Banana Muffins & Mayhem (7 page)

"You all have been concentrating so hard, creating beautiful letters. You deserve a snack." Aubergine turned off the light on the retro-style overhead projector she was using to demonstrate the writing strokes. "There is water, iced tea, and a few snacks at the back of the room."

Amy had been aware of somebody entering and exiting the room behind her. But she was so lost in the maze of thoughts blitzing around her mind, she hadn't paid attention to who it was. Apparently, it had been Chuck delivering the refreshments.

The detective, turned astute student, stood and stretched her arms over her head. As she reached toward the ceiling, her gaze locked on Amy. Her right eyelid twitched. "Hello. Have you been sitting next to me since the class began?"

Amy didn't know if she should be relieved to have someone with such an intense focus working on the murder. Or should she be wary that Detective Foster had been oblivious for over half an hour that the person who found the dead body in her first case was sitting two feet away from her?
Or
what if she was just pretending to be clueless? The possibilities were as endless as a buffet in Las Vegas. And Foster was the unlabeled mystery sushi. Amy nodded. "I came in right before class started. You seemed to be interested in something on your phone."

"That happens a lot." To prove the point, she fished the vibrating phone out of her pants pocket. "Excuse me."

When she retreated to a quiet corner of the classroom to take the call, Amy headed to the busiest area in the room—the snack table. She grabbed a bottle of water and examined the platters of treats. The sugar-coated gingersnaps looked good, but the chocolate chip energy balls called out to her, so she grabbed a couple. Despite a short nap in the afternoon, her energy reserves were definitely running low.
Stupid insomnia.
The no-bake snacks were popular in the food blogging world. Bite-sized, homemade versions of energy bars. She took a bite—chewy, sweet, and chocolatey.

"I love these. Did you make them?" Amy asked Aubergine when the teacher joined her students.

"I did. Found the recipe in one of the illustrated cookbooks we carry. Every recipe I've tried from it has been really good, and the book is so colorful and gorgeous."

"Sounds interesting…very unique. Could you show it to me after class?"

"I would be happy to."

Aubergine excused herself to talk to a group of teenage girls who wanted to speak with her about lettering comics. So Amy turned her attention to eating the second energy ball. Maybe they could boost her decision-making powers too. She had close to one hundred pictures that she had taken at Phoebe's very last public appearance. There could be clues in them pertaining to Foster's case.

Amy sighed. Why did her mind have to come up with so many possibilities? Offering the photographs to the detective seemed like the best thing to do. But what if the police officer interpreted the gesture as an attempt to divert attention away from a suspect? Amy coughed as a crumb caught in her throat. Following that line of reasoning meant that both she and Alex could be murder suspects. Ugh.

The detective finished her call and joined the rest of the class at the snack table.
What to do?
Amy tapped the toe of her suede bootie on the wooden floor. Another energy ball helped her make a decision. The benefits outweighed the possibly negative interpretation.

Many of the other people were wandering back to their desks, eager to begin the lesson again. Amy tossed her napkin into the trash can and returned to her desk too. When the detective sat down in her chair, Amy leaned sideways. "Excuse me. I don't mean to intrude, but I just wanted to offer you some pictures I took at the Cabin Fever Cure event. I was going to write a blog post about Phoebe, so I took the pics for that. Now that she's dead, I won't be doing the post, but I thought maybe you would like to look at them to see if you spot anything suspicious."

Detective Foster silently stared at Amy for a few seconds. A good technique for making suspects squirm in an interrogation room. Not so pleasant in the middle of what was supposed to be a fun art class. Finally, she replied. "I would like to see those. Thank you."

Phew! Amy was beginning to sweat as though she was standing in front of the open door of a woodburning pizza oven. She placed one of her business cards on the other woman's desk. "Just email me when you get the chance. I'll give you access to the online account where I've stored copies of them."

When Amy left the bookstore an hour later, she was glad the night air was chilly because she was sweltering. She couldn't figure out if Foster was in calm and cool detective mode or if she normally had a frosty personality. Whatever the reason for the cold shoulder, the terse responses and less-than-friendly attitude had left Amy unnerved. The overhead, recessed lights in the classroom felt as though they were heat lamps in a restaurant pass-through window. And she was the sprig of parsley garnish on a plate that had been forgotten by a waitress. Even though she knew in her gut that sharing the photographs was the right thing to do, her overheated mind was questioning the decision. If the gesture was taken the wrong way, what would be the consequences?

The warmth from the sunshine made Amy feel as if she was wrapped in a cozy flannel blanket. All of the tension in her shoulders eased as she gently baked herself on the park bench. Life was giving her happy little surprises to offset the stress of being in the middle of another murder investigation, such as the gloriously sunny day and a burst of creative ideas for posts on her blog. After working a few hours that morning in the kitchen at Riverbend Café, she ended her shift by making a toasted coconut latte for herself then taking a stroll to the park on the other side of the Cooley River.

Ideas for everything from spring vegetable gratin to how to make the perfect meringue base for a chocolate-covered strawberry pavlova poured into the notebook balanced on her knees. She was jotting down so many notes that her fingers ached from gripping the narrow stick pen. The crunch of shoes on the gravel path beside her produced an undulating flourish at the end of a word, but the writing was far from beautiful calligraphy. The flinch-induced embellishment looked more like toddler scribbles than art. And her heart was racing as fast as her dog, Pogo, when he discovered a squirrel in their backyard. She had been so engrossed in taking notes that she hadn't realized she was no longer alone in the small park.

"Good morning," Chuck said as he paused his jog in front of Amy. Shiny lines of sweat traced down his tanned face. As usual, he was wearing all black clothing, this time with exercise appropriate shorts and a T-shirt. Amy had respect for his unwavering dedication to the color since it absorbed heat from the sunshine and added it to the warmth his exercise routine was already generating internally—suffering in the name of fashion with the macho man equivalent of wearing pointed-toe stilettos.

"It is a glorious morning, isn't it? This sunshine feels wonderful after all of the long gray days this winter," Amy replied as she squinted up at Chuck. His black hair, slicked into a slim ponytail, gleamed like a raven's wing in the bright midday light. She used her hand to make an improvised sun visor. "How is Aubergine doing? There certainly was a packed house for her beginner's calligraphy class. I had so much fun, and I think everybody else did too. She's a fantastic teacher."

He pulled the bottom of his shirt up and used it to wipe the sweat off his forehead. Amy caught a glimpse of six-pack abs. Even though he was no longer a mixed martial arts fighter, Chuck was still staying in very good shape. He leaned over slightly, planting his hands on his knees. "It was nice to see her so happy last night. She loves teaching. This stuff with the TV star has really gotten her down. No matter what I say, I can't seem to ease her guilt over arranging for that awful woman to come here." His eyes narrowed. "Before the event began, she had tracked down Aubergine to complain, blaming her for ruining the weekend by bringing her to 'stupid Kellerton.' How ridiculous is that? It's not like Aubergine held a gun to the whacko's head and made her come. The planning committee booked an appearance through a publicity agent. If she didn't want to come here, she shouldn't have agreed to the contract. I figure she just got her jollies off of being mean and nasty. And you can't throw that kind of karma out into the world without having it come back around."

He kicked a softball-sized rock in the flower bed next to the bench. Amy held her breath as the stone took flight for several feet then rolled down the embankment and landed with a plop in the river. Her foot throbbed in sympathy for Chuck's toes. The anger-induced punt had to have hurt. Despite the glare from the sun hanging behind his head, Amy could still see the intense expression on his face. The rage radiating from him made her shiver. She had never seen him react so intensely to anything, even when someone had been trying to blackmail him the previous summer.

"I know you want to help Aubergine feel better. I do too. Maybe she would cheer up if you brought her some sweet treats." She pointed at Riverbend, directly across from them on the other side of the river. "I made some raspberry and white chocolate brownies at the café this morning. They may even still be warm."

Chuck's scowl softened. "That's a good idea. I bet she would like that. Thank you for the suggestion." He nodded at the notebook, which was wobbling on her shaking knees. "I'll let you get back to your writing. Have a good day."

She watched Chuck jog across the bridge then disappear into Riverbend. Apparently, he had liked her idea on how to improve his sad wife's mood. For a few irrational seconds, Amy had thought he might pick up the bench she was sitting on and throw it, along with her, into the river in a fit of fury over his wife taking a hit from Phoebe's bad attitude. His caveman soccer player impression had been an unexpected show of anger from the usually gentle giant. Amy put away the notebook and fished her phone out of her purse. She now had more important things to brainstorm beyond blog posts.

Half an hour later, she pulled her Mini into the driveway Carla and Shepler shared with their townhouse neighbors. Amy always made sure to stay on the right side of the cement pad to make sure her parking habits didn't cause problems for Carla. Vengeful neighbors were the last things the harried momma needed to deal with. Taking care of a very opinionated munchkin twenty-four hours a day was more than enough of a challenge.

Outraged screeches filtered through the front door as Amy walked up the path to the entrance. She pressed the doorbell. The baby noises stopped for a few seconds then started again with more feeling and greater gusto. The dead bolt clicked, and the door swung open. Amy took a step backward.

Carla's short chestnut-colored hair stuck out in random, oddly-shaped clumps. The front of her oversized, white T-shirt sported a giant brown cow spot, most likely coffee but possibly originating from the baby. She squinted at Amy. "I'll answer your questions after I take a shower."

Before she even had a chance to protest, Amy found herself in the living room alone with an unhappy baby. "So what am I going to do with you?" she asked Macy. The baby responded by balling her hands into tiny fists and doing an impression of a boxer pummeling an invisible punching bag. Being put in charge of an upset miniature pugilist was not what she had expected when she called to ask if she could come over.

Amy extracted Macy from the infant swing and tried bouncing the baby on her knee. She had seen Carla do the bouncy-knee move many times. Macy smiled for a few seconds then her face contorted into a grimace. She momentarily resumed her shadow-boxing match but stilled when Amy felt a warm vibration originating from her diaper.

"Oh, no. You didn't just do what I think you did." She looked at the smiling baby. An ominous gurgle came from deep inside the diaper as the heat on Amy's knee intensified. She gingerly lifted up the infant and turned her to the side. A mustard-colored stain was blooming on the back of her onesie above her leggings. Amy glanced at the stairway which Carla had disappeared up. An answer to her silent plea for help came in the form of the sound of water running through pipes in the nearby wall. Carla had just turned on the water to start her shower. So Amy was on her own. She held the giggling baby out in front of her as she hurried to the nursery. "It's just you and me, kiddo. Let's work together on this, please."

Watching Carla and Geri changing the baby dozens of times still didn't prepare her for the ordeal of a cataclysmic diaper blow out. The scene when she unlatched the tabs on the diaper made her swoon. Then, Macy magically transformed into a miniature ninja, repeatedly blocking Amy's advances with the baby wipes using perfectly timed kicks and jabs. How often did messes like that happen? And why was Macy smiling and giggling?

Carla's timing was impeccable. She walked down the stairs just as Amy emerged from the nursery. "Did you need to change her diaper?" she asked.

"And her outfit. I hope you don't mind that I put her in a sleeper." Amy shook her head. She'd had no idea that changing a diaper could be that harrowing of an experience. The mess had somehow migrated upward until it was even smeared in Macy's armpits. "I think I used half of the tub of wipes cleaning her up."

Carla laughed. "Don't worry about the wipes. I buy them in bulk. I'm sorry to traumatize you."

"You obviously needed a break, so it was the least I could do." She wasn't going to burden her friend by telling her that she had been so frustrated with the diaper bomb fiasco that she had started crying. Or that her hands shook so badly that she could barely fasten the snaps on the clean, thankfully one-piece sleeper she had managed to wriggle Macy into. There was no way she could've managed putting on a onesie, leggings, and socks like the baby had been wearing. The brief babysitting stint had left Amy's nerves more jangled than competing in a live-audience cooking contest. Did other women feel that way about babies, or was she an oddball? Amy took a deep breath and said, "It looks like the shower helped."