1 Nothing Bundt Murder Page 9

  Now it was my turn to stare. Could he actually be telling the truth? Could the photo I saw online really have been his brother? Could Casey really be a good guy?

  I continued to stare, trying to figure it out.

  “It’s true,” he said as if answering all of my unasked questions. “I don’t approve of the fact that he has a fiancé at home, whom he continually cheats on. But that’s their business, not mine.”

  “But why didn’t you tell me?” I asked, flabbergasted. Though as soon as the words left my mouth I realized how stupid they sounded.

  “Tell you that I’m not a lying cheater? I had no idea you thought I was one.”

  “I’m sorry,” I said, trying to look serious and sincere. But I couldn’t stop the big smile that was spreading across my face.

  Casey noticed and met it with a smile of his own. He moved closer to me and brushed a strand of hair off my cheek. “You know I should be very angry at you. But due to your recent brush with death, I think I’ll let it go, just this once.”

  He pulled me closer so that our faces were inches apart.

  “I appreciate that,” I said softly.

  “My pleasure,” he growled, then leaned in and covered my lips with his. I practically swooned as the thing I’d been wanting to do since I saw him, finally happened.

  It was better than I had even imagined.

  It was even better than s’mores.

  CHAPTER TWENTY THREE

  Unfortunately Casey had a long distance conference call with England that he had to take, in the next hour, so we decided he’d take me home and would then come and pick me up for dinner later.

  As he got out of the car to open the door for me, I couldn’t help but smile at him again. “So polite,” I said, putting my hand in his as he helped me out of the car.

  “One of us should be,” he said, bowing chivalrously. “Since the other one is busy suspecting me of lying and cheating and the like.”

  I couldn’t help but smile again.

  “So you’ll be back in an hour?” I asked. “And this time we’ll go have a real dinner?”

  “I think two hours, just to be safe.”

  Just then the front door of Nana’s condo opened and she peered out.

  “Hi kids,” she said as she squinted in our direction.

  “Hello Mrs. Kale,” Casey said to her. “And how are you this fine evening?”

  Nana looked at him, an enigmatic expression on her face. “Better now,” she said.

  Casey nodded. “As am I,” he said. Then he turned to me. “Well I’ll see you at 9:00 then?”

  “Right,” I said and gave him a quick peck on the cheek. “Have a good conference call.”

  “Have a good cat-feeding” he replied. Then he nodded to Nana, got into his car and drove off.

  I thought about going around the back entrance that went straight to the guest house, in order to punish Nana who I knew was waiting to hear the whole Casey story. But then I figured she’d suffered enough lately. Besides which, I needed a little girl talk.

  “So?” she said, putting two teacups down on the counter, one for her and one for me.

  “So I’m allowed back on the island?”

  She waved this off and got to the point. “C’mon, spill it. You and Casey…”

  I sighed and smiled again. “It turns out he wasn’t a cheater. His brother’s the one with the fiancé and the girlfriends.”

  She squeezed my hand. “Ha. You see. I told you so.” She was smiling even more than I was. “I could tell he was a good man. I have very good instincts for that sort of thing.”

  “I know you do,” I said, with a nod. “Grandpa.”

  “Grandpa,” she agreed with a sad smile. “So have you decided what to do? With your life I mean? New York? Here? Somewhere else? Here?”

  “Well,” I took a sip of my tea.”I hadn’t thought about it yet. I mean I’ll definitely finish the article I’m working on. But then…I’m not sure.”

  “But you can’t still be thinking of going back to Kevin?”

  “I’m thinking less and less about that,” I said, then quickly took a sip of tea before she could see me smiling again.

  Nana patted my hand. “I’m just glad things worked out for you, honey. No matter where you decide to go or what you do. You deserve the best.” And with that, she got up, patted my hair down, gave me a kiss on the top of my head and walked off.

  “Are you going to bed?” I asked, looking at the clock on the wall. “It’s only 7:00.”

  “That’s funny. No, honey. I’m just taking a hot bath, I have a date at 8:00.”

  “Oh, that’s funny,” I said. “So do I.”

  She turned and looked at me, then she looked up towards the heavens. “Finally.”

  I smiled and shook my head as she walked out of the room.

  I was just about to head back to the casita when Nana poked her head out of her room. “Oh, Rosie,” she said. “I meant to tell you. Birdie left me a message a little while ago saying that she heard something interesting about the Dahlia Wiggins murder case.”

  “Oh? What’d she hear?”

  Nana frowned, as if trying to remember. “Actually, she didn’t say what it was specifically. She just said it was something about that surveillance footage in the bakery kitchen. And that it was odd and she wanted to talk to you about it.”

  “Huh,” I said with a shrug. I had no idea what it could be.

  “ If you want, I could try calling her now to find out what she heard, but she’s probably still at the hairdresser’s…” Nana checked her watch. “We’re going on another of her double dates. And supposedly my guy looks like a cross between Clark Gable and Tyrone Power.” Nana rolled her eyes.

  I smiled.

  “Maybe this time she’ll be telling the truth,” I said. “And don’t worry about it. Don’t bother her. I mean, there’s no big rush anymore. They have the real killer—Doug—safe behind bars now.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY FOUR

  I went back to the casita and took a nice hot bath. Then I combed out my wet hair and blew it dry so that it was shiny and bouncy and soft to the touch. Just in case anyone planned to touch it.

  I put my makeup on carefully, soft brown eye shadow, black eyeliner, mascara and pale pink lip gloss. Then I went to the closet to survey my choices.

  It felt like ages since I’d put on anything but work clothes or jeans, so I pulled out the one semi-nice outfit I’d brought out with me. It was a pretty, body-hugging, sleeveless black dress that landed just above the knee and had a flattering V neck top. I put that on along with the deep blue wrap that Nana had knit for my birthday, which I threw over my shoulders.

  There. All ready.

  I looked at my phone but realized I still had half an hour to kill before my date with Casey. In the meantime I planned to put down on paper, my immediate impressions of what had happened with Doug. Or on computer anyway.

  Unfortunately Cupcake kept trying to jump into my lap and I feared that her long, sharp nails would demolish my one nice dress. I tried to shoo her away but she wouldn’t give up, so I quickly grabbed my big comfy sweater and put it on over my dress. Then I pulled her on my lap and petted her as I started typing.

  Writing about the crazy look in Doug’s eyes made me shudder. It was something I didn’t think I would ever forget. Coming that close to a crazed killer.

  The odd thing was, I didn’t think it was an act either. He really did seem to sincerely believe that Casey was the killer. Which was so odd. Casey was the last person who would kill Dahlia. Or kill anyone for that matter. He wasn’t even a lying cheater. He was just a handsome, sweet, kind, gorgeous, lifesaving man…

  I sat smiling off into space for a full minute, then I forced myself to get back to work.

  Wondering what the odd thing was that Birdie had found about the bakery footage, I decided to watch it again. After all, I had promised Doug I’d look at it and it made sense to follow through, if only for the sake of my article. />
  Clicking on the surveillance footage file, I found the video from that night in Babette’s kitchen. Then I hit ‘play’ and the Bundt Baby kitchen appeared on screen.

  Babette was in the store, mixing up her gluten-free cake and pouring it into the mold. Then she cocked her head, listening, as though hearing something outside. She walked out of the store.

  I watched, still entranced, even though I’d seen the footage several times before. Something about it was still compelling. And disturbing. It was almost as though you could reach into the screen and stop Doug from doing it. Stop him from committing the crime.

  The killer came in, wearing the black hoodie, his gloved hands in his pockets, his head down, as he nervously looked around. He walked over to the Bundt mold that Babette had put on the counter and looked at it. Then he looked at the bowl of frosting. He reached into his pocket and pulled out the bottle and emptied it in. Then he mixed it with the spatula, put the bottle into a cabinet and turned to go.

  He was about to walk back out when he stopped and listened. He must have heard something outside, because he ducked back behind some baker’s racks. As he did, he stood near the double stacked convection oven.

  I squinted at the screen closely. If there was any time the killer’s face would have been reflected in the oven’s glass, it was then. But try as I might, I couldn’t see anything clearly. I even zoomed in on the image but still there was no reflection.

  So much for Doug’s theory.

  I let the tape play on anyway. The killer waited, frozen, except for his hand which was nervously scratching his wrist. To me that meant it had to be Doug. After all, he was the one with the allergies. He was always scratching himself in someplace or other.

  But then I frowned and backtracked to watch that part again. There was something about how he was scratching his wrist that reminded me of something—but I couldn’t quite put my finger on what it was. As I watched, I thought that it might not have been scratching exactly. It was possible he was just touching it…

  I finished the tape feeling that something was trying to break through into my conscious mind but try as I might, I still could not figure out what it was.

  Then it hit me.

  Earlier that day when I’d been hiding from Doug, he’d been waving the knife around in his right hand. But here on the tape, the poisoner pulled the bottle out of his hoodie pocket with his left hand. He emptied it into the frosting with his left hand. Which would seem to imply that the killer was left-handed.

  But Doug was definitely right-handed—or least he seemed to be today.

  I sat back in my chair, frowning. This was something I should probably tell the police. Maybe they had the wrong person in custody after all. Was it possible?

  Maybe the killer really was someone else. Someone who was left-handed. Someone like…

  No. That was ridiculous. It couldn’t be Casey.

  A lot of people were left handed. Including me. And Babette. Even Birdie! Just because Casey was a leftie didn’t mean anything.

  Then it hit me. Casey’s tattoo, the one on his right wrist that he was trying to hide that time in the car. He’d been sort of touching his wrist in that same nervous fashion as the poisoner on the film.

  I replayed the tape again, my heart pounding in my ears, as all the things that Doug had said earlier in the evening came back to me. “Could Doug be right?” I whispered aloud to myself, shaking my head, dumbstruck.

  “Right about what?”

  The response came from behind me.

  I whipped my head around.

  Casey.

  He was standing near the back door, looking handsome and dapper in a pair of blue jeans, black tee shirt and casual black linen jacket. His chestnut hair looked freshly washed and his dazzling white teeth and green eyes stood out against his tanned skin.

  There was no doubt about it, he was handsome. Deadly handsome.

  He smiled and came towards me.

  CHAPTER TWENTY FIVE

  “Casey! What are you doing here?” I was trying to keep my voice even and natural-sounding, even though I could barely think. I was scared to death.

  “I believe we had a date,” he said, looking at his watch then back at me. “I knocked on the front door but obviously you didn’t hear me. So I came around back.”

  He came up behind me and started rubbing my shoulders. “You don’t look happy to see me,” he said, in a soothing voice. Then he noticed what was on my computer screen. “Now what’s all this? Don’t tell me you’re starting to believe Doug’s accusations?”

  “No…no of course not,” I said, slamming the laptop shut. “I was just watching it for my magazine piece. I must have lost track of time.”

  I quickly shoved the laptop away and stood up. “I guess we should get out of here, right? Time for dinner. Don’t want to be late this time.”

  He frowned at me, as though sensing something off in my behavior.

  I tried to smile but don’t think I succeeded very well, so I quickly grabbed my keys and purse, ready to leave.

  “Actually,” Casey said, leading me over to the dining table. “I brought dinner with me. I hope you don’t mind.”

  He sat me down at the dining table and snapped his fingers. A tuxedoed waiter came in and with graceful efficiency, placed a candelabra on the table along with two place-settings of fine china and silver as well as several plates of food from Madrilenos.

  “Oh,” I said, looking at the trays of food being carried in. It smelled delicious, but for maybe the second time in my life, I wasn’t hungry.

  I frantically tried to think of some excuse to leave, but my mind wouldn’t cooperate. All I could come up with was that I had another date—but of course Casey would know that wasn’t true.

  The waiter set our food out, poured our champagne, then turned to Casey stiffly. “Anything else sir?” he asked formally.

  “No,” Casey nodded. “Thank you, Arturo. You can go.”

  The waiter began walking out.

  “Wait!” I called, frantically. I had to keep him there. I couldn’t be alone with a killer.

  He turned, startled.

  “I dropped my fork,” I said, quickly knocking it on to the floor with a loud clatter.

  The waiter cocked an eyebrow, then nodded and came back over. He quickly replaced the old fork with a new one and then again began walking out.

  Casey was studying me in a way I would normally find sexy, but this was something else altogether.

  “I can’t do this!” I said, standing up. “I just can’t.”

  “Why not?” Casey asked looking at me warily.

  “Because…”

  Think. Think! I told my brain. But it refused.

  “Because…”

  And just then I was saved by the bell.

  I ran to the phone and saw Babette’s number on the caller ID.

  “Babette!” I screamed breathlessly into the phone as I held it up to my ear. “I was waiting for your call. What time can you be here?”

  “What? Did we have plans?” she asked in a surprised tone. “I was just calling to make sure you’re okay. I feel so terrible about what happened with Doug and I wanted to see how you were.”

  “No. absolutely not!” I said, smiling stiffly and waving at Casey who was watching me closely. Thankfully he could only hear my side of the conversation and not Babette’s. “It’s fine!” I said loudly to her. “I understand that tonight…now…is the only time we can do this interview. So come on over, I’m home.”

  And before she could say anything else, I hung up the phone.

  Casey frowning, held his steak knife in one hand and touched the sharp blade with the other. I decided I wouldn’t get too close to him, or that knife, so I moseyed casually to the door as I talked.

  “I’m so sorry, Casey but this is what I was trying to tell you. I have to do that interview with Babette tonight. That’s the only time she can do it, after all. So…maybe we can do dinner another night.”
/>   I grabbed his jacket off the hook and held it out to him. He stood, looking at it and then at me.

  “What’s going on?” he said, studying me, his brow furrowed in concern. Or suspicion.

  I swallowed hard. He looked so handsome, so sincere, there was no way he could be a killer. Could he? I’d kissed him after all. Wouldn’t I have known if I was kissing a killer?

  No! I told myself. He’s a killer! That’s so much worse than a cheat!

  “You really better go,” I told him sadly. “I just…I really need to do this interview.”

  He frowned, studying me, but he didn’t move.

  Then, as if an answer to my prayers, Babbette’s car lights flashed across the window and we heard the sound of her engine turning off.

  Casey got up and grabbed his coat out of my hands. “Fine,” he said. “Have a good night.” Then he shook his head and walked out.

  As soon as he left, I ran to get my phone and with shaking hands, tried to dial Detective Sanders. I had to call and tell him what I’d figured out. But just as I was about to press ‘send’ Babette knocked at the door.

  “Babette!” I flung the door open and put the phone in my pocket. I really needed to talk to her first. What if my paranoia and lack of sleep was making me overreact? What if Casey was totally innocent and I’d just kicked him out of my house in the rudest possible manner?

  No wonder my love life was in such a shambles.

  CHAPTER TWENTY SIX

  Babette stepped inside, looking frazzled and out of breath. She studied me and then looked around worriedly. “Are you okay? What happened? I was so worried. I didn’t know whether to call the police or to just come myself. But I was nearby, on the way home from the store so I just came by.”

  “I’m fine, now,” I said, reaching to close the behind her and checking again to make sure Casey was nowhere around. He wasn’t, thank goodness.