Chapter 2 The Bitter Bite
The sirens stopped outside The Frosted Petal.
For a few seconds, nobody moved.
Then the reception hall exploded into motion.
Paramedics hurried through the doors carrying equipment. Guests were ushered toward the far side of the room. Melanie was led away, sobbing so hard she could barely stand.
Penny remained beside the connecting doorway, her hands cold and useless at her sides.
She watched the paramedics kneel beside George.
One of them began chest compressions.
Another attached equipment to his chest.
Penny couldn't look away.
Please.
She didn't know the man well.
She had spoken to George only a handful of times.
But nobody deserved to die at their wedding.
Not like this.
Not surrounded by flowers and champagne and a cake that had been meant to celebrate the beginning of his life with someone.
The paramedics worked for several minutes.
Then one of them slowly stood.
The room became very quiet.
Penny knew before he spoke.
"I'm sorry."
Melanie screamed.
Penny closed her eyes.
The words seemed to echo inside her.
I'm sorry.
She opened her eyes again.
George was dead.
And the cake was still standing.
Perfectly intact.
Nearly twenty minutes later, a man in a dark suit stepped through the bakery's back entrance.
He was tall, broad-shouldered, and carried himself with the weary confidence of someone who had spent years walking into rooms where people were desperate to hear answers.
His badge was clipped to his belt.
"Detective Royce Patterson."
Penny nodded.
"Penny Worth."
"I know."
Something about those two words made her stomach tighten.
Detective Patterson glanced toward the reception hall.
Then toward the cake.
Then back at Penny.
"You're the baker?"
"Yes."
"You made the wedding cake?"
"Yes."
He pulled a small notebook from his jacket.
"How long was the cake in the reception hall?"
Penny swallowed.
"About ten minutes before the incident."
"And before that?"
"It was in my bakery."
"Anyone have access to it?"
Penny thought.
"No. Well..."
The detective looked up.
"Well?"
"Staff came in and out of the bakery, but nobody touched it."
"Names?"
"Tess Holloway is my assistant. She was working in the kitchen this morning."
"Anyone else?"
"No."
"Customers?"
"Not near the cake."
He wrote something down.
Penny glanced toward the reception hall.
"Detective, I think you should test the cake."
His pen stopped.
"What makes you think the cake is responsible?"
"I don't know that it is."
"Then why mention it?"
"Because George collapsed right beside it."
Patterson sighed.
"Ms. Worth, people collapse for a lot of reasons."
"I know."
"Heart attacks. Stroke. Anaphylaxis. Drug reactions. Medical conditions."
"Exactly."
She leaned closer.
"Which is why I think the cake should be tested."
The detective studied her for a moment.
Then he closed his notebook.
"We're looking into the cause of death."
"Isn't that what I'm asking?"
"You've done your part."
Penny stared at him.
"My part?"
"You baked a cake. You delivered it. Something happened to the groom. That's unfortunate."
"Unfortunate?"
The word escaped before she could stop it.
Patterson's expression hardened slightly.
"I'm not minimizing what happened."
"It sounded like you were."
"I'm telling you not to jump to conclusions."
Penny folded her arms.
"I didn't."
"You suggested your cake poisoned him."
"I suggested that you test it."
"Because you're worried about your business."
Penny's mouth fell open.
For a moment, she couldn't speak.
Then she said quietly, "Of course I'm worried about my business."
The detective raised an eyebrow.
"And my name. My employees. My customers. Everything I've built."
"I understand."
"I'm not trying to interfere with your investigation."
"Good."
He slipped his notebook into his pocket.
"Because you shouldn't."
Penny felt something inside her sink.
"Detective..."
Patterson glanced at the cake again.
"We already have a likely explanation."
"What?"
"George had a known severe allergy."
Penny blinked.
"To what?"
"That's still being confirmed."
"Then how can you say—"
"Because there are people here who knew about it."
He spoke calmly, almost impatiently.
"The man's medical history suggests an allergic reaction is a very real possibility."
Penny looked toward the reception hall.
"Then why did it happen after he ate?"
"You're assuming he ate the cake."
"Didn't he?"
"We don't know."
Penny's heart sank.
Patterson continued.
"It may have been something he drank. Something he ate earlier. Something he was exposed to."
"Then you'll test everything?"
"We'll conduct the appropriate investigation."
He turned toward the door.
Penny followed him.
"What happens to the cake?"
"We'll take samples."
"And the bakery?"
"You keep it open."
She stared at him.
"What?"
"Keep serving your customers."
"After someone died next door?"
"That's exactly why you should keep things normal."
Penny looked at him in disbelief.
"I don't think anything about today is normal."
"No."
His voice softened slightly.
"But shutting down your business won't bring George back."
Penny had no answer.
Patterson opened the door.
"And Ms. Worth?"
"Yes?"
"Stay out of this."
She frowned.
"I wasn't planning to investigate."
"Good."
He paused.
"Let us handle it."
Then he walked away.
Penny stood in the doorway watching him cross the reception hall.
She wanted to believe him.
She really did.
Maybe it had been an allergy.
Maybe George had eaten something else.
Maybe the cake was innocent.
Maybe Mochi had simply reacted to some strange smell.
Maybe everything had an explanation.
Penny desperately wanted one.
But when she looked at the five-tiered cake, she couldn't shake the feeling that the detective had dismissed something important.
By noon, the wedding reception had become a crime scene.
By one, the guests were gone.
By two, the flowers were being removed.
By three, The Frosted Petal was open again.
Penny hated every second of it.
Customers came in cautiously.
They whispered.
They glanced toward the connecting door.
One woman bought six macarons and asked whether anyone had "really died next door."
Penny forced herself to smile.
"Yes."
The woman lowered her voice.
"Was it the cake?"
Penny's fingers tightened around the pastry box.
"We don't know."
The woman nodded sympathetically.
Then she left.
Penny watched her go.
The bell above the door chimed.
Silence returned.
Tess came out from the kitchen carrying a tray of cupcakes.
"You okay?"
Penny shook her head.
"No."
Tess set the tray down.
"Did the detective say anything?"
"He thinks George had an allergy."
"And the cake?"
"He doesn't think it was the cake."
Tess exhaled.
"That's good."
Penny looked at her.
"Is it?"
Tess hesitated.
"Well... yes."
Penny didn't answer.
Tess frowned.
"You don't believe him."
"I don't know what I believe."
She looked toward the back of the bakery.
"I just know something feels wrong."
Tess stepped closer.
"Penny, you need to be careful."
"I know."
"Seriously."
"I know."
Tess touched her arm.
"Don't get involved."
Penny looked down at her hand.
For some reason, the warning made her uncomfortable.
"I won't."
But she wasn't sure she meant it.
Her sister arrived that evening.
Claire Worth had the kind of presence that made people sit straighter.
She was a lawyer, and she had spent enough years in courtrooms to develop an instinct for danger that Penny sometimes envied.
She listened without interrupting while Penny explained everything.
The wedding.
George.
The detective.
The cake.
Mochi's strange reaction.
When Penny finished, Claire sat silently at the kitchen table.
Then she said, "Stay out of it."
Penny groaned.
"Detective Patterson said the same thing."
"Then listen to both of us."
"But what if they're wrong?"
"Then they'll figure it out."
"And if they don't?"
Claire looked directly at her.
"Penny."
"What?"
"You own a bakery."
"I know."
"You're not a detective."
"I know."
"You have no training in criminal investigations."
"I know."
"You have no idea whether George was poisoned."
"I know."
Claire leaned forward.
"Then let the police do their job."
Penny looked away.
"I just don't want people thinking my cake killed someone."
"I understand."
"My bakery could be ruined."
"I know."
Penny rubbed her forehead.
"Everyone knows."
"Then protect yourself by staying out of the investigation."
Claire reached across the table and squeezed her hand.
"Let the police clear your name."
Penny sighed.
"You're probably right."
"I usually am."
Penny gave her a tired smile.
"Don't get used to hearing that."
Claire smiled back.
For a moment, things felt almost normal.
Then Claire left.
Penny returned to the kitchen.
The bakery was quiet.
Too quiet.
She turned on the overhead lights.
The familiar glow filled the room.
Mixers.
Bowls.
Whisks.
Piping bags.
Flour.
Sugar.
Butter.
Everything was exactly where she had left it.
Everything except her peace of mind.
She decided to clean.
Cleaning had always helped.
When Penny was upset, she baked.
When she was angry, she kneaded dough.
When she was frightened, she cleaned until every surface gleamed.
Tonight, she did all three.
She wiped down the counters.
Checked the refrigerators.
Reorganized the decorating station.
Then she started preparing a fresh batch of buttercream.
The steady rhythm of the work calmed her.
Scoop.
Measure.
Mix.
Whip.
She almost forgot about George.
Almost.
A soft thump came from behind her.
Penny turned.
Mochi sat on the counter.
"Mochi."
The cat stared at her.
"You know you're not supposed to be up there."
Mochi blinked.
Then he stretched.
His paw landed on a piping bag.
The bag rolled.
Penny reached for it.
Too late.
It fell to the floor.
"Really?"
Mochi looked innocent.
Penny sighed.
She bent down to pick it up.
Then stopped.
Something was caught inside the metal piping tip.
At first, she thought it was a piece of plastic from the bag.
She pulled it free.
A tiny scrap.
White.
Thin.
Torn.
Penny frowned.
She turned it between her fingers.
It wasn't part of the piping bag.
She knew her supplies.
Every brand.
Every package.
Every type of wrapper.
This was different.
She walked to the counter beneath the brightest light.
"What are you?"
Mochi jumped down beside her.
Penny examined the scrap again.
There was a faint printed mark on one edge.
She couldn't make out the entire word.
Only two letters.
...OX...
Her heart began to beat faster.
She looked toward the pantry.
Then toward the connecting door.
Then back at the little piece of plastic.
Maybe it was nothing.
It could have been trash.
It could have come from packaging.
It could have been stuck somewhere for weeks.
But Penny knew something else.
She had cleaned that piping tip herself.
That morning.
Before she decorated the wedding cake.
She had washed it.
Sanitized it.
Dried it.
And used it.
Which meant this tiny piece hadn't been sitting there for weeks.
Penny's fingers trembled.
She pulled open the trash drawer and began searching through discarded packaging.
Sugar.
Flour.
Chocolate.
Vanilla.
Almonds.
Nothing matched.
She checked the ingredient shelves.
Nothing.
She checked the piping bags.
Nothing.
Then she looked again at the little scrap.
A cold sensation moved through her stomach.
What if it hadn't come from her supplies?
What if someone had brought it into the bakery?
Penny slowly turned toward the cake-decorating station.
Her mind returned to the reception hall.
George collapsing.
Melanie screaming.
The cake.
Mochi hissing.
The detective saying allergy.
Penny looked down at the scrap.
She suddenly wished she hadn't found it.
Because if it meant what she feared it meant, then George's death hadn't been an accident.
Someone might have put something into her cake.
Someone might have used her bakery.
Someone might have tried to make it look as though Penny Worth had baked a poisonous wedding cake.
Mochi sniffed the scrap.
His ears went forward.
Then he looked at Penny.
Penny stared back.
Neither moved.
Outside, Magnolia Cove was settling into the darkness.
Inside The Frosted Petal, the ovens clicked as they cooled.
Penny closed her fingers around the tiny piece of plastic.
She had promised her sister she would stay out of the investigation.
She had promised the detective the same thing.
But this wasn't an investigation.
Not yet.
It was a question.
A terrible, frightening question.
And Penny suddenly needed to know the answer.
What was this?
And why had it been caught in the tip she used to decorate the wedding cake?