Read Battered to Death (Daphne Martin Cake Mysteries) Online
Authors: Gayle Trent
Battered to Death (Daphne Martin Cake Mysteries) (22 page)
“I just hope you’ll still remember tiny little Brea Ridge when you’re a big star,” I said.
“Well,
if
. . . and that’s a big
if
. . . I ever do become a big star, you’d better believe I’ll remember Brea Ridge.” He laughed. “This competition has been a fantastic experience all the way around.”
Fiona sidled up to his left. “Yeah, it has been a lot of fun . . . except for . . . well . . . you know.”
Lou’s smile faded. “Of course. Oh, man, Fiona, I didn’t intend to be crass.”
She dismissed his concern with a shake of her head. “You weren’t. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to bring everyone down. I only wish I’d been able to participate in the competition. Chef Richards kept me on such a tight chain that there was no way I could find time to work on anything . . . you know . . . outside of work.”
“Still, I’m very sorry for your loss,” Lou said.
“Any chance you’re looking for an assistant?” Fiona asked him.
“Um . . . not at the moment, but if that changes, I’ll keep you in mind,” he said.
She began digging in her purse for a business card. “I know I’ve got a stack of cards in here somewhere. . . . ”
“Hold that thought,” Lou said. He looked relieved as he left us to walk over to the television producer who’d motioned him over. It was one of the men I’d seen talking with him the day before.
I noticed that Fiona was still frantically searching for a card. Poor Fiona. I excused myself from her when I saw Ben coming back into the ballroom.
T
HANK YOU
for putting those in the car,” I told Ben. “I might take them by the house on my way to see Pauline. I thought I’d volunteer to take her prizes to her.”
“You’re planning on coming back here, aren’t you?” Ben asked. “I thought we’d have dinner in our room.”
I smiled. “That sounds wonderful. I’ll feed Sparrow when I go by the house, then.”
“Great.” He looked down at the floor.
“What about Sally?” I asked. “Would you like for me to go by and feed her too?”
“No,” he said, looking back up at my face. “I took care of her earlier today.” He took a deep breath. “There’s something I need to tell you.”
“All right.” I gazed at him expectantly, but he didn’t immediately elaborate. “Ben?”
“Yeah . . . Let’s step over here and sit at one of these empty tables for a minute.” He waved to someone.
I turned to see that it was Mark to whom Ben had gestured. Mark was now headed our way.
“Is there some new development in the case?” I asked. “Did you guys find out something else?”
“Not . . . not quite,” Ben said.
“Did you tell her?” Mark asked.
“I was getting ready to.” Ben placed his hand at the small of my back. “Let’s sit down, and I’ll explain everything.”
I didn’t like where this was going. Had there been
good
news in the case, we wouldn’t have needed to sit down to talk about it.
Ben pulled out a chair for me. I sat down and looked up at him warily. Ben sat to my left, and Mark sat directly across from him. I didn’t know how Mark had managed to get out of Myra’s sight for an instant—especially when he was getting ready to talk about an ongoing investigation—but he had.
I nodded.
“It doesn’t exist,” he said.
My jaw dropped. “It got erased?”
“There never was any surveillance footage,” Mark said. “We told you and Myra and everyone else that in order to plant fear in the killer’s mind. We hoped that would make him tip his hand.”
“You
lied
to me?” I asked Ben. “You made me think I was in the clear when I was not? I’m still a suspect in Jordan Richards’s murder?”
“We took a risk,” Ben said.
“You gave me false hope!” I said.
“Daphne, you’re not going to be arrested for killing Jordan Richards,” said Mark. “Even if you
were
guilty, the police don’t have enough evidence to charge you. They don’t have enough evidence to charge
anyone
.”
“That comes as little comfort to me now.” I pushed back my chair. “I’m going to talk with Kimmie Compton and see if she would like me to take Pauline’s prizes to her.”
Ben came after me as I walked away. “Daph, please, Mark and I thought it would work.”
“I get it,” I said. “I only wish you’d have let me in on the plan.”
“I wish we had too,” he said. “Please forgive me
and come back here and have dinner with me this evening.”
“All right.” I did forgive him, but I needed to be alone for a few minutes. In just a short time, I’d gone from being a suspect to being exonerated to being a suspect again. That realization hit me like a punch in the stomach. I so desperately wanted this ordeal to be over. Now I didn’t know if it ever would be.
As I was making my way back toward Kimmie Compton, I was intercepted by China and Juanita, my favorite cashier from Save-A-Buck.
“Congratulations on your wins!” Juanita grasped both my hands. “I am happy for you.”
“Thank you,” I said.
“Where are your trophies?” China asked. “I wanted to see them up close.”
“Ben has already put them in the car for me, but please come by the house anytime and take a look. I’m going to put them both on my mantel in the living room.”
Juanita let go of my hands and spun around to look at a cake someone was carrying out. “Ooh, isn’t it beautiful?”
“It is,” I said, smiling at Juanita’s excitement.
“Myra told us that the girl who made the flowers—Pauline, was it?—got poisoned,” China said.
I rolled my eyes. “She did not get poisoned. She had a reaction to the tetanus shot she was given after
she accidentally stabbed herself with a piece of floral wire this morning during her demonstration.”
“I wouldn’t be too quick to dismiss Myra’s theory,” said China. “A lot of times killers use conveniences like that to cover their tracks.”
“But why would someone want to harm Pauline?” I asked.
“Maybe she knows who killed Jordan Richards,” China said. “She didn’t stab herself until that big guy showed up.”
“You mean Gavin Conroy,” I said.
China nodded. “Maybe she thinks he did it.”
“Maybe he did,” I said.
“No matter what, the person who did do the murdering now believes Pauline knows the truth, right?” Juanita looked at China. “Is that not what Myra told us?”
“That is what she told us,” China said. “Either way, there’s still a killer on the loose, so you be careful out there, Daphne.”
I promised her I would. “I’m going to run over and see Pauline for a minute. I’m hoping to deliver her trophy to her. I think that would cheer her up. While I’m at the hospital, I’ll try to find out exactly what she knows . . . or thinks she knows.” To make Myra happy—because I knew word would get back to her—I said, “And I’ll ask her if the doctor ordered anyone to run a tox screen.”
China nodded. “Good idea. Let us know if we can help.”
“Thanks, China,” I said. “I will.”
I approached Ms. Compton. “Hi.”
She turned and smiled at me. “Hi there. Congratulations on your successful competition.”
“Thank you so much,” I said. “I’m going over to the hospital to check on Pauline. Would you like for me to take her prizes over? They might cheer her up—especially the trophy.”
“They very well might. That would be wonderful,” said Ms. Compton. “Please tell her I’ll be over to check on her later this evening if she hasn’t been released when I finish up here. And please also let her know I’ll box up her prize-winning flowers as soon as they’re photographed, and I’ll keep them safe for her.”
“I’ll do that.” I started to go pick up the trophy and prize basket but stopped and turned back to Ms. Compton. “May I ask you a question?”
“Of course,” she said.
“Do you have any theories on who murdered Chef Richards?” I asked.
She pursed her lips. “I honestly don’t. I know people can get awfully upset and protective of their craft. And you can hurt someone’s feelings in an instant about their work and not even realize you’ve done so. But I believe this was more personal. For a person to kill a man, I would think—hope—there would be something more valuable at stake than a cake, or a technique, or a criticism.”
“So would I.” I picked up the trophy and prize basket. “I’ll be back soon.”
“Take your time, dear,” she said. “It will take at least two hours for all the cakes to be photographed.”
B
EFORE GOING TO
the hospital, I went by my house to drop off my trophies and prize baskets and to feed Sparrow. The cat came running to greet me when I unlocked the door. For a stray that wouldn’t come near me before I’d spent weeks coaxing her with prosciutto, she now looked forward—albeit cautiously—to my presence.
“Hey, Sparrow,” I cooed. “How’s my pretty girl, huh?” I set the prize baskets on the counter and went back out to get the trophies.
“Check these out,” I told the cat when I returned. “First place in the novelty cake category and third place in the wedding cake category. Not too shabby, huh? No, it’s not shabby at all.”
Sparrow meowed her agreement . . . or her hunger. More than likely, it was her hunger.
I opened a can of cat food and poured it into her dish. Then I filled her water dish before going into the bathroom to freshen up. First things first—I washed my hands in case any of the smelly cat food juice got onto them. Next I touched up my makeup.
Ben hadn’t been subtle about his hope that dinner
in the room he’d rented would turn into an overnight stay, so I packed a bag just in case. I was still a tad miffed about his lying to me about the surveillance footage, but I knew his heart had been in the right place.
Considering the placement of Ben’s heart led me to wonder if he was any closer to making his decision about leaving Brea Ridge for Kentucky . . . and Nickie Zane.
I dropped a rollerball dispenser of his favorite perfume into my overnight bag. Hey, Nickie wasn’t getting him without a fight.
Not that I’d
kill
her over him. . . . If he didn’t choose me on his own, I didn’t want him. Really.
Really
.
Kimmie Compton had made a good argument earlier. People seldom kill over mere hurt feelings like criticism of their string work or their icing techniques. People kill when something they truly care about is threatened—a career, a loved one, a lifestyle. Who had something that Chef Richards had threatened? Or what did Chef Richards have that someone else wanted?
As I brushed my hair, I decided to start with what Chef Richards had that someone else might want. He had a lucrative career as a celebrity chef. Lots of the decorators who came to the first annual Brea Ridge Taste Bud Temptation Cake and Confectionary Arts Exhibit and Competition wanted that.
Pauline Wilson definitely would have loved to have unseated Jordan Richards as the reigning celebrity chef. But seeing that she was in the hospital recovering from a near heart attack caused, in part, by a congenital defect, would she have had the strength to hit Chef Richards hard enough to knock him out or to drown him in cake batter? I kind of doubted it.
Gavin Conroy was certainly strong enough to knock out Chef Richards and then suffocate him in the cake batter, but did he want to be a celebrity chef? He didn’t seem as eager to please the television executives as Pauline had. Of course, Pauline
had taken things to the extreme, but still, Gavin simply hadn’t appeared to be impressed by them at all. Were Mark and Myra right? Was Gavin interested in Lily Richards? And if so, why would he feel the need to knock her former husband over the head in order to pursue a relationship with her?
Still, even though the couple were either separated or divorced, Ms. Richards seemed dedicated to Jordan. But Fiona had called her a horrible flirt and claimed that Ms. Richards had lied about Jordan’s drinking problem. Fiona had told me that she didn’t have a current partner. Was she holding out hope for a serious relationship with Chef Richards? Maybe she thought they’d make the perfect celebrity chef couple. But if that were the case, she wouldn’t have killed the man . . . not unless he’d told her in no uncertain terms that they would never be a couple—celebrity or otherwise.
Fiona hadn’t wasted any time asking Lou if he needed an assistant. On the other hand, she hadn’t wasted any time asking me if
I
needed one. Maybe Fiona was desperate for money. Had Chef Richards not paid her? Had he cheated her somehow?
I let out a growl of frustration as I turned off the bathroom light and carried my overnight bag into the kitchen. How did one narrow down a field of suspects from the list of people who despised Jordan Richards? He could have possibly constituted a threat to at least two students with regard to their careers and/or their personal lives. I thought a
moment. And Chef Richards had been a threat to Alex. In fact, he’d been more than a threat to Alex. He’d caused the child to have a setback in his emotional development. But wasn’t Chef Richards already dead when Alex, his mother, and his uncle had arrived in Brea Ridge?
In addition to all the people I knew of who might’ve wanted to kill Chef Richards, there were hundreds of other visitors to the first annual Brea Ridge Taste Bud Temptation Cake and Confectionary Arts Exhibit and Competition who might’ve come here just to do the old boy in. The police might never catch Chef Richards’s killer.