Murder Is A Piece Of Cake Part 15

"This is my last a.s.signment," Josie said. "Ted still has six months on his lease. Amelia and I will live at his house until we find our new home. I'm starting to move a few things into Ted's place and getting my flat ready so Mom can rent it. Now I'm wondering if I should hold off moving my things until I know if Ted and I are getting married."

"Of course you are, Josie," Alyce said. "You'll find Molly's killer, and you and Ted will live happily ever after."

"That hasn't been the story of my life so far," Josie said.

"It will work out," Alyce said firmly. "What else needs to be done for your wedding?"

"Not much," Josie said. "The invitations were mailed, the flowers are ordered, the reception and the ceremony are planned down to the last detail, and the contracts are signed. Ted went with me for our wedding cake tasting."

"What kind did you get?" Alyce asked.

"Three tiers with three flavors: vanilla, chocolate, and lemon, iced with white b.u.t.ter cream. We're using my mother's wedding cake topper. Amelia says it's vintage."

"Maybe she can use it for her wedding," Alyce said.

"We still have to shop for Amelia's dress and I need high heels. You've chosen a gorgeous red dress. My gown is ready except for the final fitting."

The polka-dot CAKES BY COOKIE sign appeared over the next hill. The Big Bend location was sandwiched between a bridal boutique and a jewelry shop.

"Good location," Alyce said. "What a cute junior bridesmaid's dress."

"Maybe I can bring Amelia here to look at it," Josie said. "Mm. No doubt there's a bakery here. The air smells like sugar."

"Let's see how sweet s.h.i.+rley is in person," Alyce said.

s.h.i.+rley turned out to be surprisingly helpful after her rude comments on the phone. She reminded Josie of a small bird. s.h.i.+rley bobbed her dark head and seemed to hop as she herded them to a white table with plates, silver forks, and samples of cakes on a white china platter. The table was covered with a snowy cloth and a gla.s.s bowl of orange and red gerbera daisies. A white leather alb.u.m held numbered photos of wedding cakes.

"Number 128 is a traditional three-tiered wedding cake," s.h.i.+rley said. It was decorated with swags of white icing and roses. s.h.i.+rley served Josie and Alyce slices of iced vanilla cake the size of business cards.

"That b.u.t.ter cream icing tastes rich," Alyce said.

"It is," s.h.i.+rley said. "That cake is iced with six pounds of sugar, six pounds of sweet cream b.u.t.ter, vanilla, and a little shortening to cut the richness."

"Delicious," Josie said.

"But we can take a traditional cake and build on it," s.h.i.+rley said. "This cake has three bridges to three other cakes."

"Interesting," Josie said. She thought the ornate cake looked like a model for a Victorian bandstand.

"Number 129 has a fountain in the middle," s.h.i.+rley said.

"Won't that get the icing wet?" Josie asked.

"Of course not. It's peaceful."

Peaceful? It was a cake, not a park.

"Number 130 is our most exciting wedding cake," s.h.i.+rley said. "It's a six-bridge fountain cake."

Josie counted fourteen different cakes joined by bridges, overpa.s.ses, ramps, plastic pillars and Corinthian columns with a fountain in the center.

"Looks like Caesars Palace in Las Vegas," she said.

Alyce kicked her under the table.

"In a good way," Josie added.

s.h.i.+rley c.o.c.ked her head like a puzzled sparrow, then said, "That cake serves five hundred people. We can use almost any fruit or custard filling in our wedding cakes. This is a sample of our apricot filling. And here's a slice with chocolate pudding."

Josie scarfed up both. "I like the chocolate," she said.

"It's very popular," s.h.i.+rley said. "We can also personalize your cake. Isn't this adorable?"

She showed Josie a wedding cake topped with two troll dolls.

"Was that for a computer programmer's wedding?" Josie asked.

"How did you guess?" s.h.i.+rley said.

"Perhaps you'd like a more elegant cake. Number 131 is a European style white mousse frosted with white chocolate."

"What are those icing decorations that look like big sculpted flower petals?" Josie asked.

"Fans," s.h.i.+rley said. "You can get them in dark chocolate, too. We also have the yin and yang cake, frosted in dark and white chocolate."

"Very New Age," Josie said.

All the samples had disappeared. s.h.i.+rley recited the rest of the required information about delivery charges, down payments, and last-minute changes.

"Well," she said, "what do you think?"

"I'm a little overwhelmed," Josie said.

s.h.i.+rley handed her enough paperwork to buy a house. "You can go over this with your sweetie and then call me. I've helped hundreds of brides. The month before your wedding can be murder, but you'll forget that on your special day."

"Promise?" Josie said.

Chapter 17.

Sat.u.r.day, October 27 Molly Deaver, Ted's stalker bride, sold wisps of silk illusion to starry-eyed women at Denise's Dreams. Now Josie had to return to the shop to find out who really killed her.

Exhausted after a day of eating cake samples, she crawled into bed at nine thirty. Worries attacked like swarms of mosquitoes. These weren't bridal jitters-Josie wasn't even sure she'd have a wedding. She and Ted couldn't start their new life when Lenore's was ending.

What is the proper wedding etiquette when your fiance's mother faces murder one? Josie wondered. Should we wait to marry until after her trial?

Josie had heard about the "CSI effect": Juries demanded forensic evidence to convict. Lenore's case had a truckload, from the murder weapon to the victim's blood on her Chanel suit. Her actions could be twisted into guilt. The police said she was a fleeing felon. Lenore said she was running home to her injured husband. The jury pool was polluted by the tape of Lenore cackling over her pearl-handled pistol. She'd insulted the whole city and demanded a "real" lawyer from Boca.

Josie thought Lenore could wind up behind bars.

Then what? Will Ted and I marry later? Josie had a horrible vision of herself in her wedding gown and Ted in his tux, waiting in line for the prison metal detectors. Each year, we could alternate holidays, she thought: Christmas at my mother's house, Thanksgiving at the pen with Ted's mom.

If this wedding is canceled, who'll pick up the bills? I signed the contracts for the hall, the wedding cake, the caterer, the band, even the Jewel Box.

What if Ted doesn't want to marry until he finds Molly's real killer? He'll blame himself because he didn't recognize his fluffy client was a predator.

He might not marry me at all, she thought. I'm a thirty-one-year-old single mom with a sulky tween daughter. His mother thinks Ted is too good for me. I think he's too good to be true.

By 2:10, she was tired of trying to sleep. She got dressed and made a pot of coffee.

Josie forced herself to remember the details when she'd discovered Molly's body: She saw the dark red wound in Molly's temple. The blood was clogged around it and the thicker stuff was still wet and yucky. Her mind veered away, and now Josie remembered something important: Molly's window was down.

It had been a warm fall night. But if Molly was frightened, she would have rolled up her window and tried to drive away. And the gun-toting Lenore scared Molly. She would have run if she'd seen her.

That meant Molly was killed by someone she knew.

Someone else wanted rid of the relentless stalker bride, Josie decided. I have to find him. I will solve this murder and marry Ted. We'll honeymoon on St. John. Then Amelia and I will move into his house until we buy our own home.

She felt better making those resolutions. She checked the kitchen clock: 2:35. Josie poured herself more black coffee. She was going ahead with her life. She'd clean out her closet, starting at the top.

She pulled out Amelia's baby alb.u.m, sat on her rumpled bed, and thumbed through the photos.

There was a red-faced newborn Amelia in a pink knit cap. Amelia had been born with silky dark hair like her father's. Josie had been wildly in love with Nate. She'd been engaged to another college student, a man she could barely picture now. Josie tossed her secure life when she threw away her engagement ring and started dating the high-flying pilot.

Their daughter had had a beautiful beginning. Josie didn't need photos to remember that night: She'd lit a zillion candles. They'd talked and drank champagne until Nate carried her to bed. The next morning, Josie found empty bottles, burned-out candles-and the unopened condom box.

Nearly four months later, Josie was pregnant, frightened, and delighted. She and Nate would marry. He made good money as a pilot-Nate always had cash. They'd buy a house and she'd finish college.

She never got a chance to tell him she was pregnant. He was arrested in Canada with a planeload of drugs. Now his spendthrift ways made sense: Nate was dealing drugs.

Josie wanted nothing to do with him. Nate went to a Canadian prison for a decade and Josie sentenced herself to life without romance.

Jane was furious. She wanted Josie to give up the baby for adoption. Josie refused and dropped out of college to become a mystery shopper.

Josie brought Amelia to meet her grandmother. She'd been terrified when she rang Jane's bell. Jane fell in love with her new granddaughter.

Josie turned the alb.u.m page. Jane had snapped the next photo of Josie cradling a three-week-old Amelia. Josie still had her baby-belly fat and dark circles under her eyes. Her daughter's color had gone from red to pink and Josie admired her tiny starfish fingers.

Jane insisted that Josie and Amelia move into the downstairs flat. Josie's mystery-shopping barely covered the bills, even with Jane's artificially low rent and free babysitting. But she had one luxury: more time with her daughter. Josie smiled at the photo of a laughing seven-month-old Amelia crawling toward the camera. She'd had to get down on the floor for that photo.

The photos comforted Josie. She knew she'd been tired and worried when Amelia was a baby, but now she remembered that time as happy. She'd survived. She would get through this crisis. Josie packed the alb.u.m, then sorted her clothes into piles: things she'd wear now, clothes she'd donate, clothes she'd store in the bas.e.m.e.nt until she and Ted found their home.

She carried a box down to the bas.e.m.e.nt, threw in a load of laundry, and went back upstairs for more.

By seven o'clock, Josie had stashed the last box in the bas.e.m.e.nt and finished three loads of laundry. She carried the donated clothes out to her car, then stretched in the sun. Amazingly, she didn't feel tired.

She checked on Amelia. Her daughter was coc.o.o.ned in her purple spread with her cat, Harry. Amelia would sleep till at least nine on a Sat.u.r.day morning. Josie could drop off the clothes at the church donation box and be back in fifteen minutes. She pinned a note to Amelia's bathroom door in case she woke up.

Josie dropped the clothes off and was slammed by a sudden wave of weariness after being up most of the night. She went home, set her alarm, and napped. She heard Amelia fixing herself breakfast and checked her bedside clock: 9:04. Amelia was spending the day at her friend Emma's house. She could trust Emma's mother to watch the girls but not smother them.

Amelia sat in sullen silence on the drive to Emma's.

"Don't forget, we shop for your bridesmaid's dress this afternoon," Josie said.

"Grmpf," Amelia said. She slammed the car door, then smiled and waved at Emma.

Josie drove to Denise's Dreams in Rock Road Village, pa.s.sing Ted's clinic on the way. Josie was relieved that the lot was almost filled with cars-and there were no TV trucks.

Good, she thought. But something niggled at her brain. Something that might help Lenore. Something about . . . She turned onto the shop's street and the helpful thought vanished.

Josie hoped Denise's Dreams could end her wedding nightmare. The picket fence and ruffles looked solid and comforting. She was greeted at the door by a blonde who looked so much like Molly, they could have been sisters. The hothouse flower smell hit her in the face. It reminded Josie of funerals, not weddings.

"Hi, I'm Rita," the blonde said. "May I help you?"

"I'm getting married," Josie said, "and I need a tiara." She braced herself for the bridal gush.

"Well, you've come to the right place!" Rita said. "All our tiaras are one of a kind, handcrafted by Denise herself. What's your price range?"

"No limit," Josie said. "My mom's buying and she says I can pick any style I want."

"Super," Rita said. Her pale skin flushed with excitement-or maybe greed. "Have a seat. Would you like coffee?"

"Yes," Josie said, hoping it would jump-start a conversation. "Black, please."

Rita steered Josie to the room furnished like a Victorian parlor and Josie settled onto a tufted blue velvet armchair. Rita set two flowered cups of coffee and a plate of sugar cookies on the marble-topped table in front of Josie. Then she carried a stack of velvet boxes from a back room and sat gracefully in the chair next to Josie.

"So many celebrities are wearing tiaras at their weddings now," Rita said, opening a red velvet box. "Carrie Underwood had an amazing tiara with real diamonds-forty carats. This one is similar. Those aren't real diamonds, but they have a wonderful sparkle."

Josie tried not to wince. "Nice," she said, "but I'd like something simpler."

Rita reached for a gray velvet box. "This tiara is like the one Jennifer Lopez wore when she married Marc Anthony."

"Didn't they split?" Josie asked.

"Well, yes." That box disappeared. "We have so many types of tiaras: silver, gold, rhinestones, Swarovski crystal, and pearls."

"Pearls," Josie said.

"A warm look," Rita said. She showed Josie a blue velvet tray with two pearl tiaras.

"I like that one with the three pink pearl roses," Josie said.