Sweet as Pie Crimes (16 page)

Chapter 5

“Emergency?” My chest throbbed with stress, and my stomach was whirling around in circles.

“Yes, he’s very sorry and offers his regrets for not being there.  Have a good day.” With that cursory response, the secretary hung up the phone, leaving me standing in the middle of my empty shop with a look of horror on my face.

Alarmed, Aunt Marilyn put down the Chunky S’mores cupcake she had been decorating with mini marshmallows and hurried to my side.  Wrapping an arm around my shoulder, she asked gently, “What’s happened now?”

“The mayor isn’t coming!  Some woman from his office just called and said there’s been an emergency!  What am I going to do?!” I couldn’t control the decibel of my voice or the panic in my tone.

“Calm down…”

“No!” I cut her off in mid-sentence.  “I can’t calm down.  There could be hundreds of people here today, all expecting to meet and shake hands with the mayor.  I’m going to look like a liar.  No one is going to want to come back here.  They’ll think I pulled some kind of prank to get customers through the door.” I fought back tears welling up in my eyes.  Was my cupcake shop cursed?  Nothing had gone right since the moment I rented this stupid place.  Not a single thing. 

“Don’t get defeated.  We’ll figure something out.  Let me put my thinking cap on.” Aunt Marilyn’s face turned grave as she tried to piece together a solution to my enormous public relations problem.

“Unless we drug the mayor and drag him here from his house, there’s nothing that we can do to make this better!  People are expecting the mayor.  And the mayor’s not going to be here.  My business is screwed.  Period.” My chin dropped to my chest as I contemplated the loss of my dream.  I could deal with losing a few thousand dollars, but I couldn’t fathom that my dream of owning a successful bakery was gone too.

Aunt Marilyn still looked deep in thought, but she didn’t say another word.  I rambled on, “It’s hopeless.  I should just shut down this place right now.”

“Enough already, Danica!  This is a set-back, but it’s not the end of your business.  You can’t keep crumbling like a stale cupcake every time things don’t go your way.  You have to keep fighting harder.  That’s what your father would want.” She looked me directly in the eyes as she emphasized those last words.  Tears glistened in her eyes as she spoke of the older brother she had loved and lost.

“Okay, you just got through to me,” I said firmly.  My father had always encouraged me to seize my dreams.  “Dad kept playing baseball even though he never made it to the big leagues.  It was still his passion, and he didn’t give up on it.  I guess that’s how baking needs to be for me.  Even if all of Sea Ridge never walks through those doors after today, I have to keep trying.” My thought process was anything but logical.  Most entrepreneurs would probably laugh their asses off at my idealistic attitude, but Aunt Marilyn had changed the game when she invoked the memory of my father. 

***

Hours later, the sun was shining fully in a cloudless sky, and I was ready to greet the customers---mayor or no mayor.  A light bulb idea of offering free samples to every customer now seemed even better than having the boring old mayor as guest of honor at the ribbon cutting ceremony.  I would choose the youngest child in the crowd to snip the red ribbon and officially launch Cupcakes by the Sea.

“I wonder why the newspaper isn’t here yet,” I said suspiciously.

“Maybe they’re not going to come now that the mayor pooped out,” Aunt Marilyn suggested.

“Yeah, you’re probably right.  This is a small potatoes event without Mayor O’Donnell.  The newspaper probably has much hotter stories to cover.” Loosening my apron strings just a tad so I could breathe---or try to because I was so nervous---I put on a fluffy white chef’s hat and tossed one to Aunt Marilyn.

“But I just curled my hair this morning!” She complained.

“Smile and put it on! You’d look gorgeous wearing a dunce cap!” I said sincerely as she giggled and propped the clumsy hat up on her head.

Cheerful voices outside my shop doors caught me by surprise.  “Could those be actual customers?” I asked hopefully, rushing to open the door even though it was still a few minutes early.

“Oh, I can smell the success! Smells even sweeter than your Vanilla Bean cupcakes!” Aunt Marilyn enthused, adjusting her chef’s hat and smiling brightly.

There weren’t hundreds of people outside my door like I had envisioned, but there were several dozen.  I greeted each customer individually with a spirited “hello” and a sincere smile.  Half the customers were small children who clamored into the shop with fascinated eyes and open mouths.  No one even seemed to notice that the mayor wasn’t there.

The youngest child in the bunch was easy to spot.  No more than four years old, the strawberry blond haired little girl squealed with excitement when I offered her mother the scissors to cut the ribbon.

“And what’s your name?” I asked the sweet child.

“Destiny,” she replied, trying to grab the scissors from her mother.

“Careful! You place your hand over mine and we’ll cut the ribbon together,” her mother coaxed.

The crowd cheered as the ruby ribbon was sliced in two.  I cut off another shorter piece and handed it to Destiny, who promptly twirled it through her waist length hair and tied it into a bow.  Everyone eagerly lined up for free cupcakes as Aunt Marilyn stood at the counter, trying to keep orders straight.  Not once did anyone ask about Mayor O’Donnell, and I felt foolish for having lost my cool earlier. 

By closing time, my feet ached beyond belief, and I was sure I had developed a blister in between every toe.  My lower back was also sore, but I was so happy that I barely noticed the pain.

“People loved my cupcakes!  Look how many real sales we made!” I pointed to the computer screen where the day’s totals glowed in the dark.

“And I lost count of how many people asked about parties!  I think you’re going to have a lot of cupcake catering to do,” Aunt Marilyn added.

“I think you may be right,” I said positively, heading to the kitchen to clean up.

Aunt Marilyn followed me with a roll of paper towels and other cleaning supplies.  She opened the refrigerator and made a sour face.  “Oh honey, we need to clean this fridge top to bottom.  Look.”

I peered inside the fridge and immediately started emptying out the contents.  Crumbs were stuck to the refrigerator walls and slimy liquids were congealing everywhere.  “Glad the customers didn’t see this!” I quipped.

“What’s this?” Aunt Marilyn asked as she pulled out a huge tub of Cool Whip.

“I don’t know.  How did that get in there?” My heart stopped, instantly afraid that yet another ingredient had been swapped.  I always made whipped cream from scratch.  Using Cool Whip was a shortcut I wouldn’t take with my baked goods.

“And it’s open too.” Aunt Marilyn pulled the lid off and sniffed the contents.

I took a whiff too, instantly realizing what
wasn’t
in the container.  “That’s not Cool Whip!  Damn it, I think it could be shaving cream.  Can this really be happening again?”

“Well, we don’t know if it’s
again
.  You hadn’t cleaned out the fridge until now.”

“No because all the tainted ingredients I found were in the cabinets.  I hope this container was put in the fridge before.” I shook my head in distress, the high of my ribbon cutting ceremony instantly sinking to sewer level.

“We’ve got to figure this out ourselves,” Aunt Marilyn decided firmly.

“I know.  The police definitely haven’t been any help,” I snorted.  “One cop took a few notes and was gone in less than half an hour.”

“I still feel like Betty is responsible for this,” Aunt Marilyn said angrily.

“Me too,” I concurred.  “But there’s no way to prove it.”

“Well, actually, there might be,” she said slyly.

“How?” I asked cautiously, somehow sensing that what she had in mind was dangerous.

“We need to have a look at her computer at work.  See if she’s sent any emails out about your shop.  Or about you and me.”

I scrunched my face, completely perplexed by Aunt Marilyn’s vague idea.  “Huh?  First of all, there’s no way we can get a look at her computer at work unless we break into the building after dark and hack her password.  Plus, what kind of emails would she send out? That doesn’t even make sense.”

“To your second point, no one works alone, Danica.  If she
has
been switching ingredients in here, you can be sure she has an accomplice.  And her computer is very likely to hold some answers.  As far as getting into her office, that’s easy.  We don’t need to break in at all,” Aunt Marilyn said with royal confidence.

“Why not?” I asked warily.

“Because Marvin will give me the key.  He’s never gotten over me.  If I ask him for the key and promise him a rendezvous he’ll say yes in a heartbeat, I’m sure of it.” She paused, finally removing her chef’s hat and running a hand through her flattened coif.  “I’ll tell him to meet me at the real estate office at midnight for a little fun on his desk.  But you and I will be out of there by 11, and Marvin will arrive to an empty office.  He’ll have no idea what happened.  He’ll think I just stood him up.” Aunt Marilyn looked proud of her plan, but I was still skeptical.

“Tricking him doesn’t sound like a good idea.  You’ll only make him mad, and then maybe he’ll come after my shop too.  Besides, the office probably has security cameras outside that will catch us on film!”

“First of all, let the moron get mad.  His bark is much worse than his bite.  He’s a Cowardly Lion of a man who thinks he’s the Big Bad Wolf.  As for the security cameras, so WHAT?  Let them take our picture.  We’re not going to be breaking in.  I’ll have the key.  And we’re not going to steal anything.  Just have a look at her computer.  Everything else will be untouched.” The woman was relentless, but I wouldn’t yield yet.

“I don’t know about this…”

“That’s fine, sweetheart.  You don’t have to come along.  I’ll go on my own and you don’t have to play any role in it whatsoever.  Does that make you feel better?”

“No!” I exclaimed in frustration.  “Since when did you get so nosy anyway?  You were always the cool aunt, not the crazy aunt.”

Aunt Marilyn balked.  “Who are you calling crazy?  Now, I’ve just got to work up the nerve to contact that bozo Marvin again.  Telling him that I want another roll in the hay and listening to his sleazy talk is going to be the hardest part of this.  Everything else will be cake.”

Chapter 6

On Monday night, I sat in a cushy box seat munching on a soft pretzel the size of my face and gazing through starry eyes at Lane as he adeptly caught every hit batted his way.  Aunt Marilyn sat beside me, nibbling her way through a bag of hot salted peanuts and admiring all the chiseled men in uniform.

“Police officers and firefighters look sexy in their uniforms, but there’s nothing like a baseball player in pinstripes making a homerun!” Aunt Marilyn dished with a girly giggle.

“Especially when that man is Lane Stuart,” I whispered under my breath, trying not to stare too much at his cute tush.

“He really is a looker, Danica.  I predict he’ll ask you out on a real date after this game is over,” Aunt Marilyn said knowingly, sipping her Sprite through an old-fashioned swivel straw.

“We’ll see,” I dismissed, trying to concentrate on the game.  Lane’s butt was enough of a distraction, but I also had worries about my shop to contend with.  Would my store be financially solvent in a month or in financial ruins?  If Aunt Marilyn’s plot failed, it seemed that the latter was much more likely, and I would be in jail as well as out of business. 

She had easily coerced Marvin into giving her the key, and their fake rendezvous was scheduled for Tuesday at midnight.  Since contacting him, Aunt Marilyn had fielded a slew of suggestive text messages from the philanderer.  She cringed as another message beeped on her phone.

“I can guess who that is.” She rolled her eyes, appalled.

“Are you answering his messages?”

“I have to in order to keep up the façade.” She glanced at the phone and uttered a disgusted noise.  “Ugh, he’s getting more graphic.  I sure hope we find something in that office.”

“We don’t have to do this, you know,” I gently reminded as she tapped a reply into the phone.

“Yes we do,” she insisted.

Turning my attention back to the baseball game, I stood up and cheered as Lane caught another toss.  He glanced up, and I could swear he winked at me.  Flinging her phone into her purse like it was dynamite, Aunt Marilyn shuddered and refocused on the game that had the Padres far ahead of the White Sox in the bottom of the ninth.

“It’s almost over, and it looks like Lane’s team is going to win.  You’ll have to give him a congratulatory kiss,” Aunt Marilyn whispered naughtily as I kept my eyes cemented on Lane.  Maybe it was my imagination, but I felt sure he kept casting flirtatious glances my way. 

“Maybe I will,” I whispered back pertly as she laughed.

The game ended with the last Chicago batter striking out and the San Diego Padres claiming decisive victory.  After tending to post-game formalities and autograph signings, Lane met me outside the locker room.  I forced myself not to peek inside and try to get an eyeful of the ball players.  Aunt Marilyn had already left to go home.  Otherwise, she would have waltzed right into that locker room without one iota of self-consciousness.

“Amazing game,” I praised as Lane grinned and bowed his head modestly.

“Thanks, Danica.  Would you like to grab a late dinner with me?  I’m starved.” He placed one hand over his washboard stomach for emphasis.

“Sure, let’s go,” I replied, wanting to be bold enough to kiss him like Aunt Marilyn had urged but knowing I would never do something so forward unless I had a cocktail---or five---in my system.

“Do you like Mexican?” Lane asked as I nodded affirmatively.  “Nice.  I know a great little place in the Gaslamp District.”

We drove to the hip Gaslamp District of San Diego in Lane’s sporty green Mini Cooper.  I had always found Minis to be pretentious, but with Lane behind the wheel, it was suddenly my favorite car in the world. 

After a hearty dinner of burritos, guacamole, and nachos, we left the restaurant and drove to an out-of-the-way coffee shop that Lane had suggested.

“So where’s Mackenzie tonight?” I asked as we parked and I noted the late hour on my cell phone.

“She’s with her mother,” Lane replied, turning off the engine.

“Your ex-wife?” I presumed.  I had learned many things about Lane at dinner, from his love of Spanish wine to his hatred for all sports other than baseball, but he hadn’t revealed anything about Mackenzie’s mother. 

“No, actually, Shelley and I were never married.” He looked at me knowingly as I raised my eyebrows in surprise.  “Yeah, that’s how most people react.”

“I’m sorry.  I didn’t mean to seem judgmental,” I said, wishing I had been born with a poker face.

“It’s okay.  Most people react that way, and I understand.  Shelley and I met in college.  She got pregnant when she was just 19, and I was 21.  Neither of us was ready for marriage, so we’ve been sharing the responsibility of our daughter ever since.  Sometimes it gets a little tricky with holidays and birthdays, but for the most part it’s worked out.”

I calculated that Lane was my age, 27, and felt our romantic prospects blossoming by the instant.  “It sounds like you’re both good parents.”

“We try to be.  What about you?  Any psycho ex-husbands I should know about?” Lane posed the question lightly, but I could tell he really wanted to know.

“No psycho ex-husbands or boyfriends!” I assured him while neglecting to add that I had only been seriously involved with one man in my life.  Too soon to delve into intricacies like that.

Inside the coffee shop, we sat across from each other at an intimate booth enjoying twin glasses of cappuccino with extra foam.  Conversation flowed so naturally between us that I was tempted to tell him about my predicament with Cupcakes by the Sea and Aunt Marilyn and Betty and the insane plot to trespass in the real estate office…and I was out of breath just thinking about the whole thing, so I stayed cool and sipped my cappuccino. 

“So what did you study in college?” I asked curiously, taking a bite of the coconut cream pie we were sharing.

“Computer science.  I was going to be a tech nerd until the Padres recruited me.”

Okay, now I couldn’t stay quiet.  If Lane had a degree in computer science, then he would be the perfect partner in crime to assist with hacking into Betty’s PC.  Pacing myself and struggling to keep the flood gates of information closed, I said, “That’s great.” 
Brainy and brawny
, I thought wickedly.

“And how is everything going at your bakery?” He queried, and I could no longer hold back.

Drawing in a cleansing breath, I proceeded to spill the whole story from the moment Betty had warned me about ghosts to the ribald text messages exchanged between Marvin and Aunt Marilyn.  Lane listened attentively, alternately frowning and chuckling depending on which part of the story I was telling.  When I finished, he sat back in his seat and took a long chug of cappuccino.  Just as I thought someone should come to the table and give me a trophy engraved with the words Worst Date Ever, Lane finally broke the silence.

“I’m going to help you, Danica.  Whoever’s been playing mind games with you can’t get away with it any longer.”  His words relaxed me like an ocean breeze, and I gently sighed my relief.

“You would know exactly how to hack into a computer, wouldn’t you?”

“Of course.  I actually was planning to specialize in forensic computer science back in college.  If that real estate agent really is behind all this chaos, then we’ll be able to find out from her computer,” Lane promised as I tilted my head to one side questioningly.

“Are you sure you want to do this?  I mean, it’s illegal and you barely know me.  Why would you want to put your career and reputation on the line to help someone you hardly know?”

“Hmm, no reason,” he said huskily before reaching across the table to cup my face in his hands and plant a tender kiss on my lips.