Dying for a Cupcake (9 page)

“My vote is all of the above.” Poppy pushed into the exiting throng and hurried to follow her. “You don’t have a hugely successful business like hers without both of those traits.”

Poppy wanted to place an order for one of the outfits she’d seen, so we wormed our way through the crowd and made a beeline for Harlee’s table.

There was already a long line and Poppy thrust her form and credit card at me and said, “Here. I have to get to Gossip Central to welcome the first arrivals.” She waved. “See you in a few.”

While I waited to place Poppy’s order, I thought about why Chief Kincaid might be so interested in talking to Kizzy, beyond the obvious reason that she had nearly been run down by a hit-and-run driver. Could he suspect that the incident was deliberate and not an accident? Now that I’d had the thought, I realized how much sense it made. Could it be that whatever had happened to Fallon was intended for Kizzy? Was someone trying to kill the cupcake queen?

W
hen I got to the front of the line, I handed Poppy’s order form and charge card to Harlee and said, “The fashion show was wonderful. It must have been a lot of work to bring it all together.”

“It wasn’t too bad.” Harlee checked to see if the dress Poppy wanted was still available. Nodding to me that the outfit hadn’t been purchased yet, Harlee ran Poppy’s Visa though the reader on her smartphone and gave it back to me. “I have a lot of experience coordinating large numbers of people and materials.”

“That’s right.” I smiled. “You recently retired from the armed forces. What branch did you serve in?”

“Army,” Harlee answered, then looked over my shoulder and said to the person behind me, “Which piece were you interested in?”

Not one to miss an obvious dismissal, I picked up the receipt, wrapped it around Poppy’s credit card, tucked the packet into my purse, and moved aside. But instead of leaving, I said, “We haven’t seen much of you the past couple of days. I hope you’re coming to the after-hours bash at Gossip Central.”

“Probably not,” Harlee answered as she continued
to process the next customer’s order. “I’m not much for that kind of party.”

“You should stop by for a few minutes anyway,” I urged. “Have one drink and relax after a job well done. People have commented about your absence. You may have been gone from Shadow Bend a long time, but I bet you remember how important it is to show your face.”

“I need to make sure everything here is ready for the teardown crew tomorrow,” Harlee hedged. “And I’d like to get a head start on assembling the orders from tonight. I promised the buyers that they could pick up their clothes by Sunday afternoon.”

“That’s all well and good, but from one businesswoman to another, community relations trump almost anything else you can do to promote your shop.” I wasn’t sure why I was so interested in Harlee’s coming to the party, but the more she resisted, the more I was intent on her attending. “An hour’s socializing is well worth your time. Believe me, you don’t want people to start wondering if you think you’re too good to hang out with them.”

“You seem to really know your way around the potholes of small-town living,” Harlee commented as she took care of another customer.

“I should.” I grimaced. “I’ve taken the wrong route enough times to qualify for a free AAA membership.”

“You’re probably right,” Harlee conceded. “I’ll stop by as soon as I finish here.” She gestured to the remaining women in line. “See you in an hour or so.” Smiling, she added, “Save me a seat.”

Gossip Central’s lot was packed. The parking situation tonight was beginning to remind me of when I worked in downtown Kansas City, and I wasn’t enjoying the trip down memory lane. I finally called Poppy,
who sent someone out to open the door to her garage so I could leave my car inside next to her Hummer. She had put up the metal storage building at the same time she added her apartment and offices onto the barn’s original structure.

Once I climbed out of my Z4, the server who’d unlocked the garage door for me let me in through the delivery entrance. She hurried back to work, but I detoured into Poppy’s office to put her receipt-wrapped Visa under the fake flowers in the high-heel-shaped vase on the desk. After texting Poppy to tell her that her credit card was in our usual hiding spot, I wound my way through a long hallway and pushed open a pair of metal swinging doors into the club’s central area. The noise hit me like a tsunami, and I paused, letting my ears adjust to the sound, before stepping into the room.

Poppy was behind the bar, mixing up drinks and serving customers, and I waved at her as I worked my way forward to the middle of the room. The place was bursting at the seams, and it took me a good ten minutes to get from the entrance to the center of the dance floor. Locating Ronni, Winnie, Kizzy, and Lee took even longer.

The quartet had claimed one of the smaller lounges Poppy converted from the original stalls. Its theme was nineteen fifties and early sixties beauty salon. Seating was the old-fashioned, chrome-domed hair-dryer chairs, which seemed apropos for someone like Kizzy, who dressed to match those decades. The tables were Art Deco manicure stations, and the posters on the wall featured ads for Gayla bobby pins, Max Factor lipstick, and Jewel invisible nylon hair nets.

After greeting everyone, I claimed the only empty seat, and said, “That’s quite a crowd out there. Every single parking spot is taken.”

“The Cupcake Weekend is even more successful than we had hoped.” Ronni grinned. “My B and B is full, the Cattlemen’s Motel has their no-vacancy sign lit up, and I’ve heard some of the people in town have even rented out rooms.”

“Terrific!” I was thrilled that Shadow Bend was getting such an infusion of cash. “My store has been packed all day, too.”

“I’m not at all surprised.” Kizzy tilted her head back and drained the remaining liquid from her martini glass. “Kizzy Cutler’s Cupcakes have become an American icon. Everyone is anxious to be a part of the new line and be able to say they were present when the winning flavor was selected.”

“Of course.” Ronni nodded. “I knew this promo would do well, just not this well.”

“Then you underestimated the appeal of my cupcakes,” Kizzy said, dismissing Ronni.

“Before we go on, don’t you have something to say to Devereaux?” Lee asked her partner.

Kizzy remained silent until Lee tapped her arm; then she bared her teeth in a false smile and said, “Ah, yes. Thank you for pushing me out of the way of that car.” Before I could respond, she added, “Although a simple shouted warning would have been sufficient and prevented the destruction of one of my favorite dresses.”

“You’re welcome and I’m sorry.” I wasn’t sure what the proper reply was, so I decided to use them both. “I guess I leaped before I thought.”

“Yes.” Kizzy nodded. “You did.” She held out her empty glass and said to no one in particular, “I’d like another, but drier this time with Bombay Sapphire gin and two olives.”

“I’ll get it.” Lee rose to her feet. “Anyone else want a refill?”

Ronni and Winnie both ordered frozen margaritas, so I volunteered to help Lee carry the drinks. As we made our way out of the lounge and across the dance floor, I excused myself to use the restroom, telling Lee I’d meet her at the bar.

There was a line snaking out of the ladies’ room, and I briefly considered using the men’s bathroom, which appeared to be empty, but stopped when I spotted Q and her brother a few feet away. They were having an intense conversation, so I drifted over and ducked behind a partition. I wasn’t certain why I had decided to eavesdrop on them, but if I had learned one thing as a financial consultant, it was that knowledge was power. With Fallon’s poisoning, the hit-and-run that almost wiped out the cupcake queen, Russell Neumann’s blackmail scheme, and Reverend GB’s possible recipe plagiarism, there was no doubt in my mind that something odd was going on. And I was pretty darn sure I needed to keep on top of it.

Q was crying so hard that I had to lean forward to make out what she was saying between her sobs. Finally, she wiped at her tears and said, “Kizzy claimed that I had ruined her hair and that she looked ridiculous. She threatened to get me fired if you don’t arrange to reshoot her segment, so I had to try to stop her.”

“Why are you just telling me this now?” Dirk demanded. “We did that piece with her Thursday afternoon. Is that the reason for your emergency visit to your shrink?”

“Yeah,” Q admitted. “But after I talked to my therapist, I thought I could handle Kizzy’s demands myself.”

“Why were you doing Kizzy Cutler’s hair in the first place?” Dirk asked. “You aren’t supposed to work on anyone that isn’t in front of the camera.”

“She made me,” Q whined. “She said that since she was taping an interview for the program, I had to do her hair and makeup.” Q hiccupped. “Kizzy said it was in her contract with the network.”

“Shit!” Dirk exploded. “I pulled a lot of strings to get you this job. What in the hell did you do to that bitch’s hair to upset her?”

“Nothing,” Q said. “I mean, something, but it looked good even though I had never done a French twist before. Who in this day and age wears that style?”

“Hell if I know.” Dirk was quiet, then said, “There’s no way Merry is going to be willing to redo that interview. She’s one of the most hard-assed of the channel’s hosts.” He sighed. “And I doubt there’s any way I could edit a new interview into the existing one.”

“You can’t let them fire me, Dirk,” Q sobbed. “If I don’t have this job, Mom and Dad will make me go back into the nuthouse.”

“There’s just no way to fix the spot, baby sis. There are too many shots with both Merry and Kizzy in the same frame.” Dirk’s voice hardened. “Which means we may have to come up with a plan B.”

“One of your plan Bs is what got me sent to the loony bin in the first place,” Q wailed, then changed her tone and teased, “On the other hand, before that incident, I did enjoy a good plan B.”

I blinked and eased away from the duo. Now, that sounded scary. How had Q tried to stop Kizzy? Could it have been with a speeding car? I needed to tell Chief Kincaid about this conversation tomorrow when I stopped by the cop shop to sign my statement.

While I had been eavesdropping on Q and Dirk, the line for the bathroom had dwindled, and fifteen minutes later, I joined Lee at the bar. She was still waiting her turn to be served, but it was too noisy to talk, so I
used the time to look around. It was nice to see so many people having a good time. I waved to a few of our tablemates from dinner and noticed that Dirk was filming the event for the Dessert Channel. I wondered if the television exposure would bring in more customers to Poppy’s club and hoped that the dime store would get some TV footage, too.

Lee had gotten Kizzy’s martini and the margaritas for Winnie and Ronni, but since I was still waiting for my order, she asked for a tray and headed back to the lounge. I had requested a bottle of wine and two glasses, figuring that at some point Poppy would take a break and join us, and that she’d need a drink.

I had just stepped away from the bar when I spotted Harlee and shouted, “Over here!”

She signaled that she’d heard me, and I waited for her to make her way to where I was standing. Once she joined me, I led her through the crowd toward the Beauty Parlor.

“If I’d known it was going to be this much of a madhouse, I wouldn’t have let you talk me into coming,” Harlee said as we stepped into the relative quiet of the lounge.

“Really?” Kizzy stood and faced Harlee. “I remember when you and I both used to love a loud party.” She raised a brow. “The crazier the better.”

“People change.” Harlee’s voice was even, but her posture was rigid.

“Possibly.” Kizzy shrugged. “But, in my experience, not very often.” She sank back down and gestured to the chair next to her. “Have a seat.

I watched as Harlee reluctantly sat next to the cupcake tycoon. Harlee had mentioned going to school with Kizzy, but Kizzy’s comments made it sound as if they had been close friends.

“You and I have so much to catch up on.” Kizzy took Harlee’s hand. “Lee will get you a drink while we talk about old times.”

I glanced at Lee. If they were business partners, why did she allow Kizzy to order her around? In her interactions with other people, Lee hadn’t struck me as spineless or easily intimidated.

“I’d love a glass of wine.” Harlee quickly removed her fingers from Kizzy’s grasp and reached for her purse. “Preferably Chilean cabernet sauvignon, but any red wine will do.”

“The bar’s swamped right now, but I have a bottle of Australian Shiraz and an extra glass.” I held out the wine for her inspection. “Lee and I just spent nearly half an hour trying to get served.”

“Sounds fine to me.” Harlee took the glass offered her and held it out for me to pour. “Thanks, Dev.” She took a sip. “I needed that.”

“Now, what have you been up to since high school?” Kizzy leaned forward, an enigmatic expression on her face. “I was shocked to see your name on the Cupcake Weekend committee. I had no idea you had moved back to Shadow Bend. And why open a consignment shop of all things?”

“After you left town, I joined the army.” Harlee’s tone was cool, but little waves rippled across the wine in her glass, indicating that her hand was shaking. “I guess you and I both changed our mind about what we wanted to be when we grew up.”

“Yes. I realized that college wasn’t for me.” Kizzy sat back. “I wanted to run my own business. It took me a while to convince a backer that people would pay big bucks for designer cupcakes, but once I found the right person and he tasted my amazing recipes”—Kizzy smiled triumphantly—“the rest, as they say, is history.”

“Yes.” Harlee took another gulp of wine. “History.” She stared into her glass. “It’s strange how often history gets rewritten.”

“Sometimes the best thing we can do is forget the past and move on.” Kizzy put her fingers on Harlee’s knee and squeezed. “For everyone.”

“You asked why a consignment shop,” Harlee said. “It’s because I like to see items that have perhaps had an unhappy past get a chance for a fresh start with a new owner that will treasure them.”

There was a definite undertone present in the exchange between Harlee and Kizzy. I sensed that there was another, more significant meaning to all of their words. Clearly, the high school pals had had a falling-out. I wondered what had happened to make them go their separate ways and lose touch for such a long time.

Ronni and Winnie distracted me with a question about tomorrow’s schedule, and I turned my attention to them. The three of us huddled together, discussing the logistics of transporting the finalists’ first-round cupcakes to my second floor. We decided to use pairs of couriers so that no one could be accused of tampering with the finished products before the judges evaluated them.

When Winnie went off on a tangent about how we should trust everybody to act in an honorable manner rather than fear the worst, I glanced over at the other women. Kizzy and Harlee were speaking in low voices, and Lee was watching them both, a wary expression on her face.

Having finished with the details for Saturday’s plan, I got up and sat next to Harlee. Kizzy had gone to the restroom—one task she couldn’t ask Lee to do for her—and Lee was on her cell phone. Harlee had finished her
Shiraz and accepted another when I waved the wine bottle at her.