Brownies & Betrayal (Sweet Bites Mysteries, Book 1) (3 page)

Blood pooled on the floor beneath her head, and streaks led to the edge of the tablecloth. More blood soaked her dress and ran down from her chest, where a shard of china vase still stuck out from her heart. Her eyes were closed, her face gray, the earring twinkling in the reflected light. My breath caught and I dropped the tablecloth, taking several steps back. Was she dead? I wasn’t sure, but my first thought was that she had to be. I held my breath for a moment, then started breathing again, faster than ever.

I dipped my hand in my pocket for my cell phone, dialed 911 and approached the body again. Body—was she dead? I asked myself again. Though there were still over twenty minutes before the ceremony was scheduled to begin, I heard the murmur of voices coming from the next room. My hand shook as the operator answered, “9-1-1, what’s the address of the emergency?”

I gave her the name of the hotel and what I remembered of the address. I spoke haltingly, still not sure I believed what I’d seen. “There’s a body, I’m not sure if she’s dead, but this woman, at the hotel, she’s been hurt. Blood. Lots of blood.” Why was I freaking out? Most of the time, I was so level-headed. I’d encountered many an emergency during weddings over the years, and they hadn’t thrown me. But I’d never seen so much blood before.

As she relayed the information to emergency personnel, I lifted the table cloth and looked into Valerie’s gray face again. Her eyes were closed, for which I was grateful, as I didn’t think I could stand looking into her dark, almond-shaped eyes if they had been vacant. I smelled the tang of blood in the air, and wondered, vaguely, why I hadn’t noticed it before.

One pink rosebud lay across her pale chest, as if put there as adornment while the rest of the bouquet lay scattered around her. Her legs were scrunched up in front of her, so she was in the fetal position—the only way she would have fit under the table.

A teenage girl approached me in her wait-staff uniform. “Is something wrong?” she asked.

I pointed to the body. The girl’s eyes widened, and turning hysterical, she screamed. That made me feel almost competent—after all, I hadn’t screamed, right? I almost wet myself with surprise, but I managed not to scream.

I heard a faint beeping in the hallway, the whisper of a voice over the radio—the same voice I heard in my ear, though slightly off-sync, and a tall, muscular man with serious, pale-blue eyes and strawberry blond hair entered the room, scanned it, zeroed in on me and strode over in long, ground-eating steps. “Where’s the patient?” I wondered if he intended to kneel in the blood while wearing his gray pinstripe suit—which was definitely off the rack, not a product of Armani or any other designer of note. Strange, the details you notice when you’re in shock.

I pointed to the table, and he flipped up the cloth edge, brushing my cake with it. I decided I didn’t much care if he damaged the decorations as I collapsed into a nearby chair. He felt for Valerie’s pulse, lifted an arm and pulled out his cell phone. A moment later, I heard him say, “This is Jack King with the Agave County paramedics. You can 1022 the ambulance—the patient is status echo. Trauma to the head and chest, rigor mortis has already begun.”

I didn’t get most of what he said—it was all gibberish. I did get the words “rigor mortis,” however. That was hard to miss. I felt all the blood rush out of my head and I swayed.

Jack looked up at me, stood and hurried over, closing his phone and sliding it back into his pocket. “Hey, are you okay?” He touched my shoulder and forced me to bend at the waist so I folded in half. “Head between your legs. Feeling a bit woozy?”

“It’s my first dead body,” I told him. “Last night I saw her wearing that dress. She looked a little healthier then.”

“Yeah, I bet she did.” He touched my wrist for a moment—feeling for a pulse, I wondered? “Stay there, don’t move.” He stood and headed back to the door, where, when I turned my head to follow him, I saw people starting to crowd in. “Everyone out. The police will be here any minute. Go on, get out.”

A distinguished man in a gray tux and wearing a pink rose boutonnière stood firm and argued with him, but Jack urged him out, promising someone would be by to explain in a minute. He requested that Mr. Richardson—which would make him father of the groom—wait for the police at the front door and show them in. I saw Tad standing beyond the door, looking in, shock on his unnaturally pale face. I thought it would be good if he put his head between his knees as well.

A minute later Jack crouched beside me. “Feeling better yet?”

“Yeah. Why did everyone come?” I asked.

“The screaming. Was it you?”

“No. Some young wait staff. Blonde.” My words were still halting, but I thought I might sit up without passing out now. When I straightened in the chair, I saw the body again, Valerie. One long, slim arm extended behind her. “How long has she been dead?”

“I don’t know—the officers will have an idea. Feeling better?”

I nodded, relieved it didn’t make my head spin.

He looked me over. “What are you doing here? Do you work in the kitchen?”

“No, I’m the pastry chef. Analesa asked me to make the cake.”

He put two fingers on my wrist’s pulse point again. “You sound like you’re from the east.”

“Chicago. I’ve only been back for a few days. Should’ve known leaving the city would put me in the middle of something. Bronson warned me.” I was babbling at this point, not sure why, except that I needed to fill the silence with words.

“Bronson?”

“Bronson Daniel DeMille the third. My fiancé, or rather, my
ex
-fiancé.” Lousy cheat. But I didn’t need to spread my dirty laundry, and it appeared I did still have a tiny bit of self-control left.

“He warned you not to come to Silver Springs?” Jack stood again.

“Rednecks, he said. Hole in the ground. Waste of my potential.” These were all things he’d said in a conversation we’d had on the phone the previous evening as he tried to convince me I should return to Chicago and work for him again, instead of staying in this backwater hole—as he called it. I was rather attached to this backwater hole. He also seemed to think he could sweet-talk his way back into our relationship. Stupid jerk. As if I would ever forget the sight of him kissing Karen, of the smirk on her face when she’d seen my hurt and surprise.

A sneer came over Jack’s face. “I’ve heard that before. I didn’t agree then, either.” He moved away as the sound of sirens penetrated the room. “You seem fine to me. I suppose I should go where I’m useful.”

I wasn’t sure what I’d said to cause the attitude turnaround. Maybe he was just like that. Was he with the police? He seemed to know what was going on. I wished I did, but I didn’t seem to have regained full control of my senses.

The sirens stopped, and a couple of minutes later, the doors opened and three blue-uniformed officers entered along with a man in a suit. Two went straight to the body, the other stayed to talk to Jack and the man in the suit, a tow-head in his early forties, came to my side. “Jack said he didn’t get your name. I’m Detective Tingey. Can you tell me what you know?”

“I’m Tess, Tempest Crawford, and I made the cake.” I told him everything I remembered from the moment I arrived, though I’m afraid it came out a bit jumbled and full of nonsense. I ran through the events, then he had me write them down. By that time, I felt more in control, and I hoped my written account made sense.

As he took the papers from me, he asked, “Is there anything you noticed that was out of place? You said she wore that dress last night. Is she missing jewelry, a purse, anything else you remember?”

I touched my ears, then my chest as I tried to remember. How had I missed it at first? “Her jewelry. She had a real flashy bracelet, necklace and earrings. I know she’s still wearing the earrings but I don’t think she has the necklace on anymore. I’m not sure about the bracelet.” I took back the pages I’d written on and turned the last one over, doing a rough sketch of the set for him. “It was an expensive set, probably worth several thousand dollars. Do you think it might be a robbery gone wrong?”

“It’s too early to tell. Thanks for the sketch—it helps.” He took the pages back and moved away.

Everything seemed to happen in a blur—the people, the officers, the noise and confusion—but above the din, I heard Analesa’s clear, distinctive voice wailing. At first I thought it was over the death of her friend, then I realized that was only one component. “Val, Val is dead, how can I get married without Val? My wedding is ruined. This was supposed to be the most perfect day of my life. But Val. Val! And her poor little girl. Parentless.” It sounded as though she wasn’t sure whether she should be more upset over her friend’s unfortunate demise, or the postponing of the ceremony. Tad patted her hand, a grim look on his face. It was his wedding too—I supposed he was more than allowed to be upset.

A moment later Valerie’s little girl ran into the room, tears flowing down her cheeks. Tad took three long strides and snatched the girl up before one of the officers could stop her. She sobbed and hit and kicked Tad, calling out to her mommy. He cradled her to his chest, murmuring softly into her hair and walked back toward the exit. The girl grew limp despite her sobs, and her little hands wrapped behind his neck before they moved out of sight.

My heart wrenched for her pain as I remembered vividly the way I’d felt when I learned my parents had been killed in a train accident. Was it better or worse that I’d been old enough to really understand what dead meant? I rubbed the chill from my arms and forced the thoughts away.

Everyone milled around, shocked and muttering. Soon Honey approached, her long black hair hanging in cornrows and her dark eyes filled with concern. “Are you okay? Someone said you found Valerie.” She leaned over and gave me a big hug.

I squeezed her back, grateful for her calming influence. I’d needed a friend. “I did. It’s horrible. I can’t even explain how awful.” Honey and I had been best friends since we were little, despite the distance between our homes.

She let me talk about what had happened until one of the officers asked her to rejoin the others. Honey squeezed my hand, promising to stop by and see me later, but left without complaint, promising me to keep her ears open. I knew how she loved gossip; it was part of what made her the savvy, people-oriented person she was.

Eventually Caroline stopped by. “We’re going to have the buffet set up in the next room though the ceremony isn’t taking place today. The police say we’ll be able to hold the wedding tomorrow, even if we have to set up on the grounds. Can you take the cake back with you, and bring it again tomorrow. It’ll keep in the fridge, won’t it?”

“It’ll keep.” I didn’t mention it was covered in fondant, so the refrigerator wasn’t an option, not unless she wanted it to sweat and get water spots on it. She wouldn’t care about the details, anyway, and I could handle it.  The pantry downstairs in the shop was cool, since I hadn’t turned on the heat there yet, and it was still March. The problem was that my cake sat on top of the table above the body, and the police hadn’t appeared too interested in letting anyone near it. Deciding it couldn’t be helped, I went in search of Detective Tingey. I hoped he could work something out for me.

Ten minutes later, under my direction, an officer disassembled the tiers, as much as I dared let him, and brought it over to me. I lifted the plate off the second tier and drove several sharpened dowels through the two tiers. That would keep everything together until I brought the cake back the next day. I’d deal with any issues later. I loaded everything back into my SUV and headed home.

Technically, I shouldn’t stash the cake in the pantry at the restaurant. My shop still hadn’t had a health inspection, and I hadn’t heard back on my business license application yet. The decorating, which I did in the grocery store bakery—there are advantages to Honey’s connections—and piles of paperwork to make everything legal, had kept me busy all week. I hadn’t taken the time to clean the shop downstairs. Unable to settle after the events of the day, I changed out of my white chef’s uniform and headed down to put things to rights.

I started by making a list of everything that needed to be done. I’d already ordered a commercial oven and a nice range, and placed an ad in a regional restaurant website to sell the fryer and grill.

I’d worked for half an hour when Honey showed up, changed from her bright, flowered dress into faded jeans with non-factory created rips in them, and an old, faded T-shirt with the grocery store logo on it. She had her cornrows pulled back from her face in an elastic, making her cocoa-latte features more pronounced. She had a gorgeous face with the perfect mix of her Jamaican and French ancestry. “I figured you’d be digging in to work and could use some help, and sustenance. Since your ovens aren’t here yet, I brought something along.” She opened the pink box to expose four chocolate éclairs.

My favorite. “You know me so well.” My recipe would be better, but I wasn’t about to complain—“any éclair in an emergency” is my motto. “Are you staying around to help, or are you leaving me with three?” I asked as I washed my hands at the sink.