Bake Sale for Murder: A Pink Cupcake Mystery, #7

CHAPTER ONE

Amelia Harley woke up wincing. She had felt the slight scratchiness in her throat the day before but thought that if she paid it little attention, it would leave her alone, like a bully in grade school. So every time she swallowed or had to clear her throat, she ignored the fact that it was scratchier than it should be. When she sneezed five times in a row, she blamed it on an aggressive dander or patch of dust that sought her out. When her eyes watered, it was due to plain old tiredness.

She wasn’t getting sick. She had no time to get sick.

The Pink Cupcake was a booming business. Amelia could see from Lila’s bookkeeping that if things continued this way, she’d be able to pay back the bank ahead of schedule. Not next month, but she did estimate six months earlier than she had originally projected. Lila Bergman was a genius with the numbers and had become as much a part of the Pink Cupcake’s success as the cupcakes themselves. There was one thing Amelia had learned working with the fiery redhead. She never had to doubt Lila’s numbers. Lila might confuse the sugar with the salt, but that only happened once, and thankfully, the error was discovered before any customers were served.

Now, Amelia and Lila were in the process of hiring a third person. This lucky individual would help with everything but the bookkeeping and inventory. Baking experience was not necessary but certainly a plus. Food truck experience was not necessary but a plus. The requirements to fill this position really boiled down to nothing more than being over eighteen, reliable, and halfway sane. It was discouraging that they hadn’t had more takers so far.

Finally, after waking up in bed but remaining under the covers, Amelia pried open her eyes. They were watery and caked with crusty guck that only collected like that around a sick person’s eyes. She rubbed them, and they watered some more. When she swallowed, she clenched her teeth. It felt as if someone had slipped sandpaper that had been baking in the dry Arizona sun for several hours down her throat.

She looked at the clock on her nightstand. It read five thirty. That was when she usually got up. But today, she just couldn’t do it. Her mind wrestled with the idea of taking a sick day. She’d have to call Lila and tell her she had a day off. But it was Monday. Monday was the busiest day of the week.

Amelia started to wonder if she was really all that sick. When she moved under the warm, smooth sheets of her bed, every muscle in her body ached. It was as though she were stuck in a giant spiderweb. Each time she tried to move, she felt pain in a dozen different places. The germs she tried so hard to ignore infected every one of Amelia’s muscles and weighed her down in the bed when she tried to sit up.

But her guilty conscience wouldn’t stop pushing her. It was a good day to work. The money was needed. If she stayed home that day, she’d have to work twice as hard the next day. Plus, there were people coming to interview for the position of assistant baker. She had to seek counsel.

Please, Amelia, Lila barked in the phone. The ad’s been out for two weeks, and so far, we interviewed a human yeti who I wouldn’t hire to work around food if my life depended on it and a millennial who refused to touch eggs because of an allergy. You can stay home today and tomorrow, and we’ll get by just fine. In fact, over the weekend, I was studying the numbers, and I think there might be a few places where we can cut corners that might be really worth it. We’ll talk business Wednesday.

Are you sure? Amelia croaked.

Honey, listen to you. You sound like you had your trachea removed and are trying to talk without that electric voice thingy, Lila said. Take the next two days off. Knowing you don’t have to come in will give your mind the peace it needs to help your body. Plus, no one wants to eat food handed to them by someone with the plague.

Amelia wanted to cry at Lila’s confidence. It was a symptom of her illness. Severe colds like this one always made her weepy.

Thanks, Lila.

Do you want me to stop by later and check on you? Wait. Don’t answer that. I’ll bring soup for you and the kids. Don’t worry about dinner.

Lila, you couldn’t be kinder to me if you were my own mother.

Get some rest, and I’ll come by later to make sure the animals have been fed.

Amelia set her cell phone on her nightstand, rolled over in her bed, pulled the blankets tightly around her, and blinked back tears. The relief of not having to worry about the Pink Cupcake for two days was huge. Amelia needed someone to tell her not to worry, and Lila was just the person to do that.

But there was something else that had Amelia tossing and turning during the night. It had her distracted all day the day before. It was the blow that knocked her internal defenses off. The memory dragged itself into the front of her mind and with it more tears. When she tried to swallow them back, she clenched her teeth, again making her jaw hurt and her temples throb.

People always made fun of mothers-in-law. If the world were a fairer place, it would be ex-husbands who would be the butt of jokes and targets of ridicule.

Amelia, Jennifer and I have been talking.

Whenever her ex-husband, John, started a sentence with the words Jennifer and I have been talking, Amelia knew she wasn’t going to like what followed.

He had called her the morning before to let her know he was sending the kids home with his driver. Amelia’s business wasn’t the only one doing well. John’s law firm had acquired some millionaire or billionaire client that shot the whole place up two tax brackets. So John had a Lincoln Town Car with a guy just waiting to drive him around. Amelia’s alimony hadn’t gone up. But her days of relying on John were over. She couldn’t rely on him for a kind word, let alone financial stability, and she had grown to like that. It offered her a freedom there was no price for.

You know, with the kinds of things that have been happening…

What things, John?

Your truck getting vandalized, for starters.

John, the truck was repaired. It didn’t cost you a nickel, so I don’t even know what you’re bringing that up for. It was this comment when Amelia had put her hand to her head and felt the beginning of a headache that turned into a fever. Besides, your children, the two greatest kids in the world, had a group of their classmates come to help clean everything up. They scrubbed the inside and outside. The father of one of the kids works at the hardware store and donated the paint to cover the…

Yeah, I heard all about the words that were scratched into the paint.

John, you are acting like this somehow affects you, Amelia replied.

It does affect me. But more importantly, this affects the kids.

What are you talking about? The kids are doing fine. Amelia coughed and cleared her throat. You insist that they are in trouble or suffering, and that just isn’t true.

Amelia, your little adventures in crime solving have brought a negative element into their lives. You can’t deny that, John scolded. They are only children.

John, Meg is fifteen, and Adam is seventeen. It is a little late to try to protect them from the evils of the world. Besides, it wasn’t me that decided to introduce them to divorce. That was all you.

Amelia heard John clenching his teeth on the other end of the phone. It pleased her. She was not feeling well, and rubbing John’s nose in the cold, hard facts about their breakup was almost as satisfying as a hot toddy.

Amelia, Jennifer and I want the kids to live with us.

"I’ve heard this song and dance before, John. You know it’s not going to happen. Their school is here. Their friends are here. Hell, John, I am here. This is where they belong."

I’m afraid it isn’t that easy, Amelia. John had taken on his lawyering voice. She hated when he did that. Not only was it condescending, but it also usually indicated he was angry about something and taking action. Meg has been having nightmares.

Amelia knew that Meg had had a terrible scare. It was a while back when that stranger came knocking on their front door. Meg almost let him in the house. Almost. But he didn’t get in. He didn’t even get a good look at her, let alone touch her or hurt her. But just because she wasn’t physically hurt didn’t mean Meg wasn’t suffering a little posttraumatic stress disorder. Even Amelia had woken up in the middle of the night and run to her daughter’s room only to find her sleeping soundly.

It’s completely normal for her to have a few after…

After a close call that was caused by you. Amelia, the kids will be safer with me.

No, they won’t, John.

Amelia, you are kidding yourself. Now look. I want to do this as easily as possible, but I will drag you into court if I have to. You know I don’t want to.

You can drag me to court all you want, John. I’m not handing the kids over to you just like that.

They don’t want to stay with you anymore.

What?

The other end of the phone was quiet.

"That’s a lie. And let me ask you, what are you bribing them with to