Dying for a Cupcake (8 page)

“Surely Ronni’s been in touch with her,” Poppy said, frowning. “She’s called and texted me a bazillion times today to make sure Gossip Central is all set for the after-hours party tonight.”

“Yeah. Ronni’s on top of things and she certainly would have said something if Harlee was AWOL.” I scanned the room one more time but still didn’t see
Harlee anywhere. “There’s a full house for the fashion show. We sold the last pair of tickets for the show by three o’clock.”

“Mystery solved.” Poppy’s brow smoothed. “Harlee probably was too busy getting everything ready for the show to come here for dinner. I was amazed that she managed to talk the school board into letting us use the high school auditorium.”

“That was quite a coup.” I sat back and sipped my coffee. “The board doesn’t usually allow groups to rent out the school facilities.”

“The hefty donation that Kizzy Cutler’s Cupcakes made probably was more persuasive than anything Harlee said at the meeting.” Poppy smirked. “I heard that even the superintendent was impressed.”

“I wonder why Boone isn’t here.” I didn’t have to look around. If Boone St. Onge had been at the dinner, he would have been sitting with Poppy and me. The three of us had been best friends since childhood. “He was invited, wasn’t he?” Boone was one of only three attorneys in Shadow Bend and had done all the legal work for the contest weekend, so he should have been given a ticket for the dinner.

“It’s his folks’ fortieth anniversary. The three of them were going to Kansas City for dinner and a show,” Poppy explained.

“Seriously?” I asked. “Mr. and Mrs. St. Onge celebrate their anniversary?” Except for a brief time when Boone was falsely accused of murder, his folks hadn’t spoken to each other since he was five. They were still married and still lived together in the same house, but they only communicated through notes. The invention of e-mail and texting had saved both Boone’s sanity and a couple of dozen forests.

“What can I say?” Poppy shrugged, not much for
incongruity. “They must figure if they’re still married, they’ve earned an anniversary celebration, even if Boone has to go along as their private interpreter.”

“I suppose.” Now that everyone was accounted for, I glanced at my watch. It was seven thirty-five. “We should start to head over to the high school. The fashion show starts in less than half an hour.”

“Speaking of missing in action,” Poppy said, picking up her purse and standing, “have you heard anything from either of your hot hunks lately?”

“No.” I shook my head. “But Noah just left this morning and it’s hard for Jake to call.”

“So you subscribe to the theory that if you love someone, you should let him go?”

“Unfortunately, I didn’t seem to have a choice in the matter.” I shrugged. “At least if they return to me, they’re mine.”

“Or”—Poppy grinned—“if they come back to you, maybe no one else wanted them.”

“How comforting.”

Poppy strolled toward Ronni, who was standing with Kizzy and Lee at the front of the church hall. “But it might be time to find a guy who isn’t too busy to be around for you.”

“My thoughts exactly.” I followed Poppy. “If a relationship is going to grow into something long-lasting, the two people involved need to share the same geography more often than not. Although some absences are more understandable than others.”

“Possibly.” Poppy stopped and turned to look at me, her expression serious. “But everyone makes choices, and just because those choices are noble ones doesn’t mean that you have to accept them.”

Before I could respond to Poppy, Ronni announced to the crowd, “Those of you attending the fashion show
should begin to make your way over to the high school now. Afterward, there will be a party at Gossip Central with music and munchies. Everybody’s invited.”

Poppy and I were standing right near the head table, and just then we overheard Lee call out.

“Oh, shoot!” she said, looking up from digging through her purse. “Can one of you give Kizzy a ride? I forgot something at the B and B.”

“She can ride with me,” Ronni offered. “If that’s okay with you, Kizzy.”

“That’s fine with me,” Kizzy answered, then turned to her business partner and asked, “What did you forget, Lee?

“My pills.” Lee took off at a trot. “Thanks, Ronni! See you all there.”

A few minutes later, the rest of us headed toward the exit. The mayor trailed us like a lost puppy until one of his constituents beckoned him over. As Kizzy reached the door, her cell beeped, indicating she had an incoming text. She was a few paces ahead of the rest of us and continued to move as she gazed down at her phone. I was watching her, wondering how she could walk without tripping, when she stepped onto the asphalt of the parking lot. At that exact moment, a car with its headlights turned off sped toward her.

We all froze, staring at Kizzy, who was apparently so engrossed in reading her message that she didn’t seem to notice the three tons of steel hurtling toward her. Without thinking, I made a flying tackle. The cupcake tycoon and I soared through the air, landing hard on the blacktop. As the car roared past, I swear I could feel the bumper kiss my rear end.

“R
eally, I’m fine,” I repeated for the fiftieth time, brushing bits of gravel and dirt from the knees of my white slacks. “Is Kizzy all right?” I didn’t remember seeing the cupcake queen after Poppy yanked me to my feet and led me over to the sidewalk.

“She seemed okay. She complained that you ruined her dress and messed up her hair, so once Ronni was sure you weren’t hurt, she drove Kizzy back to the B and B to change.” Poppy took my hands and gazed at the scrapes on my palms. “That woman makes me want to high-five her . . .” Poppy paused dramatically. “In the face . . .” Another dramatic pause. “With a baseball bat.”

“Yeah.” I snickered at the image. “Me, too.”

“Why in the hell did you throw yourself in front of a speeding car for that self-centered witch?”

“I didn’t think about her character, just that she was about to become roadkill.” I looked myself over. It seemed as if I had escaped serious injury, although I couldn’t say the same for my pants.

A concerned group from the dinner had gathered, including Winnie, who said, “We never used to have
crazy drivers like that in Shadow Bend. Everybody is in such a doggone hurry these days.”

“Anyone who drives like hell is bound to get there someday,” I commented, then looked around and asked, “Did the car that almost creamed us stop?”

“Nope.” Poppy scowled. “If anything, the driver put the pedal to the metal and tore out of the parking lot as fast as he could.”

“Oh, my Lord.” Lauren Neumann, our dinner companion from Des Moines, joined the circle around me. “I was in the bathroom and a lady dashed in and said two women had almost gotten killed in the parking lot.” Lauren rummaged through her purse, plucked out a packet of Wet Ones, and ripped it open. “Here, you’d better clean up your hands before you stain your nice outfit.”

“Thanks.” I accepted the moist towelette. Although my slacks were a total write-off, I didn’t want to wreck my tunic as well, so I gingerly wiped the blood from my palms. “I’m sort of surprised anyone had time, or the presence of mind, to witness the accident, run to the restroom, and announce the incident to everyone.”

“I thought that was odd, too,” Lauren said, nodding solemnly as she tugged at the Peter Pan collar of her pale blue blouse.

As she returned to digging through her purse, I noticed that although Lauren wore a navy-and-green-plaid jumper that I had last seen in a catalogue selling Catholic school uniforms, there was a tiny vine of roses inked around her wrist. I would have missed the tattoo if her watchband hadn’t been pushed up her arm when she plunged her hand deeper into her handbag. It made me wonder if there was more to this woman than her appearance would suggest.

Lauren produced a small tube of antiseptic ointment,
squirted some on my wounds, and said, “You would think that lady would have stayed around to help rather than make a beeline for the bathroom to announce what had happened.”

“Or call the police.” My heart was still racing. It felt as if I had downed a can of Rip Rock. I had tried that energy drink once when I was working ridiculously long hours in my job as a financial consultant, and the insane amount of caffeine in it had kept me up for two days straight, which I sort of liked. But since I could do without the migraine, dizziness, and tremor hangover, I’d never drunk the stuff again.

“You were lucky.” Lauren gave me a couple of Band-Aids. “My daughter’s friend is in a wheelchair because of an intoxicated driver like that.”

“Who said the driver was smashed?” I gave a ragged little laugh. “There wasn’t any alcohol served at the dinner.”

“Did anyone get the license number of that car?” Poppy asked.

I looked around the circle, and everyone was glancing at his or her neighbor.

When no one answered, Poppy said, “Did anyone call the cops?”

Winnie waved her cell phone in the air and said, “I did. The dispatcher told me they would be here any minute. I wonder what’s taking them so long. It’s not as if Shadow Bend is a hotbed of crime.”

As if Winnie’s words had summoned it, the distant sound of a siren grew louder and louder. A second later, we all watched as a squad car pulled up next to the church hall and Chief Kincaid got out.

He glanced to where Poppy and I stood, then hurried over to his daughter and demanded, “Are you all right? I was told there was a hit-and-run.”

“I’m fine, Dad.” She seemed shocked by his concern. “Dev was the one who was nearly flattened by some stupid guy who thought the parking lot was a warm-up lap for the Indy 500 track.”

“Explain.” Chief Kincaid turned to me, flipping open his notepad.

“Someone nearly ran Kizzy Cutler over. Then, instead of seeing if she was okay, they drove away.” I wanted to make it clear I hadn’t been the one wandering around without watching where I was going.

“Hold on.” Chief Kincaid uncapped his pen. “Start from the beginning.”

After I told him everything I remembered about the incident, the chief turned to the people standing around us and asked, “Did any of you get the make, model, or license plate of the vehicle?”

They looked at each other, then at the chief, and finally someone said, “It was low to the ground. Maybe one of those sports cars. But it was too dark to see the color.”

“Anyone recognize the driver?” Chief Kincaid demanded with a sigh.

More headshakes.

“No one saw anything.” The muscle beneath the chief’s left eye twitched.

“We weren’t paying attention,” I explained. “The car didn’t have its headlights on, and then when I saw it speeding toward Kizzy, my focus was on getting her out of the way.”

“How about the rest of you?” Chief Kincaid addressed the crowd.

“Most of them got here after the car was long gone,” Poppy said.

“And you, did you see anything?” the chief asked his daughter.

“Sorry.” Poppy’s voice broke. “When Dev darted in
front of the car, my eyes were glued on her. I was worried that she was about to be flattened.”

“Maybe Kizzy or Ronni saw something,” I offered. “They went to the B and B so Kizzy could change, but they’ll be at the high school auditorium for the fashion show after that.” I checked my watch. “Actually, we all need to get over there ASAP.”

“Stop by the station tomorrow to sign your statement.” The chief sighed again. “You know the drill.” Then he raised his voice and announced, “If anyone remembers anything, let me know.”

“Should we have Kizzy and Ronni call you?” I asked, edging toward my car.

It had dawned on me that Gran hadn’t been among the crowd. Then I remembered she and Frieda had been on the committee in charge of setting up for the dinner, so they were excused from cleaning afterward. They had probably left as soon as the food was served.
Shoot!
I needed to let Gran know I was okay before the grapevine got to her and she thought I was dead.

“No, thanks.” Chief Kincaid shook his head. “I’m going over to the high school right now. I need to have a long talk with Ms. Cutler.” There was an expression on his face that I couldn’t interpret as he muttered to himself, “And it needs to be in person.”

After the chief left, Poppy grabbed me in a hug and said, “Don’t ever scare me like that again. I was sure you were about to be killed.”

“Believe me, in the future, I’ll think twice before rushing in to save someone.”

“You’d better.” Poppy squeezed me harder. “I don’t want to have to break into your store and steal your laptop.”

“Huh?” I eased out of Poppy’s embrace. “Why would you need to do that?”

“Because when you die, a BFF’s duty is to immediately clear your computer history.” Poppy snickered. “You especially need that last favor with the kind of merchandise you research for your erotic baskets.”

Chuckling at the way my friend’s mind worked, I told Poppy that I’d meet her at the fashion show, then grabbed the pair of jeans that I kept in the trunk of my Z4 and raced back into the church hall. Once I was in the empty bathroom, I immediately called Gran. Luckily, no one had informed her about my near miss, and after telling her what had happened, I reassured her that I was fine.

Until Gran said she’d let my father know I was okay, it hadn’t occurred to me that he might hear the rumors and be worried about me, too. I thanked her, told her not to wait up, then disconnected. I still wasn’t used to my dad being around, and the adjustment was a lot harder than I was willing to admit.

Pushing aside my personal life, a talent for which I should have been given an Academy Award, I stepped out of my white slacks. Not only was the cotton stained with tar and blood, but the fabric was shredded beyond repair. I wadded them up, stuffed them in the trash, then examined my shins. The scrapes weren’t too bad, and after washing off the dried gore, I shimmied into my jeans. Since I kept them in the trunk mainly in case I had to change a tire while I was dressed up, they weren’t the nicest pair I owned. But they were a darn sight better than walking around in the ruined pants I’d just discarded. At least the faded denim was blood free.

It was nearly eight thirty by the time I turned into the high school parking lot. I had already missed half an hour of the fashion show, and once again, parking spots were at a premium. As I circled the lot, hoping for
a miracle, or at least for someone needing to leave early, I admired the sprawling brick structure.

Shadow Bend’s education system had come a long way from the original one-room schoolhouse that my great-grandparents had attended. An elementary and high school had been built in the forties. Then a few years ago, the board had moved the sixth, seventh, and eighth graders into the old high school and put up this new building. The locals wouldn’t admit that it was because of the commuters relocating into the area from Kansas City that the schools could finally afford to expand. But it was their taxes, and the taxes of the businesses that sprang up because of them, that financed the construction.

Having attended the old high school, I’d only been inside the new one a few times, but the brightness and space were a welcome change from the gloomy, cramped institution where I had spent four years sitting in tiny, dark classrooms. I walked down the quiet, well-lit hall, noting the graffiti-free lockers and the fresh paint on the walls. This was nothing like what I remembered from my high school days.

When I neared the auditorium doors, I could hear Harlee’s rich contralto describing the outfit currently being modeled. Plainly, Poppy had been right, and Harlee was fine. She had probably just been too busy organizing the show to answer her phone. I was relieved that the consignment shop owner was present and apparently okay. In the back of my mind, I had half believed that she’d disappeared.

As I scanned the audience for Poppy, I was amazed at how the theater had been transformed to accommodate a fashion show. A runway had been built from the stage midway down the center aisle. That alone must
have cost a pretty penny. Evidently, Kizzy Cutler’s Cupcakes had spared no expense for the rollout of their new line.

“What took you so long?” Poppy whispered as I slid into the seat she’d saved for me. “I was starting to get worried that you’d thrown yourself in front of another speeding vehicle or dived in the river to save a drowning dog.”

“Maybe tomorrow,” I joked, keeping my voice low. “I had to call Gran, which took a while. Then I needed to clean up and change.”

“You missed some cute clothes.” Poppy’s attention was riveted to a pretty redhead wearing a short black-and-white sundress and currently walking the runway. “I wonder how much that is.”

“It depends.” I squinted at the model. “Are these outfits from Harlee’s consignment shop or are they brand-new from the designers?”

“They’re all from Forever Used,” Poppy said, making a note in her program. “I had no idea that previously worn clothes could look like they were fresh from the racks of Nordstrom or Lord and Taylor.”

“Uh-huh,” I murmured noncommittally. I actually did know. When I’d quit my megasalary job, I put a lot of my barely worn or never-worn clothing in consignment shops. I’d raised enough cash from selling them to pay for the first batch of materials I’d needed for my basket business.

The next hour passed quickly as we oohed and aahed over the fashions. Then while a blonde wearing a powder blue Alexander McQueen draped-silk chiffon bustier gown stomped the runway, I heard a male voice behind me say, “The word on the street is that instead of the ten-thousand-dollar grand prize being given in
cash, that Cutler bitch is going to do some kind of structured payment. We need that money now, not a few bucks at a time.”

Casually turning my head so that I could see the speaker from the corner of my eye, I recognized Russell Neumann from our dinner table.

“Honey, you shouldn’t get so upset.” Lauren patted her husband’s arm. “There’s no guarantee that I’m going to win, and anyway, that’s just a rumor.”

“Oh, you’re going to win all right.” Russell’s smile was smug and he lowered his voice and whispered, “Thomasina Giancarlo and I had a little chat during supper, and she understands that if she wants to stay in the good old U.S. of A., it’s in her best interest for your cupcake to be deemed the best one.”

“Russell,” Lauren hissed, “you could get fired for using your position with immigration to blackmail someone.”

“Not without proof.” Russell held his finger to his lips. “I might actually get a promotion for discovering that someone as prominent as her is here illegally.”

Before Lauren could respond, Harlee stepped onto the stage and announced, “If you are interested in purchasing any of the pieces you’ve seen here tonight, there’s a form in the back of your program listing the size and I’ll be at a table out front to collect the orders and the money. It will be on a first-come, first-serve basis.”

Kizzy joined Harlee, and after she thanked everyone for coming, she reminded them about the after-hours party at Gossip Central hosted by Kizzy Cutler’s Cupcakes and wished everyone a good evening. Basking in the applause, she threw the audience a kiss and walked offstage.

“Well, that was an interesting performance,” I
murmured. I hadn’t seen Kizzy in the audience and had wondered if the chief had taken her to the police station for questioning. If he had, she was already back, and she had changed into another gorgeous vintage dress—this one a strapless red-and-white floral silk with a red grosgrain sash—and her French twist was once again perfect. “Hard to believe that she was nearly killed a couple of hours ago. She either has nerves of steel or is a really good actress.”