1 Nothing Bundt Murder (9 page)

CHAPTER
TWENTY

I slept for a good two hours with Cupcake curled next to me. And though I still felt a little queasy from my long night, I woke up feeling somewhat better. Cupcake looked bright eyed and bushy tailed as usual.

I was still a little hurt from Nana’s ‘tough love’ treatment, but I decided that maybe she was right about one thing
, at least—I had given up on a lot of things in my life. Love. My dream career. My hair…

I looked in the mirror and frowned. Maybe my hassle-free pony tail was getting a little tiresome. I grabbed my brush and blow dryer and added a little curl, so that instead of my usual straight, boring hair, it had a little lift and bounce. Then I put on a little eyeliner, blush and lip-gloss. There. That was better.

Though I still wouldn’t go back to Casey—a vow is a vow after all— there was one thing I could do to improve my lot in life. The more I thought about my idea, the more sense it made to me, but I needed to talk to Babette about it first, as it involved her and her case.

I wanted to see how she was doing anyway, so I intended to drive by her house, but on the way there, I passed the store and was surprised to see her through the window, moving around inside.

I hurriedly parked and went inside.

“Babette? You came to work today?”

She looked up at me startled. “Rosie!”

She ran over gave me an emotional hug. “I don’t know how to thank you for what you’ve done.”

I hugged her back, then looked her over. She still looked pale—paler even than usual but I figured her color would come back once she was out and baking again. Otherwise, she looked the same, although slightly thinner, if that was possible.

“Are you really opening the store back up?” I asked. “I thought Casey Baron was buying the land. And that
Bundt Baby
took away your franchise.”

“They did,” she said, emotion rising to her cheeks. “I’m closing the place. Doug and I already agreed to sell it. But I’ll be opening my own bake shop someplace else. So even though I won’t be a
Bundt Baby
anymore, I’ll still be baking. I’m going to broaden my horizons.”

“That’s wonderful!” I said, looking around. “But I thought…I mean I thought that if you closed this place, you couldn’t afford to rent or buy another suitable location
.”

“Come, sit down,” she said pulling a chair out at the little peach and white-painted wooden table. I took a seat as Babette went behind the counter and prepared a pot of hot tea. She put it and some china cups on a tray and brought it over to the table, then she sat down across from me.

“I wouldn’t have been able to afford to rent or buy a comparable location with my part of the money from the sale. But it turns out my lawyer says I have a case against
Bundt Baby
.”

“A case?” I looked at her puzzled.

“They pulled my franchise before I was even convicted. My lawyer says they jumped the gun in doing that, which interfered with my ability to earn my livelihood. He says we have a lawsuit against them…though most likely they’ll settle.”

“That’s wonderful!” I clasped her hand. “So everything worked out.”

She nodded sadly. “Except for Doug. It looks like he’s going to be convicted of the murder.” Her big blue eyes blinked back tears. “I mean I know it’s absurd--he killed Dahlia and tried to kill me. But…it’s still going to take some time to get over.”

“Yeah,” I nodded. Even though he was a lying
, cheating, killing bastard, I knew how it was to love someone who was a jerk—minus the killing part.

“You know, that’s actually what I wanted to talk to you about
.” I sat up straight and cleared my throat. “I…was thinking. I’m considering writing an article about this whole story for the paper. I mean, as you know, that was my original goal in coming out here…journalism. And I didn’t get the TV job but I was thinking I could do a real in depth piece on this.”

She nodded thoughtfully. “So… you’d want to interview me?”

“Yeah, I mean, if you wouldn’t mind.”

She was looking at me, obviously considering the idea. “I suppose it wouldn’t hurt. After all, I do owe you.”

“No, it’s not that,” I assured her. “I don’t want you to feel like you have to say ‘yes’. I was just thinking I’d focus on you and your store and how Doug ruined everything and tried to kill you. I mean, who knows? Maybe it’ll provide good publicity for your new shop."

She smiled and clasped my hand. “Okay, let’s do it!  I’m just taking inventory here, before everything’s dismantled and packed up tomorrow. And I was planning to make a last batch of Bundts, as a thank you for all your help.”

“Oh, that’s so sweet,” I said. “But completely unnecessary…”

“It’s the least I can do,” she said, giving me a look.

I thought of arguing more but who was I kidding? I really wanted that last batch of delicious Bundts. I nodded in thanks.

“Why don’t you come back this evening and we’ll do it then?” she said.

“Great, okay.” I stood up and grabbed my purse. “Do you need any help with anything here?”

She shook her head and started collecting our tea things and putting them back on the tray. “Actually, Rosie, would you mind keeping Cupcake for a few more days? I just need to get things in order before I take her back.”

“No problem. I love Cupcake. I’ll see you later,” I said with a wave, then I headed out of the store feeling like a confident young woman, taking charge of my life. Nana would be so proud—that’s if she was on speaking terms me so I could tell her. And Casey would be prou…

I stopped myself. I wasn’t going to go there. Casey was a cheater and I was through with cheaters.

I went back to the guest house and played with Cupcake for a few minutes. Then I fed her, made myself a snack of yogurt and blueberries, and sat down at the dining table to organize my research on the
Bundt Baby
murder.

I considered pitching the concept to the local paper before I even started on it, but then figured why limit myself? A story this compelling might turn into a magazine piece that could lead to bigger things for me. After all, I did have the inside scoop.

I started out by making a general list of questions that I wanted to ask Babette. Then with Cupcake rubbing against my ankles in apres-dinner gratitude, I stroked her head as I looked at the available research online.

I rewatched some of the footage from the bridal shower that had been posted on various news channel websites. There were so many different versions of it, taken from so many different camera phones and video recorders that I watched the same thing at least 5 times from different angles.

It was interesting to see but I had the advantage of having been there. And of having Babette to interview about the whole thing. 

I knew I should nap, but I was too excited at the prospect of the article. I even jotted down a few notes
for my opening paragraph. It was all I could do to wait until my interview with her at 6:00.

By 5:30 I couldn’t wait any longer, so I gave Cupcake a ‘goodbye’ scratch, then headed out.

I arrived at
Bundt Baby
fifteen minutes early, figuring I could at get some shots of the store before it was all dismantled. I didn’t think Babette would mind and if she did I’d just wait outside. I expected her to be in the store, baking or inventorying, but I noticed that outside, the parking lot was empty. Her car wasn’t there.

I walked up to the front door and peered through the window but it was dark inside. The only light seemed to be coming from the
back which was visible because the door to the kitchen was slightly ajar. I knocked, but there was no answer. Maybe Babette was in the back and couldn’t hear me.

The store key was still on my keychain,
so I unlocked the front door. The chimes tinkled as I went in. The place was dark, and the glass displays empty. There were boxes stacked on the little eat-in tables, so I took a few shots with my phone camera and then headed to the kitchen door.

I pushed it open and peeked my head in. From where I was standing I could see that the dim light in back was coming from the opened freezer door. That seemed odd.

“Babette?” I called out, as I entered the kitchen. “It’s Rosie! I’m a little early but…”

Just then the back door slammed shut as though someone had just run out the back way. I frowned and flipped on the kitchen light, looking around. “Babette?”

The trays of recently-made Bundt cakes were cooling on the racks, and a bag of butter cream frosting was sitting on the counter, just waiting to be used. But there was no sign of Babette.

That’s when I heard the chimes on the store’s front door open.

I went to the door that separated the kitchen from the front of the store and looked out. “Babette,” I called again. I was thinking she must have gone out for something through back of the kitchen and then come back in through the front of the store. But when I looked up, I saw it was Doug.

“Rosie!” he yelled, coming towards me.

I ran back into the kitchen and slammed the door between us shut. He was pounding on it from the other side, banging hard, trying to get it open.

“Open the door,” he called out, enraged.

I was shaking with fear. For all I knew he blamed me for getting him arrested and wanted to kill me.

I tried to hold the door shut with one hand and get it locked with the other but he kept pounding on it and trying to push it open.

I was finally able to lock it, despite all the banging and cursing. But just as I was making my way to the back door, Doug slammed the rolling buffet through the kitchen door, shattering it violently.

I gasped, terrified.

“Rosie!” he yelled, coming into the kitchen. “Stop!”

He grabbed me but I was able to push him away and dive behind a rolling baker’s rack. As he came towards me I shoved it towards him but he grabbed it, holding it still.
Then he pushed it into me, so that I was stuck, trapped beneath the counter—the rack forming the bars of the cage.

“Rosie,” he said. “Stop fighting me.”

Terrified, I reached one hand up to the counter, hoping to find the knife that we usually kept up there. But all I found was the bag of butter cream.

I pulled it down and stared at it dumbly. With shaking hands
, I squirted some into my mouth. If I was going to die, I might as well go doing something I loved. Eating butter cream.

But where in the world was that knife?

Just then Doug whipped the baker’s rack away and came towards me with the knife.
So that’s where it went.

“Rosie,” he called out. “I just want to talk to you. I won’t hurt you.”

Ha. Famous last words.

“I just want to explain to you…” He put out a hand for me to take. It was the last thing I wanted to do, but staying curled up in a ball under the counter wasn’t doing me much good either. I put my hand in his and let him pull me out.

“What…what do you want to talk about?” I asked, trying to keep calm and pretend that this was just a normal conversation with my boss’s husband.

“I’m innocent! I want you to believe me! To help me the way you helped Babette!”

He was standing inches from me, waving the knife, a crazed look in his eyes. “That’s why I’m here! I came to talk to her! To tell her I’m innocent! I was sound asleep the night that cake was poisoned. It wasn’t me who put that poison there. I went to bed early.”

I nodded slightly, afraid to move.

“Okay. Well. Tell the police that,” I said, trying to keep my voice as steady as possible. “Maybe they’ll believe you.”

“No! They don’t! My own lawyer doesn’t believe me! My own family! They all want me to take a deal and disappear forever!” His crazy eyes looked so sad and desperate and lost that I almost felt sorry for him. Almost but not quite. The knife still in his hand, waving dangerously close to my face as he talked, prevented it.

I nodded and forced myself to look into his eyes, as though taking him seriously. Maybe if I could convince him that I believed him, he’d let me live. “How…” my throat caught in fear. I swallowed hard and tried again. “How exactly do you think I can prove it was someone else?”

“Look at the footage again! I’m telling you— the film from that night! From here in the kitchen! There was a… a reflection in the glass! I think if you zoom in on the picture, the killer’s face will show up!” He was nodding and pacing wildly, then he started mumbling to himself.

I blinked in fear. “Doug, did you tell your lawyer this?”

“My lawyer?” he laughed, wildly.

Oops wrong question.

“My lawyer thinks I’m imagining it! He thinks I have the DT’s or something! I’m under house arrest at my parents but he wants me to go to a rehab place,” he shook his head, mumbling to himself. “They think I’m crazy!” The knife waved in his hand as he brushed his hair out of his eyes.