Chapter 9
Nothing says productive murder investigation like cornering your prime suspect while she’s still glowing from a standing ovation.
The Princess Pavilion buzzes with post-presentation energy as autumn sunlight filters through the canopy of sugar maples overhead, casting everything in that golden glow that makes even potential killers look photogenic.
The scent of cinnamon and brown sugar mingles with pine needles and the distant aroma of caramel apples, while the sound of chattering bakers creates a backdrop that’s equal parts cozy and chaotic.
I make my move toward the stage with the determination of a theme park owner who’s already found one body this week and would prefer to solve this case before stumbling across another one.
“Savvy!” I call out, climbing the steps with what I hope passes for casual enthusiasm instead of amateur detective desperation. “That was absolutely brilliant. You had them eating out of your hand.”
She looks up from gathering her notes, and her smile could power the entire pavilion. “Why, thank you, sugar! Nothing like a good mama story to get the crowd warmed up. Though I suspect they were more interested in the bourbon cake recipe than my philosophical musings on men and sourdough.”
“Mind if we step to the edge here for a minute?” I gesture toward the border of the pavilion, where towering pines provide a natural backdrop. “I’d love to hear more about your bakery.”
“Of course, honey. Lead the way.”
We move to the pavilion’s edge, where the scent of evergreens mingles with the last traces of summer wildflowers.
The trees provide a natural windbreak, creating a pocket of relative quiet where we can still see the entire symposium but speak without being overheard by every baker within a fifty-foot radius.
From our spot, I can see the organized chaos unfolding across the pavilion.
A line of attendees stretches from Fish and Chip’s thrones halfway across the courtyard, most of them sporting glittery cat ear headbands and clutching Fish and Chip merchandise like they’re collecting autographs from actual celebrities.
The sight would make my accountant’s heart sing—assuming I had an accountant instead of a shoebox full of receipts and a prayer.
Our subjects are particularly devoted today, Fish’s inner voice drifts across the courtyard. I’m considering implementing a tips jar.
Someone offered me a piece of their turkey sandwich, Chip adds. I graciously accepted. It’s called public relations.
Near the refreshment table, Ree and Georgie are engaged in what can only be described as a systematic dessert acquisition operation.
Ree moves with strategic planning, selecting items based on what appears to be a carefully calculated sugar-to-size ratio.
Georgie, meanwhile, approaches the table with the enthusiasm of someone who’s just discovered that calories don’t count during murder investigations.
“Your friends are certainly thorough,” Savvy observes, following my gaze.
“They believe in supporting small businesses,” I reply. “Very thoroughly. With their stomachs.” As do I. “So, tell me about yourself,” I continue, settling against the pavilion’s railing. “I feel like I know everyone else’s life story, but you’re still a mystery.”
Savvy laughs, a sound that bubbles up from somewhere genuine.
“Oh honey, there’s nothing mysterious about me.
I’m fifty, never married, no kids, and I’ve spent my entire adult life helping my sweet mama build her dream bakery.
Sweet Dreams & Sugar Schemes has been my whole world since I was old enough to hold a whisk without dropping it.
” She leans against the railing beside me, her expression turning thoughtful.
“As for men, well, I’ve always said they’re like paper towels.
You’re always looking for one when you need it, they’re completely disposable, and there seems to be an endless supply in the world—though most of them are about as absorbent as tissue paper in a rainstorm. ”
I snort with laughter. “That’s the most accurate analogy I’ve heard all year. And here I thought my marriage was unique in its spectacular failure.”
“Oh sugar, what happened? Did yours think that ‘snacks and silence’ was relationship bliss?”
“Worse.” I grimace. “Mine decided that spiritual enlightenment came with a side of yoga instructor. Apparently, he found his chakras in her downward dog.”
Savvy’s eyes widen with delighted horror. “No, he did not!”
“Oh, he absolutely did. Twenty-five years of marriage, and he threw it all away for someone who can put her ankles behind her head. I mean, I’m flexible, but I’m not circus performer flexible.”
“Men.” Savvy shakes her head with the weary wisdom of someone who’s seen too much. “They’ll trade a lifetime of Sunday morning pancakes for five minutes of excitement with someone who probably doesn’t even know how to make coffee.”
“Speaking of coffee, his new girlfriend thinks espresso is a foreign language and considers Starbucks gourmet dining. The woman probably thinks tiramisu is an Italian greeting.”
“Bless her cheatin’ heart,” Savvy drawls with the kind of Southern sweetness that could make a lemon pucker. “And bless his tiny little brain for thinking that’s an upgrade from a woman who probably makes her own vanilla extract.”
“Right? I can organize a bake sale and manage a theme park, but apparently, that’s less impressive than being able to balance on one foot while chanting about inner peace.”
“The audacity of men never ceases to amaze me,” Savvy continues, warming to the subject. “They want a woman who can cook like Julia Child, clean like Martha Stewart, and look like a supermodel, but they can’t even figure out how to load a dishwasher properly.”
“Or remember to put the toilet seat down,” I add. “It’s not rocket science, but apparently, it requires a Ph.D. in basic human decency.”
“And don’t get me started on their idea of ‘helping’ with housework. ‘I helped with the dishes,’ they say, as if washing the plates they ate off of is some kind of generous contribution to society.”
“Oh my goodness, yes!” I’m practically bouncing with recognition. “And they act like babysitting their own children is doing you a favor. It’s called parenting, not volunteer work!”
“Exactly! Though I suppose I should be grateful I never had to deal with that particular brand of masculine logic. I’ve managed to avoid the whole marriage trap by treating men like I treat cake samples—enjoyable in small doses, but not something you want to commit to long-term.”
“That’s brilliant.” I laugh. “Though I have to admit, cake samples are usually more reliable than most men. At least with cake, you know exactly what you’re getting.”
“And cake samples don’t leave their socks on the floor or expect you to applaud when they remember to take out the trash,” Savvy adds with a grin.
“Or mansplain your own job to you,” I counter. “Clyde once tried to explain theme park management to me while I was literally managing a theme park.” It was last week. “The same man who thought Uncle Sam was a historical figure.”
“The sheer confidence of mediocre men will never stop astounding me,” Savvy says, shaking her head. “They’ll confidently give you directions to places they’ve never been while you’re holding the GPS.”
“What about you? Any romantic disasters worth sharing, or have you been smart enough to avoid the whole mess?”
Savvy’s expression turns mischievous. “Oh honey, I’ve had my share of adventures. There was the banker who thought ‘dinner out’ meant a drive-through, the lawyer who tried to bill me for our dates, and the chef who couldn’t boil water without setting off the smoke alarm.”
“A chef who couldn’t cook? That’s like hiring a lifeguard who can’t swim.”
“Exactly! Though in his defense, he was very good at ordering takeout. I learned more about the local delivery scene in three months than I had in three years.”
“At least he had one useful skill,” I concede. “Clyde’s biggest talent was explaining why everything was everyone else’s fault, especially mine.”
“Oh, a professional victim! I’ve dated a few of those. They’re exhausting. Every conversation turns into a therapy session where you’re both the patient and the unpaid therapist.”
“And somehow it’s always your fault when they’re unhappy, but they get all the credit when things go well.”
“Story of my life,” Savvy agrees. “Though I have to say, watching your ex navigate single life after leaving you for Pretzel Girl is probably going to be better than cable.”
“I’m hoping she discovers he leaves toenail clippings on the coffee table,” I admit. “And that his idea of romance is splitting the check at Pizzas R Us.”
“Oh honey, karma has a way of working these things out. Trust me on that one.” Before I can ask what she means, Savvy’s expression turns serious. “Speaking of drama, I imagine you’re trying to figure out who killed poor Dilly.”
“The thought had crossed my mind,” I admit. “Did you know her well?”
“Well enough to know she wasn’t exactly beloved in the baking community,” Savvy replies carefully. “That woman could rub people the wrong way faster than sandpaper on silk.”
“Any particular people come to mind?”
Savvy glances around to make sure we’re not being overheard. “Well, there’s Nadine, of course. Those two have been business partners for decades, but lately... let’s just say the Sugar & Sass brand has been causing some tension between them.”
“What kind of tension?”
“The kind that comes when two people have very different ideas about the direction of their business. I heard whispers that there might be some contract issues brewing, but you know how these things go—could be nothing, could be everything.”
“And Delora?”
“Now that’s an interesting case.” Savvy’s tone becomes more guarded. “She and Dilly had history, but it wasn’t exactly professional. Personal stuff that goes back years. The kind of thing that makes people uncomfortable at dinner parties.”
Before I can press for more details, Savvy continues, “As for me, well, Dilly and I had our own little dust-up years ago. She wasn’t exactly kind to my mama’s original bakery in one of her reviews.
But that’s ancient history now. Besides, I always figured the best revenge was just making better desserts than the person who tried to tear you down.
Anyway, Dilly was touting some big, dumb announcement she was going to make this weekend about my mama and me.
I guess I’ll never know what dust she was about to kick up next.
Something about exposing secrets from past symposiums. Not that it mattered.
Hon, I’ve got nothing to hide.” She gives a nervous glance to the woods as if she had everything to hide and wasn’t above using a rolling pin to do it.
“Still, that must have stung.”
“Oh honey, in this business, you develop thick skin or you don’t survive. Though I’ll admit, seeing her face-first in my coffin cake was a little... ironic.”
Cupcake chooses this moment to prance over, her pom-poms bouncing with each step. She settles beside Savvy with the dignity reserved for those who’ve never met a camera they didn’t love.
This symposium is turning into quite the production, she observes in a voice that sounds exactly like what I’d expect from a Southern belle poodle.
Her accent is twice as thick as Savvy’s.
Though I must say, the refreshment table could use more variety.
Where are the petit fours? The cream puffs?
The chocolate-dipped strawberries? This is supposed to be a sophisticated gathering, not a county fair.
I can’t help but chuckle as I reach down to scratch behind her elaborately groomed ears. “You’re absolutely right, Cupcake. We need an upgrade around here.”
The response from Fish and Chip is immediate and outraged.
She’s petting the pooch! Fish’s mental shriek could shatter crystal. We see you, Josie! Consorting with the enemy!
Traitor! Chip adds with the wounded dignity of a cat who’s just been betrayed by their best friend. That cotton candy sculpture is stealing our hooman! This is mutiny! This is treason! This is... actually, is that a bacon bit in her fur?
Focus, Orange One! Fish snaps. Our dignity is at stake here! Do you want to share this throne with a D-O-G one day?
Oh, my whiskers, you’re right! Chip gasps. What if she starts buying dog treats instead of the good cat food? What if we have to share our sunny window spots? What if she expects us to fetch?! We’re not letting you get away with this, Josie!
I straighten up, trying to look innocent while my cats plot my demise from across the courtyard.
“Sorry,” I tell Savvy. “Cat drama. They’re very territorial about their humans.”
“Understandable. Cupcake gets the same way when I pet other dogs.”
Before I can respond, a tremendous crash erupts from the dessert table. We both turn to see Georgie standing in the center of what appears to be a dessert-related disaster zone, her Ferris wheel kaftan now decorated with what looks like the entire contents of the Halloween display.
“I saw a mouse!” Georgie shrieks, pointing at the wreckage around her. “A huge mouse! It ran right under the table and I tried to jump up to get away from it and—”
The spring-loaded display that had been holding the ghost cake pops apparently couldn’t handle Georgie’s enthusiastic mouse-avoidance technique. Now, desserts are scattered across a ten-foot radius, and Georgie stands in the center of it all like the eye of a very sweet, very sticky hurricane.
Fish and Chip’s voices rise above the chaos with the outrage of royalty witnessing a peasant uprising.
This is what happens when you pet other animals! Fish shrieks. Karma, Josie! Sweet, sugary karma!
Save the pink donuts with sprinkles! Chip yells, apparently having his priorities straight even in the midst of chaos.
And through it all, Delora Drake stands at the edge of the mayhem, clipboard clutched to her chest, looking as if she’s witnessing the apocalypse of proper event planning.
Regardless, I did get to grill my very first suspect. Have you ever met someone who feels like they could be your new best friend and also maybe commit a felony with you? That’s Savvy Sparrow in a Southern nutshell.
In the space of five minutes, I’ve learned that everyone has secrets, nobody is telling the whole truth, and my investigation has gone from organized inquiry to complete disaster.
Just another typical day in the life of Josie Janglewood, where every conversation reveals more questions than answers and every dessert table becomes a potential crime scene.