Dying for a Cupcake (6 page)

“Great.” I stood. “Let’s go take a look.”

“Wait.” Ronni moved over to the sink and reached into the cupboard underneath it. When she straightened, she was pulling on a pair of rubber gloves.

“Seriously?” I raised an eyebrow at the bright purple gloves.

“Here.” She handed me a second pair. “If the cops decide Fallon’s death was foul play and end up dusting her car for prints, we don’t want them to find ours all over the interior.”

“You have a point.” I pulled on the neon orange gloves and followed Ronni outside.

Fallon drove a Fiat 500. It was a cute little vehicle with shiny white paint and hubcaps with an interlocking GG in the center. I had read about the Gucci edition of this car but never seen one before. The trademark red-and-green Gucci strip ran along the side, and if that weren’t enough to identify the design edition, the logo and name were everywhere.

As Ronni unlocked the driver’s-side door and slid inside, she said, “Fallon was so proud of this car. She said she’d just bought it and it was the first new one she’d ever possessed.”

“That’s so sad.” I got into the tiny backseat.

“Fallon said she’d been saving up for the Fiat ever since she went to work for Kizzy five years ago,” Ronni commented as she went through the glove box. “She told me that she grew up in foster homes and everything she’d ever owned was secondhand.”

“How awful that she finally got the car of her dreams and didn’t have time to enjoy it.” My heart hurt for the poor girl. “Someone her age, dying so young, is always sad, but Fallon’s death seems even more so for some reason. Maybe because she had turned her life around and was finally on a good path.”

“You’re right,” Ronni agreed. “I feel that way, too.”

I felt between the cushions and along the floor. There was nothing. The car still looked as if it had just driven out of the showroom. “Anything?” I asked Ronni.

“Not even a gum wrapper,” she answered.

After checking the trunk, which contained only a first aid kit and jumper cables, Ronni and I dejectedly returned to the kitchen. It looked as though our only hope was that the police would decide that Fallon had died from natural causes and that Chief Kincaid would make that conclusion public before the cupcake tourists were scared out of town.

I
waited while Ronni packed up some sandwiches and cookies for me to bring to my father and Hannah, then thanked her and headed out to my Z4. Before getting inside, I examined the paint one more time to make sure that delivery guy hadn’t scratched it.

As I used the bottom of my polo shirt to rub off a smudge near the handle, an idea flitted through my mind. With the hope that Fallon died from natural causes becoming harder and harder to sustain, I thought more about the possible cause of her death. If it wasn’t something she ate that made her sick, what about something she touched? Something no one else had handled. Like something that arrived after everyone else left for the restaurant.

After placing the bag of food for Dad and Hannah in the passenger seat, I turned on my heel and jogged back up the sidewalk to the B & B. I rang the bell, and as soon as Ronni answered the door, I asked, “Whatever happened to the package that Fallon was waiting for last night?”

“I have no idea.” Ronni’s expression became thoughtful. “Once we got home from the Golden Dragon, and
Lee discovered that Fallon was seriously ill, I doubt anyone ever even thought about the delivery.” Ronni wrinkled her brow. “You know, now that you mention it, Fallon said they weren’t expecting anything, and Kizzy and Lee were both puzzled as to what was being sent.”

“You didn’t notice an extra box or padded envelope sitting around?” I asked.

“There was nothing in the public rooms or with the cupcake stuff in the pantry.” Ronni shrugged. “But I wouldn’t know if there was anything in the guests’ rooms.” She glanced at her watch. “We can ask Kizzy and Lee when we see them later at dinner.”

“Let’s remember to do that.” I turned to go. “See you at six.”

After leaving the B & B, I drove to the dime store and delivered the sandwiches and cookies to Dad and Hannah. The shop was busy and I took over at the register to give Dad a breather. Then once he returned, I manned the soda fountain so Hannah could have a rest. We had a nice steady stream of customers, and when we closed up at four, an hour earlier than our usual time, my cash drawer was stuffed with money, checks, and credit card receipts.

Arriving home to change clothes, I found the place empty. I thought my father would be there, but he must have had after-work plans. I had no idea where he was or what those plans might be, as he and I hadn’t gotten back to the place in our relationship where we kept each other informed about our activities.

Not that I thought we should return to that status. We were both adults and didn’t need to check in with each other. Still, I wondered where he was and if he was okay, since he didn’t leave the property much except to go to work.

As always, he’d driven his own car to the store. While my mother had taken the family Lexus when she hightailed it out of town a few days after my father was convicted, my grandmother had made sure her son’s Grand Cherokee was ready for his return. I’d never realized that Gran hadn’t sold the fourteen-year-old Jeep, but when Dad came home and started driving the SUV, she’d informed me that she’d kept it tuned up and running, parked in an old barn sitting on the edge of our property.

I knew that my grandmother had already gone to St. Saggy’s to set up for the dinner. She and her friend Frieda were members of the church’s Martha Society, a volunteer group that prepared the meals for the funerals and fund-raisers of the parish. Gran and the other ladies had been making side dishes and desserts for several days, but they would fry up the chicken just before the diners sat down to eat.

Tonight’s dinner was limited to the cupcake competition participants and their guests, committee members and their plus ones, and the media. I wasn’t sure just how many to expect, but there would be at least fifty, maybe more. Dad had declined the offer to be my date for the St. Saggy’s event, saying that he wasn’t comfortable with attending community functions yet. Now I wondered if he’d had other plans all along. And if so, why he hadn’t just told me that.

Realizing that my father’s social life was really none of my business, I hurried into my bedroom and stripped out of my work clothes. After a quick shower, I put on white cotton slacks, a navy striped top, and red strappy sandals. Examining my reflection in the mirror, I twisted my damp hair on top of my head, then applied concealer and ruby lipstick. I knew my outfit was a little on the “Hello, sailor” side, but tomorrow was the
Fourth of July, so when better to break out the red, white, and blue?

Having justified my fashion choice, at least to myself, I hopped into my car and headed back into town. Ten minutes later, I arrived at the church parking lot. Most of the spaces were taken, but I noticed the ones near what had once been a six-foot-tall fiberglass figure of Jesus were vacant.

The statue had stood in front of St. Saggy’s for as long as I could remember, but several months ago, it had been struck by lightning. Like a pile of charcoal briquettes squirted with too much starter fluid, the sculpture had burst into flames. After the fire died down, all that was left was a blackened steel skeleton, a pile of ashes, and a brass memorial plaque that read I
N MEMORY OF MY BELOVED HUSBAND,
B
LAIS
E
F
IAMMETTA
. The irony of the dedication was not lost on me. I knew that in Italian, the word
fiamma
meant flame, so basically the stature had been erected to honor a man named Blaze Flame.

Gran had told me that the burned effigy was affecting attendance at Sunday Mass and Father Flagg was frantically trying to raise money to replace Jesus. Unfortunately, the cost was prohibitive and few people were contributing to his pet project. He had been lobbying for the proceeds of tonight’s dinner to be deposited in the statue fund, but I didn’t know if the church’s finance committee had agreed.

I had to admit, I understood why no one wanted to park near the twisted hunk of metal, but there were no other available spots. So averting my gaze from the disturbing image, I pulled the Z4 into an empty slot, got out of the car, and hurried past the unsettling steel carcass.

The fellowship hall, a faded green aluminum pole building, was on the far side of the lot. It was divided
into a trio of gathering rooms, with a long kitchen accessible to all three. The bare-bones structure was used for catechism classes, weddings, showers, and funeral luncheons, as well as the always-profitable bingo night.

Pushing through the glass door, I noticed a poster pinned to the bulletin board on my right. It read L
ADIES
, DON’T FORGET THE RU
MMAGE SALE.
I
T’S A CH
ANCE TO GET RID OF A
LL THOSE USELESS THI
NGS IN YOUR LIFE.
B
RI
NG YOUR HUSBANDS.

I was still snickering over the flyer when Poppy met me a few steps down the hall. She had on a slinky black chiffon tank with a pink scallop-hemmed skirt that barely covered her hoo-ha. As always, she was ethereally beautiful, but I wondered at her skimpy clothing choice, considering that we were in a church hall. However, as soon as she spoke, I understood her decision.

“My sources tell me that Dad is planning on making an announcement here tonight.” Poppy twisted her mouth. “Just because I’m involved in the Cupcake Weekend, he has to try to ruin it.”

Her voice had risen to a level that would soon attract attention, so I took her arm and tugged her into the nearby restroom. Thankfully, it was empty, and I turned the lock on the outer door so we wouldn’t be disturbed. It was time for some tough love.

“Everything the chief does is not about you.” I stared at Poppy until her cheeks reddened. “I know the world of hurt you’re in because of your problems with him.” I held up my hand when she started to speak. “Maybe not the precise latitude and longitude, but I’m familiar with the coordinates. Even so, you need to get over your daddy issues.”

“Sure. Now that your father has been exonerated, you think mine is innocent, too.” Poppy pouted. “You have no idea how evil my dad is.”

“You’re right. I don’t.” I crossed my arms. “Because you’ve never told me what happened between you two. I know you and your father have never agreed with each other on most fundamental issues, but something pretty serious had to have caused you to actually stop speaking to him.”

“I don’t want to talk about that.” Poppy mimicked my pose, crossing her arms, leaning against the sink, and frowning. “It doesn’t have anything to do with what he’s up to right now.”

“Fine.” I shook my head. “But seriously, girlfriend. Would your father really risk upsetting an event that’s benefiting the whole town just to get back at you?” I sighed. “You have to admit, he would never use his position as chief that way. He loves the police department too much to risk giving it that kind of black eye.”

“Maybe,” Poppy admitted. “And truly, the last thing I want to do is hurt him.” She grimaced, then winked. “But if he doesn’t behave, it’s still on my list.”

“I understand.” I had a few people on my own list that were one insult or nasty innuendo away from a punch in the face.

“So, what do you think the chief’s going to say?” Poppy asked.

“My guess is that he’s going to announce the cause of Fallon’s death.” I bit my lip. “There’s been a lot of gossip going around about what happened to her. Maybe this is his way of putting a stop to the rumors.”

“Yeah.” Poppy nodded. “I’ve heard people speculating that it was everything from food poisoning to a deadly virus.” She paused. “But what if it was something like that rather than natural causes? Either contagion or contaminated chow would freak out the tourists.”

“True.”

“Do you have a strategy if it’s bad news?” Poppy asked. “I mean, you always have a plan, right?”

“Not exactly a fully formed plan.” It appeared Poppy had stepped away from the edge of her emotional cliff, and was no longer about to publicly attack her father, so I unlocked the bathroom door and held it open for her. “But I do want to speak to the chief before he makes his big announcement. Is he here yet?”

“Of course he is.” Poppy tugged the neckline of her tank a bit lower and the waist of her skirt a bit higher. “He arrived at precisely five fifty-nine and is now holding court at the head table.”

“He’s sitting with Kizzy, Lee, and the judges?” I trailed Poppy down the corridor as she marched to the largest of the church hall’s three rooms, then pointed to the long table at the front.

“Right next to the cupcake queen herself.” Poppy frowned. “And from what I saw before you got here, Ms. Kizzy was flirting with him.”

“I take it your mom isn’t with the chief?” I asked, although I could plainly see Mrs. Kincaid wasn’t seated next to her husband.

“No.” Poppy shook her head. “Dad’s in uniform, which means this is official business.” She jerked a thumb to the end of the head table. “Take a gander at the mayor. He’s super ticked off that Kizzy is ignoring him in favor of my father.”

I glanced at Eggers. His face was twisted in a pout. Chief Kincaid and our esteemed mayor had a long-standing rivalry. When Eggers wrested control of the city council from the chief, they had begun voting down police department budget increases. Not one to be easily thwarted, Chief Kincaid applied for federal funds. And when the chief’s applications began to bring in money, he’d remodeled the station, held professional
development classes for his personnel, and purchased up-to-date gear. Then he won the Powerball Lottery of grants and was able to buy his very own crime scene unit and mobile lab, as well as get his staff trained in their uses.

His Honor had been beyond incensed that the chief had managed to get what he wanted without financing from the town treasury. I hid a smile. Geoffrey Eggers played the game of one-upmanship as if it were an Olympic sport, and now that the chief had muscled in on the mayor’s territory—sitting next to the visiting celebrity—I suspected that there might be fireworks rather than a gold medal at tonight’s dinner.

Poppy nudged me. “Look at His Honor. He wants to get into Kizzy’s panties so bad he can hardly stand it.”

“Like that would ever happen.” I was a hundred percent sure that when the cupcake tycoon hooked up with a guy, he was a lot richer and more important than a small-town politician. “The mayor is drooling up the wrong tree.”

“Yep.” Poppy sniggered. “Kizzy already has one asshole in her underwear; she doesn’t need a second one.”

It took me a second to get Poppy’s allusion, but when I did, I let out a loud bark of laughter. My BFF was sometimes a little vulgar, but she was always funny.

“If you want to talk to my father before he makes his announcement, you’d better nab him now.” Poppy gestured to the rest of the tables. “It looks as if almost everyone is here, so the Marthas will probably start serving dinner soon.”

“You’re right.” I hurried over to the chief and said, “Could I speak to you for a moment?” When he nodded, I added, “In private.”

Chief Kincaid excused himself, silently stood, and followed me out into the corridor.

Once I was sure we were alone, I asked, “Do you know why Fallon died yet?”

“We know what
didn’t
cause her death, but unhappily, not what did.”

“What wasn’t it?” I asked, then added, “I might have an idea.”

“There wasn’t anything harmful in her stomach contents,” the chief answered. “And the autopsy and review of her medical records showed no disease or hidden condition that could explain her symptoms.”

“So maybe my theory is viable,” I murmured half to myself, then asked, “Are there poisons that can be transmitted through the skin?”

“Several.” Chief Kincaid hooked his thumbs in his pockets. “Or something like dimethyl sulfoxide can be used to transfer the poison. It’s readily available for purchase to treat muscle injuries or arthritis and is a colorless liquid that dissolves both polar and nonpolar compounds. DMSO easily penetrates the skin.” He looked at me until I nodded my understanding, then added, “For many people, it causes a garlic-like taste in the mouth.”

“Earlier on the night that she died, Fallon told Kizzy that she had a bad taste in her mouth,” I informed the chief. “I’d forgotten that part of her conversation. Did Kizzy or Lee mention that?”