The Poisoned Wedding Cake (The Purrfect Pantry Mysteries #3)

Chapter 1 The Grand Tier

The Frosted Petal smelled like happiness.

At least, that was what Penny Worth had always believed.

Happiness smelled like warm vanilla and browned butter.

It smelled like cinnamon drifting from the ovens, powdered sugar dusting the air, and strawberries macerating in their own sweet juices.

It smelled like freshly baked sponge cake cooling on wire racks and caramel bubbling gently in copper pans.

On wedding mornings, though, there was another scent.

Sugar.

Not the ordinary kind that disappeared into batter or dissolved into buttercream, but the delicate, almost floral sweetness of spun sugar and molded fondant—the scent of something beautiful being made by hand.

Penny breathed it in as she leaned over the cake.

"Almost there."

She held a tiny sugar flower between her fingertips.

It was no larger than a thumbnail, with six translucent petals curled inward around a pale yellow center. Under the warm lights of the bakery, it looked almost alive.

Penny turned it slightly.

Too far left.

She adjusted it.

There.

Perfect.

She stepped backward and examined the masterpiece before her.

Five tiers.

Five enormous, elegant tiers of ivory cake stacked one above another, each separated by a narrow band of edible pearls. Delicate vines of sugar climbed from the bottom tier toward the top, winding between clusters of hand-painted flowers.

The entire cake seemed to bloom upward.

The largest sugar roses were a soft blush pink. Smaller flowers were ivory and champagne. Tiny leaves, brushed with edible gold dust, curled around the stems.

At the very top sat a pair of sugar swans, their necks curved toward one another beneath a miniature arch of white roses.

Penny smiled.

"Now that's a cake."

Behind her, something snored.

She glanced over her shoulder.

Mochi had not been impressed.

The tuxedo cat was sprawled across a stack of freshly laundered aprons in the corner, his black fur shining beneath the bakery lights. A white patch ran from his chin down his chest like a perfectly tied cravat. His front paws were tucked beneath him, and his amber eyes were closed.

His tail twitched once.

Penny laughed softly.

"Don't pretend you're not proud of me."

One amber eye opened.

Mochi stared at her.

Then he closed it again.

"Fine."

Penny turned back to the cake.

"Your opinion has been noted."

Outside the bakery windows, Magnolia Cove was waking up.

The little Georgia town looked particularly pretty that morning.

The streets were lined with old brick storefronts, flowering planters, and enormous oak trees whose branches formed green canopies over the sidewalks.

A few early shoppers wandered past the bakery carrying paper cups of coffee.

Across the street, the florist was arranging buckets of hydrangeas near her front door.

And next door to The Frosted Petal, the Magnolia Cove Country Club was preparing for the wedding of the season.

Melanie P. Rutledge was getting married.

Everyone in town knew it.

Melanie was the kind of woman people knew even if they'd never actually met her. Her name appeared regularly in the society pages of the local newspaper. Her charity galas were legendary. Her mother's garden parties attracted half the county's wealthiest families.

And now she was marrying George W. Tillingham.

Penny had met George twice.

Both times, he had been perfectly pleasant.

Perfectly polished, too.

He had the kind of smile that looked practiced in a mirror.

Penny had heard plenty about him, naturally. In Magnolia Cove, information traveled faster than delivery trucks.

George was a successful businessman. George had old money. George had new money. George was ambitious. George was charming.

Depending on who was talking, he was either the best thing that had ever happened to Melanie or the worst decision she had ever made.

Penny tried not to listen to gossip.

Usually.

But gossip was difficult to avoid when you owned a bakery.

People confessed things while ordering muffins.

They complained while waiting for coffee.

They revealed family feuds while choosing birthday cakes.

Penny had learned over the years that frosting loosened tongues.

She glanced at the clock.

10:17 a.m.

The wedding was scheduled for noon.

The cake needed to be transported into the reception hall by eleven.

Which meant she had forty-three minutes to make absolutely certain nothing was wrong.

She walked slowly around the cake.

No cracks.

No fingerprints.

No smudges.

The fondant was smooth and flawless.

She crouched to inspect the bottom tier.

Perfect.

She stood again.

The middle tier.

Perfect.

The upper tiers.

Perfect.

Penny exhaled.

She had been working on this cake for three days.

Three days of measuring flour to the gram.

Three days of whipping buttercream until it was silky enough to spread without tearing the cake.

Three days of shaping flowers by hand.

Three days of painting tiny gold details with a brush so fine it looked more like a strand of hair than a pastry tool.

It wasn't merely a cake.

It was her reputation.

The Frosted Petal had been Penny's dream long before it became a business.

She had started with a tiny rented kitchen and a secondhand mixer that made an alarming grinding noise whenever she used it above medium speed. Now she had a storefront, two ovens, three employees, and a waiting list for custom wedding cakes.

But Melanie Rutledge's cake was different.

This was the kind of cake people photographed.

The kind of cake that could bring in ten new wedding orders.

The kind of cake that could make or break a reputation.

Penny reached toward the top tier.

She hesitated.

One of the sugar roses was slightly crooked.

"Of course."

She fetched her tweezers.

Mochi's ears flicked.

Penny smiled.

"Don't start."

She carefully adjusted the rose.

"Your standards are impossible."

Mochi lifted his head.

He stared toward the bakery's back door.

Penny paused.

"What?"

The cat continued staring.

Nothing moved.

The bakery was quiet except for the hum of the refrigerator and the distant clatter of preparations coming from the reception hall next door.

Mochi lowered his head again.

Penny shrugged.

"Cats."

She turned back to the cake.

There was something deeply satisfying about finishing a wedding cake.

The final decoration was always the moment when anxiety gave way to pride.

For days, Penny had seen nothing but ingredients and measurements.

Now she could finally see the finished creation.

She imagined Melanie's face when the doors opened.

She imagined the guests taking pictures.

She imagined the first slice.

Everything was ready.

Everything was perfect.

Then the scream came.

It tore through the bakery.

Penny froze.

For one impossible second, she wondered if she had imagined it.

Then came another sound.

A crash.

Someone shouted.

And then a woman's voice screamed again, louder this time.

"Somebody help!"

Penny's heart slammed against her ribs.

She dropped the tweezers.

"Mochi."

The cat was already standing.

His ears were flattened.

Penny ran.

She shoved open the connecting door between The Frosted Petal and the reception hall.

The transformation was startling.

The bakery was warm and familiar.

The reception hall was enormous.

White flowers filled tall crystal vases. Round tables were covered in cream-colored linens. Champagne glasses glittered beneath elaborate chandeliers. Pale ribbons decorated the backs of the chairs.

At the far end of the room stood the wedding cake table.

Or rather, where the wedding cake was supposed to stand.

Guests were scattered everywhere.

Some were frozen in place.

Others were backing away.

A woman was crying.

Someone had dropped a champagne glass.

It shattered across the marble floor.

Penny barely noticed.

Her eyes were fixed on the man lying beside the cake table.

George W. Tillingham.

He was on his back.

His dark suit was twisted beneath him, one arm bent awkwardly at his side.

His face was pale.

Far too pale.

A woman knelt beside him.

"George!"

Penny recognized her immediately.

Melanie.

The bride was still wearing her wedding gown.

Her veil had been pinned into place, though one side had come loose. Her hands were shaking as she hovered over George.

"Call an ambulance!"

Someone already had.

Penny heard a voice saying the address.

Another voice shouted for a doctor.

But Penny couldn't move.

She stared at George.

He wasn't breathing.

At least, she couldn't see him breathing.

His eyes were half open.

His lips were slightly parted.

And his body gave one final, terrible jerk.

Then went still.

Penny swallowed.

"No."

She stepped forward.

Melanie looked up.

"Help him!"

Penny didn't know what to do.

She wasn't a doctor.

She wasn't a paramedic.

She was a pastry chef.

She knew how to revive a collapsed soufflé.

She knew how to stabilize buttercream in Georgia heat.

She knew precisely how much gelatin to use when a mousse refused to set.

She did not know how to save a man who had just collapsed beside her wedding cake.

A man who might already be dead.

"I—"

Her voice failed.

Someone pushed past her.

A man in a navy suit dropped to his knees beside George and checked his pulse.

He shook his head.

"He's not breathing."

Melanie made a sound Penny would remember for the rest of her life.

A broken, animal sound.

"No."

She grabbed George's jacket.

"No, no, no. George!"

Penny took another step.

And then she saw the cake.

Her cake.

The five tiers stood untouched on the table.

Ivory.

Gold.

Blush.

Beautiful.

Perfect.

Horrifying.

Penny stared at it.

Her mind began moving faster than she could stop it.

George had collapsed beside the cake.

The cake was supposed to be served in minutes.

And she had made it.

Her stomach tightened.

A horrible thought slipped into her mind.

No.

Impossible.

She rejected it immediately.

Cake didn't kill people.

Not her cake.

Not with ingredients she had personally measured.

But another thought followed.

What if something had gone wrong?

An ingredient contaminated?

A food allergy?

A mistake?

Penny's eyes moved across the cake.

The sugar flowers.

The smooth fondant.

The frosting.

The knife waiting beside the stand.

Her throat went dry.

"Did he eat the cake?"

Nobody answered.

"Did George eat the cake?"

Melanie looked at her.

Her face was streaked with tears.

"I don't know."

Penny looked toward the guests.

Someone said, "He had champagne."

Another woman whispered, "He was fine five minutes ago."

Five minutes.

Penny's pulse quickened.

Five minutes ago, she had been in the bakery.

Five minutes ago, she had been putting the final flower on the cake.

Five minutes ago, everything had been normal.

Now George Tillingham was dead.

The word appeared in Penny's mind before anyone said it aloud.

Dead.

She stared at the cake.

And suddenly the beautiful sugar flowers didn't look beautiful anymore.

They looked like tiny white bones.

"Penny."

She turned.

Mochi stood in the doorway.

The cat had followed her.

His black-and-white body was rigid.

His fur was puffed along his back.

His tail was twice its normal size.

Penny blinked.

"Mochi?"

The cat walked into the reception hall.

He took one step toward the cake.

Then stopped.

His ears flattened.

His eyes locked on the five-tiered masterpiece.

And he hissed.

It was a sharp, violent sound.

Several guests turned.

Penny stared.

"Mochi, what are you doing?"

The cat took another step.

His gaze never left the cake.

Then he hissed again.

Louder.

A shiver ran down Penny's spine.

Mochi had always been opinionated.

He hated vacuum cleaners.

He hated closed doors.

He hated the neighbor's golden retriever.

He had once spent three days refusing to enter the laundry room because Penny had moved his favorite cardboard box.

But he had never reacted to food like this.

Especially cake.

Penny looked back at the wedding cake.

Her wedding cake.

The cake she had prepared with ingredients she had checked twice.

The cake she had decorated with her own hands.

The cake that now sat inches away from a dead man.

Mochi backed away from it.

He wouldn't go closer.

Penny felt the blood drain from her face.

"Why are you afraid of it?"

Mochi stared at her.

For a moment, Penny had the strangest feeling that he was trying to tell her something.

Then the sound of approaching sirens filled the street outside.

Guests began murmuring.

Someone started crying again.

Melanie was led away from George by two women.

Penny remained where she stood.

She couldn't take her eyes off the cake.

A five-tiered monument to sugar, butter, and careful craftsmanship.

A cake she had been proud of ten minutes ago.

Now it looked like evidence.

And for the first time, Penny wondered whether the terrible question forming in her mind could possibly have an answer.

Did my cake kill him?

Mochi hissed again.

And Penny knew, with a certainty that chilled her to the bone, that something was very, very wrong.