Wacky Walnuts: A Piece of Cake Mystery (Piece of Cake Mysteries Book 2) Read online

  “Well, it wasn’t,” I snapped. “Why Beth?”

  “That was Detective Archie Buchanan,” Ethan said. “He’s new to the department, and he doesn’t really know better. He thinks Beth has motive, means and opportunity.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?” I eyed Ethan warily. The SVPD wasn’t stupid, and while I wanted to unleash my fury upon Ethan, I also wanted to understand what was happening.

  “What I already told you. Celeste Rocheford was found dead from anaphylactic shock, after eating that walnut cake. Beth hated Celeste for leaving her a bad review. Beth baked her the cake, knowing full well that Celeste would eat it.”

  “Beth didn’t bake that cake.”

  “People make mistakes.”

  “Not Beth. Beth’s a genius. You know that.”

  “Even geniuses make mistakes. Maybe more so than regular folks.”

  I shook my head no. “Beth wouldn’t make this kind of mistake. She was just telling me how she made the desserts especially for Celeste. She made a carrot cake instead of carrot-walnut.”

  “Maybe she forgot?”

  “No way. Beth doesn’t make mistakes with baking.”

  Ethan and I stared at each other.

  I said, “And Beth had no motive to kill her, either. She was hoping Celeste would be impressed by this new batch of food and talk her up to her buddies. If Celeste was dead, that wouldn’t happen.”

  Ethan ran one hand through his thick, dark hair. “Look. I know as well as you do that Beth’s not a killer. But perhaps it wasn’t intentional.”

  “Perhaps it was someone else.”

  “We’ve already talked to the guests and the family. The guests remember eating the cake with walnuts in it, and the family doesn’t have much to suggest.”

  “Everyone hated Celeste,” I argued. “She was a pushy, obnoxious woman. Anybody would’ve wanted to kill her.”

  Ethan eyed me warily. Finally, he said, “I’m sure they’ll keep investigating.”

  “You know as well as I do, when the SVPD finds a prime suspect, they stop investigations. Where’d this new detective come from, anyway?”

  “He transferred down from Palo Alto. I guess he doesn’t believe anyone’s above reproach.”

  “And you told him that Beth and I actually solve crimes, not commit them?”

  “He knows that. Said something about maybe that’s why Beth thought she could get away with it.”

  I pressed my lips together until they formed a thin, narrow line, and glared off at a corner of the room. Beth’s tabby, Molly, had slept through the whole thing, and I watched her for a few seconds before heading off into Beth’s bathroom, where I found a big bag of dry cat food. I poured some into Molly’s bowl, and Molly woke up slowly and stretched before heading over to the food bowl.

  I rinsed out and refilled her water bowl in silence, as Ethan watched, his arms crossed over his chest.

  Finally, I was done with taking care of Molly. I knew that my own pet, a small Hahn’s macaw parrot named Pixie, was safe and sound in my apartment, with her own bowls of food and water, and a sufficient supply of toys to play with.

  “Okay,” I said, turning to Ethan. “Let’s get to the station.”

  “I can recommend a lawyer,” Ethan said.

  “Why would you do that? Aren’t defense lawyers your worst nightmare or something?”

  Ethan shrugged. “Just trying to be helpful.”

  “Why would you do that?”

  “You never replied to my text,” said Ethan steadily. “A guy might think you didn’t know how to text.”

  I scowled. “I’m not sure what to say in response to a winky smiley.”

  “You winky smiley back. Or you send an angel smiley, or a tongue-out smiley.”

  “I’m not going to do any of those things.”

  “Fine. Then you say, how about another dinner sometime soon?”

  I looked at Ethan and smiled, despite myself. It wasn’t really his fault that Beth had gotten arrested, and I was starting to remember why I’d liked him so much in high school. It had broken my heart to move away from him, but I’d done my best to pretend that I was being a grown-up and moving on.

  Still. “Beth’s in jail right now,” I said. “I’ll consider replying to your text once she’s out.”

  “On bail?”

  “Out forever. No longer a suspect.”

  Ethan narrowed his eyes thoughtfully. “You’re not going to do anything stupid, are you? Like meddle with a police investigation?”

  “I’m going to do what I have to,” I said. “Now are we going to the station or not?”

  Chapter Four

  The Santa Verona Police Department is housed in a large, Spanish-style mansion replete with white stucco, red-tiled roof, and interior arches decorated with blue mosaic. Half the building houses the Santa Verona Courthouse, all the better for efficient processing of criminals. The other half houses the law enforcement officers and their offices.

  I called the lawyer Ethan had recommended, went to the station, and helped to process Beth out. She was interviewed for what felt like a very long time, and by the time we got back, it was late at night. Beth looked stressed and miserable, and although I told her it must’ve been one big mistake, Beth shook her head and didn’t look too convinced.

  “I wish it wasn’t that Detective Buchanan working this case,” she said. “Maybe I’d have a better shot of convincing someone else that I’m innocent. But he seems pretty convinced.”

  “He’s an idiot,” I said shortly. “Celeste had a million and one enemies, and it could’ve been any of them.”

  “It could’ve been,” said Beth, “But all the trails lead to me. Apparently, it was an open secret that Celeste liked to indulge in the desserts after a party. But how would I know she’d go for the cake? And I saw the photos of the cake. It wasn’t the one I made.”

  “How would a cake you didn’t make wind up in the dinner?” I said, frowning.

  And then I shook my head. Beth looked exhausted, it was late, and I was pretty sure she hadn’t eaten anything.

  “Forget about the case,” I told her. “Go take a shower, and I’ll reheat this lasagna I found in your fridge. We can eat, then you can get some sleep, and tomorrow we’ll see what we can do.”

  After Beth emerged from her shower and had a few bites of the lasagna, she said, “You’re not going to look into this case, are you?”

  She was looking much better now, much more relaxed than she’d been just an hour ago.

  I said, “Like I told Ethan. I’m going to do what I need to. You’re my best friend, and I’m going to be there for you.”

  Beth said, “That Detective Buchanan guy said that we shouldn’t try to investigate this. He said he’s been told that we’re investigators, and that we think we can solve cases.”

  “We don’t just think it,” I reminded her. “We do solve cases. Remember the last one we solved? The dead man and all those diamonds.”

  “I remember,” said Beth. “But Detective Buchanan was pretty adamant about it. He said he didn’t want us interfering in a police matter.”

  “Wasn’t Celeste’s stepdaughter, Sharon, your friend in high school? What’s wrong with catching up with an old high school friend?”

  Beth smiled and shook her head. “I’m not sure they’ll see it that way.”

  “I don’t care how they see it,” I told Beth. “You didn’t kill Celeste Rocheford. Someone else did, and we’re going to find this person before they have a chance to even gloat about your arrest.”

  “And how are we going to do that?”

  “Never mind about that now,” I told Beth. “Get some sleep. Tomorrow morning, we’ll make our plans. And we’ll find out who really killed Celeste.”

  Chapter Five

  Beth goes running along the beach every morning, and though she invites me to join her, I’m more of a sleep-in kinda gal. So by the time Beth had gotten up, had a run, taken a shower and gotten dressed, I’d
barely managed to wake up, brush my teeth and drag myself over to Pixie’s cage.

  Pixie used to belong to a man who had gotten himself killed, and she’d been willed over to the man’s nephew, who’d refused to keep her. Now she belonged to me.

  She was a small green bird, almost the size of my forearm, with white patches around her eyes and a smattering of red feathers under her wings. Although she was only four months old, she was smart as a whip and could manipulate me into doing her bidding. Most of the time, her bidding consisted of demanding to be scratched on her head, or asking for a bit of whatever I was eating.

  This morning, I gave her a slice of apple, refilled her water bowl and pellets, and had just changed into my jeans and a clean blue blouse when Beth knocked on the door.

  “I’ve got breakfast,” called Beth.

  I let her in, and Pixie screeched gleefully.

  “Pixie,” I said reproachfully. “Use your words.”

  As though she’d understood what I’d said, Pixie nodded her head rapidly and said, “Yum yum!”

  Beth laughed. “It’s almost as though she knows I’ve brought some of that chocolate cake over.”

  “You’re a little bird,” I reminded Pixie. “You can’t have chocolate cake. Here, have a nut.”

  Pixie eyed me skeptically, and then she grabbed the nut. I made some steaming hot coffee, and Beth and I settled down with our breakfasts.

  We ate in silence for a few minutes. One of the things I love about living near Beth is the frequent meals of cake. Beth usually makes one cake to deliver to her clients, and a smaller version of the same cake for us to taste and make sure that it turned out okay. Cake and coffee is the best kind of breakfast, and it’s even better when it’s shared with your best friend.

  Once we’d finished our food and I’d put the plates away, Beth said, “So, what’s the plan today?”

  “I’m not going to waste any time,” I told her. “I know that the cops think they’re still investigating, but I don’t believe them. We’re going to open our own case, and we’ll treat it just like any other case.”

  “You mean, other than the fact that we won’t get paid for this one.”

  “You can pay me back with a lifetime supply of cakes,” I told Beth. “And you have to drive me everywhere for the rest of my life, since I haven’t bought a car since I moved back to Santa Verona.”

  Beth laughed. “You mean, you didn’t get a car because you thought you’d take the bus everywhere, and maybe ride a bike once in a while.”

  “I don’t like waiting at bus stops,” I grumbled. “And I couldn’t find a bike I liked. So you’re stuck with me.”

  “I guess it’s a deal,” said Beth. “Now where do we start this investigation?”

  I frowned. “I guess we should start out by trying to learn everything we can about Celeste. What do you know about her?”

  “I only know she left me a bad review for a gluten-free orange-poppy seed cake I’d made her once,” said Beth. “She said it was too moist.”

  “I can’t believe that,” I said, shaking my head. “How can anyone not like a moist cake?”

  Beth shrugged. “I guess she’s a very particular person. Anyway, I remember that first time she’d ordered a cake. She found my Facebook page, and then my website. She placed an order online. I made the cake, and then I delivered it to her house. The massive mansion. That was the first time I’d ever been there.”

  “We’re going to have to go there today,” I said slowly. “We’ll need to figure out a way to get in. But in the meantime, what do you remember about the day you dropped off the gluten-free cake?”

  “It was a month ago,” said Beth. “I rang the bell, a woman wearing skinny jeans and a blue t-shirt opened the door. Dark, curly hair that fell just past her shoulders. Dark eyes, tan skin.”

  “Who was she?”

  “I’m not sure,” said Beth. “I’d never met Celeste, but I’d already seen photos of her in the papers, so I knew it wasn’t her. And it wasn’t Sharon. I thought it might’ve been a housekeeper or maybe some family member.”

  “I didn’t think Sharon had any brothers or sisters,” I said. “It must’ve been the housekeeper. What’d she tell you?”

  “Nothing much,” said Beth. “I didn’t think about it too much. I just said, ‘Here’s the cake you ordered,’ and she said, ‘Thanks.’ And then she took the cake from me and closed the door.”

  “Isn’t that kind of rude?”

  “Not really,” said Beth. “Some clients like to chat, some don’t.”

  “Okay,” I said. “So the next thing you know, Celeste left a one-star review on your Facebook page.”

  Beth nodded. “Exactly. I sent her a private message asking what was wrong, and we went back and forth a bit. She was a bit snippy, but I guess if you’re as rich and powerful as she is, you can be as snippy as you like.”

  “What’d she tell you?”

  “Just that my cakes weren’t that great. I explained that most people like their cakes to be moist, and if she’d just explain what she wanted, I’d make the cakes that way. I didn’t think she’d order from me again, but then she placed an order a few days ago for those desserts.”

  “So you made them, and then you delivered them to her house.”

  Beth nodded again. “Exactly. I took the apple pie, and put that and the cake in white paper boxes like you’d get from a bakery. And then I drove up, rang the bell—the same woman answered. I gave her the boxes, she thanked me, and then I drove off. I didn’t think of it again.”

  We sat quietly for a few minutes. And then I said, “But you definitely didn’t put walnuts in the cake?”

  “No way,” said Beth. “And they showed me photos of the cake in the station. It was nothing like the cake I baked. Mine was quite plain. White frosting, and then a kind of wavy line around the edges, and a trio of white sugar roses in the middle. The photo they showed me had the white swirly line around the edges, but there were smaller white sugar rosettes on the edge of the cake, and one big white sugar rose in the middle. It’s nothing like the one I made.”

  “Hmm.” I made a mental note of it and decided to come back to it later. “Back to Celeste, though. I guess we need to line up a list of possible enemies.”

  “We need to start with the family,” said Beth. “Everyone says to start there. And they say that it’s always the spouse. We should look into Celeste’s husband.”

  Chapter Six

  I fired up my laptop and did one Google search after another, delving into the archives of Internet history, as well as the historical issues of the Santa Verona Sun which were stored online.

  “We should start with the publicly available information,” I told Beth. “No point annoying people by asking them stuff that everyone knows.”

  We started with Celeste.

  There were numerous photos and articles about her—she was a tall, willowy blonde with the air of someone who watched polo matches. She tended to wear subtle diamond jewelry, and she was on the boards of numerous charities and the Santa Verona Art Gallery. She was a member of Santa Verona’s exclusive tennis club, as well as the Santa Verona Country Club. The newspaper articles spoke glowingly of her charity work, and she looked very pretty in the photos. But I’d heard my mother and Aunt Kira gossiping about her and the rich socialites every once in a while, and half the people who’d ever met Celeste despised her.

  Beth had said Celeste was snippy with her, and I knew that Celeste was obnoxious and rude to most of the people she met. My mother taught at the local high school, and I’d overheard her telling my Aunt Kira that Celeste had been a meddling school board member. My aunt had responded by describing the time she’d heard Celeste giving a speech at a charity event, after which the socialite had snapped at the charity’s director for not doing her job properly.

  “Nobody likes her,” my aunt had said. “But they can’t do anything about it because she’s so rich and powerful.”

  We Googled Celeste�
�s husband, Howard Rocheford, next. Howard owned some commercial real estate in and around Santa Verona, and he’d married Celeste two years after the death of his first wife, Leona. The two seemed to be happily married from all accounts.

  Sharon Rocheford was Howard’s daughter from his first marriage.

  “She was always rather nice,” Beth told me. “She’s tall and skinny and has long dark hair.”

  When we looked her up, it turned out that she was working as a personal trainer in Santa Verona and was engaged to be married. Her fiancé, Fred Hughes, was described as being a proprietor of small businesses in Santa Verona.

  “We could start with Sharon,” Beth suggested. “I don’t know about Howard Rocheford, but he might turn out to be a crotchety old man. At least I know that Sharon used to be nice.”

  “You’ve got a point,” I told Beth, and then I dialed the number for Sharon’s personal training service. “Hi, Sharon! It’s me, Mindy Mansfield. I don’t know if you remember me—we went to high school together? Anyway, my friend and I wanted to do some personal training.”

  There was a pause, and then Sharon’s voice floated across the line. “Yeah, you were two years ahead of me?”

  “That’s right.”

  “Well, I offer new clients a free half-hour introductory class. Would you like to try that?”

  “Sure! That sounds great.”

  “We can meet at eleven on the beach. Opposite Susan’s Sundaes. Do you know the spot?”

  “I do,” I said enthusiastically. “We’ll see you there!”

  “At least that’s a start,” said Beth admiringly. “But how’s she going to react when she sees that I’m your ‘friend’? She knows I’ve been arrested for her stepmom’s murder. Not that she ever liked Celeste, of course. She always told me in high school that she hated her.”

  “Well, maybe she won’t care that you’ve been arrested.”

  “Maybe she won’t,” said Beth, trying to sound optimistic. “But we’ll find out when she sees us.”

  I nodded. Hopefully, Sharon would know something useful.