1 Nothing Bundt Murder Page 2

  I watched as Doug took his plate of food in one hand and his beer in the other and headed back to the den.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  At Nana’s condo, I took a quick nibble of the Coq au vin, then placed it into the stainless steel refrigerator. Then I pulled a pretty serving plate out of the cupboard and arranged the assortment of mini Bundts I’d brought home from the store.

  “Nana, I’m home! With cake!” I called out, walking into the living room with the plate.

  “We’re in here doll,” she called out. “I hope you brought enough for Birdie too!”

  “I sure did,” I said, putting the serving plate down gently on the glass coffee table. Then I hurried back to pour three glasses of cold milk and handed them out to the ladies. I gave my Nana kiss on the cheek, grabbed a triple chocolate chip Bundt off the plate and curled up on the sofa to eat it.

  “You’d think that after a full day of working at a Bundt store I’d be sick of the cake. But you would be sooo wrong.” I licked some chocolate off my fingers.

  “How’s the job going, sweetie?” Birdie asked. She and my Nana were neighbors in the San Coronado retirement community of Sunrise Palms. They’d met the day my Nana moved in and had become fast friends and partners in crime.

  “It’s great. A lot of drama, though,” I gobbled another mouthful of chocolate.

  “So I heard,” Nana nodded. “But I don’t like to gossip."

  “True, she doesn’t like to gossip,” Birdie nodded knowingly to me. “She loves it!”

  “It’s true,” Nana laughed. “I do!" She shook her head and nibbled on a bit of red velvet Bundt.

  I smiled and looked at the two ladies. Both had stylishly died hair, Birdie’s was red and Nana’s was blonde. Both wore Capri pants and metallic-colored ballet slipper flats and both had the metabolisms of twenty-year-olds.

  It just didn’t seem fair. Here I was, practically a twenty year old (give or take six years) and I had to be careful of what I ate and to make sure I exercised daily, while they, it seemed, could eat whatever they wanted.

  “So what’d you hear?” Birdie asked, motioning for Nana to spill the beans.

  “Well, as you know,” Nana said in an authoritative tone. “Babette’s husband Doug’s has been cheating on her with Dahlia Wiggins, who is apparently, pushing him to divorce Babette and marry her.”

  I looked at Nana shocked. Of course I was relatively new in town but I hadn’t heard any of that. It only made me dislike Doug even more.

  “Everyone knows that. That’s old news,” Birdie said with a wave of her manicured hand.

  “I know,” Nana continued. “But did you know that Doug thinks that Babette has been cheating on him as well?"

  “No!” Birdie picked up her glass of milk and dunked a bit of cake.

  “How do you know this stuff?” I asked, frowning. “I mean, where’d you even hear it?”

  “Barney’s son Victor, the one that own that electronics store down near the new Whole Foods? He said that Doug was trying to catch Babette in the act. So to speak.”

  I nodded realizing that might be what Doug had been alluding to earlier. When I’d told him Babette was working late at the store, he said, “Ha, we’ll see about that,” or something to that effect. I realized he must have hired someone to watch or follow her.

  I looked up and took a sip of my milk, then realized that both ladies were looking at me with interest. They were obviously hoping that I might have some info to add to this gossip-fest. I loved my Nana and Birdie, but that wasn’t going to happen.

  “Well, Doug might suspect her,” I said. “But the only thing Babette cares about is her store, her cakes and her cat.” I nodded with finality, hoping to put an end to any more speculation on the subject.

  Ha, good luck with that.

  I yawned, suddenly feeling exhausted. Thanks to the crazy Friday afternoon store rush followed by the yummy sugar rush, I felt like I was moving in slow motion.

  “Honey, you look tired. Go take a nap,” Nana said.

  “I’m going to,” I said, standing up. “I am pretty beat. But I was thinking that after, maybe we could all watch a Netflix movie together. Something romantic and weepy?”

  “Oh, honey, absolutely not,” Nana scolded. “It’s Friday night. It’s no time to sit at home watching movies about romance. It’s time to go out and get some romance. Friday night is date night.”

  “I know,” I nodded. And for some puzzling reason my mind flashed to Casey and his gorgeous green eyes but I quickly pushed the thought away. “But I don’t have a date.”

  “Oh. But we do,” Nana said, as she and Birdie looked at me, bobbing their heads in agreement. “We have a double date. Two handsome brothers that we met at the Palmas Theater showing of that lousy French movie, what was it called?”

  “Volourie la val…” Birdie said.

  “No. It was Vielle Lasur…something…” Nana corrected.

  “Okay, you girls have fun,” I said, making my exit as quickly as possible in order to avoid the argument Nana and Birdie were sure to have over name of the movie.

  I happened to know it was called, En Vouloir à Quelqu'un, but why tell them and spoil their fun? I knew from experience that besides playing bridge, going to their movie club and their gourmet cooking club and their book group—Nana and Birdie’s favorite pastime was arguing over the names of things.

  I yawned again, quickly retrieved Babette’s homemade Coq au vin from the fridge, then I walked out back door and across the patio to the small, cozy, one bedroom/one bath casita where I’d been living all summer. Soon of course, I’d have to decide where to go and what to do with my life, but for now it was perfect place for me to figure things out. And to escape from reality.

  I opened the door and walked into the chilled, clean, off white living room. I put the Coq au Vin down on the granite countertop that separated the small but pretty kitchen from the living/ dining area. Then I kicked off my shoes and plopped down on the overstuffed, white couch. My elbow knocked into something hard in my sweater pocket and I realized it was my cell phone. I pulled it out and was about to put it on the coffee table, when I stared at it, frowning.

  The time read 7:00 pm which meant that it was 10:00 pm in New York right now. If I were back there, Kevin and I would probably be coming out of a movie and maybe strolling along the street and stopping in for a frozen yogurt or an ice cream.

  Though we didn’t have the most exciting life together, I’d been happy in it for over a year. Kevin, on the other hand, clearly had a higher excitement quota and seemed to think that the best way to fill it was by sleeping with a friend/co-worker of mine at the free paper where I worked.

  Well, if he wanted fireworks, he sure sure got them. When I found out about them, through a text that I’d mistakenly read on his phone, I blew up. Then I stormed out. I came out to Nana’s place to heal my broken heart and figure out what to do with my life.

  And though part of me really, really hated him, another part just couldn’t let go and move on. I had vowed never to call him, ever again, but I constantly found myself having second thoughts. And third ones.

  Thinking about it now I realized that maybe what I needed was more contact not less. To get closure. And then, if he happened to beg me to come back to him, well then…

  No! My inner voice screamed at me. You took a vow! No more cheaters!

  “But…closure,” I said aloud to myself in a voice that didn’t even convince me. I opened my contact list anyway, and scrolled down to his name, staring at it for a full minute as I tried to resist dialing. “Oh what do I do? Do I call Kevin? Do I not call him?” I said out loud to myself. And then as if answered by some higher power—Verizon probably—the phone started dialing Kevin.

  I gasped, panicking. Do I hang up? Do I wait and see what happens?

  Yes, I’d taken a vow but this was really out of my hands. Literally. My phone had made the decision for me. Could I help it if the voice-dialer app I’d recently installed on
my smart phone had reacted to the words I’d spoken aloud: “call Kevin” and had interpreted them as a voice command? No, I couldn’t.

  I heard the click of someone answering. But no one spoke.

  “Hello?” I said softly.

  “Kevin’s phone,” a female voice answered. “Who’s this?”

  I quickly hit the ‘end call’ button and pushed the phone as far away from me as I could on the coffee table.

  Okay, that had been a big mistake. Now Kevin would think I was a stalker. A dateless stalker on a Friday night. I groaned to myself and buried my head under the couch pillow, then I fell asleep.

  ***

  I woke up an hour later, feeling miserable and hung-over, which was weird since I hadn’t had anything to drink. It was probably a shame-hangover from having called Kevin. I re-vowed never to call him again and in fact, never to think about him again, then I went into the kitchen to get some food.

  I warmed up the Coq au vin. Then I poured myself a glass of red wine and sat at the dining table to eat, ‘like a lady,’ as Nana would say. I practically swooned as I took the first bite. Babette truly was an amazing cook.

  But as I ate, my mind, of course, kept drifting back to Kevin. I forced myself to think about other things. Doug, for instance—and what Nana had said about him. Could he really believe that Babette was cheating on him? And did he possibly have a real reason to believe it?

  I didn’t think so. No matter what a jerk he was, Babette seemed to still be in love with him.

  But as to Doug cheating with Dahlia Wiggins— that part was very believable. And very concerning. Especially since she was the one that had hired us to cater the bridal shower the next day.

  I just couldn’t imagine that Babette knew anything about the rumors, or she wouldn’t have agreed to cater the event. Would she have?

  CHAPTER FIVE

  I awoke the next morning feeling totally refreshed. I’d only planned to take a short nap the night before and then catch up on some reading and maybe refinish a set of drawers I’d rescued from someone’s trash. I had a new homemade chalk paint recipe that I really wanted to test out on it. Instead I conked out right after dinner and slept through the whole night.

  As I pulled my shoulder length sandy-colored hair into a smooth pony tail and put on a neat black skirt and white top, I studied myself in the mirror. It wasn’t my best look, but it was neat, clean and appropriate for the bridal shower we were dessert-catering.

  The party was at the bride-to-be’s mother’s house and we were setting up the dessert table in the dining room, arranging everything on a lovely blue and white striped silk table cloth.

  It looked beautiful, there were flowers everywhere and a cornucopia of Bundt cakes of every size and variety. Some were on silver tiered cake plates, some were spilling artistically out of blue Tiffany boxes, all were gorgeously decorated, in the “Breakfast at Tiffany’s” theme, with pale blue frosting, white pearls and tiny black sunglasses made from fondant.

  Babette’s artistic talents were on full, gorgeous display and the bride-to-be, a sweet faced blonde in her mid-twenties, loved it. She went around excitedly hugging everyone—including Babette and me.

  After everyone arrived and placed their blue-wrapped gifts on a table in the living room, Dahlia Wiggins, the hostess of the event, finally made her grand entrance down the grand staircase in the living room.

  As I looked at her, I realized it was no wonder she’d chosen the Breakfast at Tiffany’s theme. With her dark hair swept up in an Audrey Hepburn coif and big dark sunglasses, she looked dark mysterious and gorgeous. But then again, she probably looked dark mysterious and gorgeous no matter what she wore.

  I watched her make her way down toward the other girls and overheard one of them whispering to one another, “Isn’t the bride supposed to make the big entrance? Not the maid of honor?”

  The other girl laughed in response.

  I smiled to myself. My thoughts exactly.

  As Dahlia entered the living room and exchanged air kisses with her guests, I glanced over at Babette to see her reaction. But from what I could tell, she seemed fine. So fine in fact that I couldn’t believe she knew anything about Dahlia Wiggins and her supposed affair with Doug.

  Though Babette was obviously tired from being up late, baking the night before, other than her bloodshot eyes, she was her usual perfectionistic self. She was focused solely on her delicious creations as she gave some last final tweaks to the table.

  The ladies went outside for breakfast, and after about an hour of feasting on French toast, eggs Benedict and fresh fruit, they came in for dessert.

  Everyone was oohing and aahing over the lovely Bundt cakes on our table. As I poured cups of tea for those who wanted them, I overhead a pretty redhead to my left talking to a tall blonde. It was obvious they were talking about some guy they both thought was handsome and I didn’t pay much attention at first. Until the redhead mentioned how much she loved his British accent.

  I looked up wondering if they were talking about Casey but then realized there had to some other Brits in the area. He couldn’t be the only one.

  “His family’s very successful in real estate,” the blonde said. “And I think his father’s a lord.”

  When the redhead mentioned his gorgeous green eyes, I knew for sure it had to be him.

  As I moved towards them, to ask if they wanted some hot tea, I couldn’t help but hear even more of their conversation. Red was saying that the future Lord Baron was gorgeous, and even though he was dating someone she knew, she still hoped he’d asked her out. But Blondie said he had a fiance back home in London, so what was the point anyway?

  I went back to the cake table, disappointed, for some reason. I mean, I knew Casey was a snake, per Babette and her dealings with him. But still…was every guy a cheat? Were there no honorable men left?

  I took a deep breath and told myself it didn’t matter—it had nothing to do with me. I needed to focus on myself and my work.

  “How’d the gluten free Bundt come out?” I asked Babette. “Which one is it?" I was looking around the table but didn’t see anything labeled gluten free.

  “Oh dear, I must’ve left it in the van! I better go get it.” Babette fluttered her hands down her apron and rolled her eyes at her own absent-mindedness. “Must be from lack of sleep,” she said and then hurried through the living room and out the front door.

  As people chatted quietly, I poured more tea and answered questions about the different cake flavors. Dahlia came to the table, champagne glass in hand. I offered her a cup of hot tea but she shook her head, ‘no’ as she scanned the table.

  “Babette went to get the gluten free cake for you,” I volunteered.

  She gave me an icy smile then she went back into the living room where she sipped her champagne and stood, looking around the room, a thoughtful expression on her pretty face.

  “Girls,” she called out, then waited until she had everyone’s attention.

  Most of the ladies had taken seats on chairs or on the sofa and were nibbling on their cakes and sipping their tea. They looked at Dahlia who was standing at the head of the room, by the fireplace.

  “Okay. Girls,” she said with a sly smile. “It’s time for another shower game. Ready?”

  Some of the girls nodded. Some groaned.

  “This game is called two truths and a lie,” Dahlia said, and there was something about her tone that caught my attention. Though I had just started preparing another pot of tea, I looked up at her, wondering why I suddenly felt so uncomfortable.

  She was standing at the head of the room, smiling. But something about her seemed sly. Her whole body appeared electrified, like a cat, just before it pounced.

  I tried to ignore my sense of danger but I couldn’t quite shake it.

  “Now I’m sure many of you have played this game before,” Dahlia said. “But for those who haven’t, it goes like this. Someone will stand up here and tell us three facts about themselves. Two w
ill be true and one will be a lie. And we each have to decide which one is the lie.”

  Dahlia looked out at the girls, then took a sip of her champagne. “Now who wants to go first?”

  The ladies all looked at each other in between nibbles of their cakes but no one volunteered.

  Just then Babette came back into the dining room, holding the purple box containing the gluten-free cake. “How’s it going?” she whispered to me as she came over and put the box on the table.

  “Great. Everyone loves the cakes. They’re playing a game now so we have a bit of a break.”

  Babette nodded and opened the box, searching the table for just the right plate to put the cake on.

  In the living room, Dahlia was still standing in front of the group as one of the girl's volunteered.

  "Actually," Dahlia said with that same sly smile on her face. “I think I'll go first.” Then she turned and looked at the ladies. “ Okay, now don’t guess until the end…but…” She bit her lip and frowned, as though thinking hard. “ Fact number one. I went to school in Wiscosnin.”

  Somone shouted out “lie!” and Dahlia shook her head. “You’re supposed to wait until the end. But okay, fact number two…” She glanced in our direction, then she took a breath and continued. “I’m getting married soon too!"

  The bride screamed and applauded. “Oh my gosh! You are?”

  Dahlia didn’t answer, she kept going on with the game. "And fact number three…my husband-to-be is going to divorce his wife…who happens to be in this room.” And with that, Dahlia smiled and looked straight at Babette.

  Everyone gasped and went silent. Some of the girls looked over at Babette who stood staring down at the lilac box in her hand. I shot a glare at Dahlia then walked over to stand in front of Babette, so as to try to block everyone’s view of her. There were tears in her eyelashes as she stared down at the box in her hands.

  “Babette,” I said quietly.