonderful,” Aunt Marilyn promised reassuringly, settling her hands on my shoulders and giving me a supportive squeeze.

“I’m so glad you’re here with me.  Thank you,” I replied.

“I’m so glad you finally made the move from the Arctic Tundra!  Life is much sweeter here in southern California. You’ll see.”

Never married at 48, Aunt Marilyn brimmed with youthful energy and fetching beauty.  Shaped as curvaceously as her namesake, Marilyn Monroe, and with a head of glamorous caramel ringlets, she still attracted plenty of male attention.  My mother had tried to stop me from moving out west to live with wild Aunt Marilyn, but the lure of fun, sun, and my own bakery overlooking the ocean had been too strong. 

“I hope you’re right,” I breathed excitedly as the clock on the wall struck twelve.

Aunt Marilyn and I exchanged proud glances as I grabbed my set of keys and walked to the front door to open my shop to the world.  I had envisioned this moment since my first day of class at culinary school in Minneapolis.  But to my disappointment, no one was waiting outside like groupies clobbering each other to get in. 

“I guess my expectations for the first day were too high,” I said sheepishly.  Clearly, I had bamboozled myself with silly fantasies of being a winning contestant on
Cupcake Wars
.  Ha!  I’d be lucky to break even by the end of the month.  Forget about a $10,000 grand prize.

“Danica, you’ve always been impatient!  From the time you were a little girl and wanted those Minnesota winters to end in January!  Businesses take time to grow.  Look how long it took me to get my jewelry design business off the ground.  After fifteen years, it’s still a work in progress.” Aunt Marilyn’s words of wisdom made me feel like a silly child.

“You’re right.  Of course.  I’ve just been dreaming about this for so long.  And I took out a full page color ad in the newspaper.  Say, didn’t you bring a copy of it with our coffee this morning?  I’ve been so busy baking and setting up that I didn’t have a chance to look at it.”

“Oh I completely forgot too!  Let me go to the back room.  I think I left it by my pocketbook.”

Aunt Marilyn scurried away as I stared at my dozens of cupcakes trapped inside the glass shelves.  All the classic flavors were there: Chocolate, Vanilla, and Strawberry.  Then I had sprinkled in a few of my own special creations like Maple Sweet, Chunky S’mores, and Caramel Drizzle.  They were little works of art, and I wanted people to enjoy eating them as much as I had loved creating them.

“Here it is,” Aunt Marilyn called as she sauntered back into the room with a folded newspaper in her hand.

“Oh good, let me see,” I said eagerly as she handed me the paper.

I flipped to page 6, where the sales rep had told me my ad would be.  “It’s not here,” I murmured in disbelief.

“What do you mean it’s not there?”

“It was supposed to be on page 6, but instead there’s an ad for Sally’s Scones & Sweets!”

“Well, just keep flipping through.  Maybe they put it on another page.”

Hastily, I turned every page of the newspaper and found my ad nowhere.  “No, it’s really not here! How could this be?  I paid $500 to run a full page ad!”

“Don’t get all riled up, Danica.  It’s just an administrative error.  Happens all the time,” Aunt Marilyn soothed as I shook my head angrily.

“Those idiots at the newspaper sabotaged my grand opening!” I smacked my hand against my forehead in frustration.  “I guess I should have advertised somewhere else too instead of putting all my eggs into one stupid basket!  But ads are so expensive to run, and I want to save up money to
move to my own place…” I trailed off, feeling like the naïve girl Betty had accused me of being. 

“No one’s hustling you out, sweetheart.  You can stay in my house as long as you’d like.  Why don’t I go give the newspaper a call and see what happened to your ad?” Aunt Marilyn spoke levelly and reasonably in contrast to my raspberry-faced indignation.

“No, that’s my job.  I’ll call them,” I insisted.

“But you’re too upset right now.”

“I’ll calm down. Don’t worry. Maybe you could just go in the kitchen and put some of the cupcake batters in the freezer?  I don’t want my ingredients to go to waste,” I said sullenly.

“Sure thing, doll,” Aunt Marilyn chirped as I smiled at her, ever grateful for her frothy presence.

As she disappeared into the kitchen, I snatched my cell phone from my purse and dialed Andy, the bozo who had sold me the ad space.  I clenched my hands into fists as the call went directly to voicemail.  What kind of scam was this guy running?  As I was about to let him have a piece of my mind, the door swung open.

Flustered, I glanced up and was greeted by the arresting sight of a tall, strongly built young man with a San Diego Padres baseball cap covering his tawny hair.  Politely, he removed the cap and offered me a wickedly charming smile, complete with dimples.  Composing myself, I gently slipped the cell phone back into my purse and welcomed my first customer.

“Good afternoon,” I said with a smile that aimed to dazzle.

“Good afternoon.  Cute place you’ve got here.  Did you just open?” His voice was warm and rich, like a steaming cup of hazelnut coffee.

“Less than an hour ago,” I confirmed with a grin.  “You’re my first customer.”

“Sweet! I’m Lane, by the way.”

“I’m Danica. Welcome to Cupcakes by the Sea.” I reached out to shake the comforting hand he had extended.

“Great name.  Like the race car driver.  Danica Patrick,” he commented with that dimpled smile.

“Yes, that’s right,” I said quietly, always embarrassed when someone compared me to the gorgeous race car driver.  With my closely cropped hair and cute but ordinary features, I looked nothing like her.  I also looked nothing like the beautiful Danica McKellar who played Winnie on the
Wonder Years
.  I don’t know why my mother gave me such an exotic sounding name as Danica.  Truthfully, I look much more like a Jane or Mary.  Or Mary Jane.

“So do you do princess birthday parties here?” Lane asked without a shred of embarrassment, as though he were requesting a cold glass of milk to go with a plate of chocolate chip cookies.

“What?” I asked, completely caught off guard.  Princess birthday parties?  Had I even heard him correctly?

Lane chuckled, highlighting those endearing dimples again.  “I have a 5 year old daughter.  Mackenzie.  She’s turning 6 next month, and I wanted to
give her a special party.  And there’s nothing she loves more in the world than cupcakes or princesses, so I thought I’d put the two together!”

Shamelessly, I averted my gaze to his ringless fingers.  No sign of a wedding band.  Could he be divorced?  But he looked so young.  He couldn’t be more than 28 or so.  Clearing my throat, I attempted to answer his question.  “We can cater any type of birthday party your little girl wants.  Here’s my card.” I reached into my apron pocket and pulled out a colorful business card with the image of a strawberry iced cupcake on it.  “Check out our website for package rates.”

“I’ll definitely do that.  Thank you, Danica.  And good luck with your store.” Lane graced me with one last infectious smile before turning and strolling back out into the California sunshine.

I was about to enter daydream mode and imagine sitting across from Lane in a candlelit restaurant when the door opened again.  My lips puckered distastefully as I laid eyes on demented Betty.  Had she come back to warn me about more ghosts…or to haunt me herself?

“Very nice,” she said coolly, examining the rose-painted interior of my shop.  “How’s business going?”

“I just opened for business an hour ago,” I answered in a detached tone, already eyeing my purse so I could try to get that Andy swindler on the phone again. 

“Oh did you? Any sales yet?” She asked in a voice laced with spite.

Ignoring her question, I demanded, “What brings you here, Betty?  I’m guessing you didn’t come for a cupcake.”

“Just checking in like I do with all my clients.  No need to get defensive,” Betty said airily, adjusting her bright-rimmed glasses higher on the bridge of her nose.

Aunt Marilyn emerged from the kitchen carrying a mixing bowl and wooden spoon.  Her pretty face paled as soon as she looked at Betty.  The bowl wobbled in her hands as she struggled to steady herself.  Betty glared at her with unhidden contempt as I stood by, confused.

“I didn’t think I’d ever see you again, Betty,” Aunt Marilyn said softly as her eyes flickered with  an uncomfortable emotion that resembled embarrassment.

Betty’s leathery face crumpled in blatant disgust.  “No, of course you didn’t, you tramp.”

Chapter 2

“Tramp? Who do you think you’re talking to?” I shot back at the sharp-tongued wacko as she stood there simpering.

“It’s okay, Danica.  Don’t get involved,” Aunt Marilyn urged, her soft voice only slightly off-kilter in the midst of the unexpected confrontation.

“I have important clients to attend to,” Betty said obnoxiously.  “And I don’t believe a cat fight was on the menu today.” With a sneer in my direction and another more bitter one in Aunt Marilyn’s, she swept out of the shop.  I scowled at her broad backside, thinking how a fiery broomstick would be an appropriate form of transportation for her.

“How do you know that horrible woman?” I asked, shaking my head.

“I don’t want to get into it,” Aunt Marilyn clipped, gripping the mixing bowl a little tighter and turning towards the kitchen.

“Wait a second!” I scurried to catch up with her.  “You have to tell me, Aunt Marilyn.  She’s the real estate agent who rented me this place.  But she didn’t want me to have it.  Told me some crazy story about it being haunted…”

“
She
rented you this place?” Aunt Marilyn’s voice finally turned high-pitched.

“Yes! Now how do you know her?” I demanded brusquely as my patience back-flipped out the window.

Aunt Marilyn sighed heavily.  “I had an affair with her husband.  Only I didn’t know he was her husband, and I didn’t know I was having an affair!”

“Huh?”

“Her husband, Marvin, is also a real estate agent.  Actually, he’s a broker and owns the agency where she works.  Anyway, he found me a spot to sell my jewelry…and then asked me out on a date.  The idiot didn’t wear a wedding band, so I had no idea he had a wife and three kids at home.” Aunt Marilyn slumped her shoulders, and I wondered if she had harbored feelings for Marvin.  I always thought of
her
as the heartbreaker, not the disposable men she dated.

“Well, then why does Betty hate you so much if you didn’t know you were sleeping with a married man?  It’s not your fault!” I pointed out fiercely, wishing Betty were in front of me again so I could knock those goofy red glasses off her face and stomp them to smithereens.

“No, it’s not my fault,” Aunt Marilyn allowed, some of the shame lifting from her pretty features.  “But Betty didn’t believe me.  Who knows what kind of lies Marvin told her to get her to stay with him?  Probably said I seduced him or something absurd like that.  He wasn’t even very handsome.  Or good in bed.” The last words flowed half bitterly, half humorously from Aunt Marilyn’s cherry lips, and I knew that I had been wrong a moment ago to think she had feelings for him.  Her sadness probably derived only from being deceived by a callous creep like Marvin when she could have shared herself with a man who made her feel like the exquisite lady she is.

“Okay.  Well what you just told me changes everything.”

“Do you think Betty knows you’re my niece and tried to keep you from renting this store because she didn’t want you to succeed?  Just to get back at me?” Aunt Marilyn asked, immediately making the connection.

“We do have the same last name.  I wonder how many Mulrooneys there are in Sea Ridge.”

“Probably just us two,” Aunt Marilyn replied gloomily.

“Exactly.” I paused as a new possibility invaded my suspicious mind.  “I wonder if she had anything to do with my ad not running in the paper!  If her husband owns a brokerage, then they’re both pretty prominent in the community.”

“Well if that rat had anything to do with it, I’ll find out.  I’m going to that newspaper office right now myself.  Who did you work with?  Bill, Jessica, or Andy?”

“You know them?” I asked in surprise.

“I’ve placed many ads for my jewelry store in the
Sea Ridge Daily News
over the years.  And I never had a problem,” Aunt Marilyn explained as I nodded.

“It was Andy.  We spoke on the phone.”

Handing me the mixing bowl, Aunt Marilyn fluffed up her hair and wet her lips, apparently ready to give the shady salesman a piece of her mind.  Blowing me a kiss goodbye, she strolled out the door. 

The day crawled along until 7:00 pm finally flashed on the clock, and I trudged over to lock the door.  I could count on one hand how many customers had walked through the door during my seven open hours.  Selling half a dozen cupcakes a day wasn’t nearly enough to keep my shop afloat and pay my rent in the expensive southern California real estate market.  I
sighed, remembering Lane and his inquiry about the princess party.  Heck, I’d dress up in a Pepto Bismol colored gown and parade around with a magic wand if he would bring me some business. 

My phone chirped from inside my purse as I mechanically walked over to answer it.  Maybe Aunt Marilyn had some news about her meeting with Andy.  I hadn’t heard from her since she walked out of the shop earlier in the afternoon.

“Hello?”

“Is this Cupcakes by the Sea?” A man’s voice asked, sounding mildly surprised.

“Oh yes!” I said quickly, remembering that my cell phone was also my business phone now.  “Good evening.  How may I help you?”

“This is Lane. I was in your shop earlier today.  You know, about the princess birthday party.”

I grinned, instantly giddy at the sound of his voice.  Then, recalling Aunt Marilyn’s debacle with the ringless Marvin, I tempered my excitement.  Or tried to.  With his naturally tanned skin and luminous smile, he was sexier than any man I could ever recall meeting in Minnesota. 

“Right!  Did you have a chance to look at the website?”

“I sure did.  Your credentials are very impressive, Danica.”

“Impressive?” I echoed doubtfully, not sure what credentials he was referring to.

“Oh I get it.  You’re a modest girl.  Well that’s very sweet…and rare these days.  But it says on your website that you graduated at the top of your culinary class, so you should be pretty proud of that,” Lane said as I breathed a silent sigh of relief that he couldn’t see me blush through the phone.

“Well, I’ve always loved to bake.  Ever since I was about your daughter’s age actually.”

“And I’d like to book that party for her, so would it be okay if I swung by your shop now? I just live a couple of blocks away, so I could be there in 10 minutes.”

Forgetting my plans to go back to Aunt Marilyn’s house, flop on my bed and bury my face in a pillow, I told him yes.  Jittery, I hung up the phone and grabbed my compact mirror from my purse.  I never wore any foundation or eye makeup, but I could always use a fresh sweep of mauve color across my lips.  Dabbing the gloss to my mouth, I clicked the compact shut and untied the strings of my apron.  Lane didn’t need to see me covered in flour and frosting.

True to his word, Lane was at my shop within 10 minutes.  Holding his hand was an adorable little girl with long honey hair and a casual outfit of denim overalls.  I looked at her clothes quizzically, wondering if Lane really was raising her on his own.  No woman would dress her daughter in farmer’s overalls, and it was immediately obvious to me why the child would want to wear a princess costume.

“Well hello there,” I greeted sweetly, gazing down at the wide-eyed girl.  “Is this the princess I’ve heard so much about?”

Mackenzie bowed her head shyly as her father replied, “This is the princess, alright.” Just as he had done earlier, Lane removed his baseball cap and charmed me with another knee-weakening smile.

“I guess you’re a big fan of the Padres,” I surmised, pointing to the cap.

Lane chuckled and replied, “Well I better be, considering I play first base for them.”

“You’re a professional baseball player?” I marveled, completely impressed and even more attracted to him.  Not much of a sports fan, I had nonetheless always had a special place in my heart for baseball.  “I love baseball.  My father always wanted to be a baseball player,” I revealed, not realizing what I was saying.  My expression darkened as I thought of the beloved man who had played in a community league for his entire adult life until succumbing to a stroke two years ago.  His absence in Minneapolis was just one other reason that had made me want to move away.  Far away.

“That’s all I ever wanted to be too.  I guess a lot of boys dream about it,” Lane mused as I nodded fervently, glad that he hadn’t asked me to elaborate about my father.  Talking about him still brought tears to my eyes.

“Definitely,” I agreed.  “So did you decide on a menu for the party?”

Lane gazed adoringly at his daughter and gestured for her to pipe up.  Coyly, she said, “I want your special Cherry Cheesecake cupcakes.  And the make-your-own-cupcake workshop.”

“
Please
,” Lane emphasized, nudging the girl to utter the courtesy.

“PLEASE!” She exclaimed whole-heartedly as I laughed at her innocent lack of self-consciousness.  Why couldn’t girls stay so sure of themselves and not let the world break them down?

“Well that sounds like a perfect choice, young lady!” I said warmly before turning back to Lane.  “How many children will be attending?”

We took a seat at one of my round birch wood dining tables and sketched out the remaining details for the party.  Mackenzie poked around the shop curiously, staring at the framed pastry artwork on the walls and smacking her lips.

“I think you’ve got a hungry girl on your hands,” I laughed.  “Why don’t I go to the kitchen and get her a cupcake from the refrigerator?  We have plenty of leftovers from today.”

“Oh yes Daddy please!  PLEASE!” Mackenzie squealed, dashing over to Lane and softening him with googly eyes.

“You did eat all your broccoli at dinner.  So the answer is yes.  One cupcake.”

“Would you like chocolate or vanilla?” I asked.

“Chocolate! Please!” She replied automatically as Lane and I traded amused looks.

“Coming right up,” I promised, rubbing my hands together.

As I left the storefront, I felt a draft gust through the shop.  Arriving in the kitchen, I was astonished to see the back door wide open.  I gasped, tip-toeing across the room and holding my breath.  Who had opened the door, and were they still there?

Outside the door, I could swear I heard footsteps retreating.  Tight as a wooden doll, I crept outside, narrowing my eyes in the dark trying to make out any human form.  All I could see was the trash bin a few hundred feet away and the lively steakhouse across the street with its neon sign flashing.  Not a soul was around.  But I had definitely heard footsteps.  I gulped in fear, wondering if I had been foolish to dismiss the idea of ghosts.  My fear turned into panic as I felt a cold hand close over my shoulder in a death-grip.