Murder is a Piece of Cake (A Baker Street Mystery Book 2)

Unlike me, Marjorie didn’t spew coffee all over the table and down the front of her blouse. Instead, she nearly choked on it. She coughed and sputtered while tears ran down her cheeks.

I’m not good in emergency situations, especially medical situations. When I was a teen and living on base, I took a safety course that included training on the Heimlich maneuver and CPR, but my dummy died. My compressions were either too hard or too soft. My breaths were too shallow to fill its lungs, and every attempt to dislodge the object in my dummy’s throat failed. My instructor suggested I keep my cell phone handy and call 9-1-1 if I ever found myself in a life-threatening situation. Considering my teenage plan was to marry a doctor, I didn’t worry about failing safety training. Nevertheless, I pounded on Marjorie’s back until she turned around and gave me a look that said If you hit me one more time I’m going to punch you in your throat.

After a couple of moments, she stopped coughing, and her face moved from maroon to puce to blush. I took that as a good sign and returned to my seat. My nerves were shot, and my hands were shaking. Watching someone nearly choke to death was exhausting.

“I’m fine,” Marjorie said. “My coffee just went down the wrong pipe.”

“Well, that was scary,” Hannah said. “I’ll bet you need something stronger than coffee.” She reached into her purse and pulled out a small flask.

Marjorie’s eyes widened. After a moment, she shook her head. “No, thank you. I think I’m just going to get a glass of water.” She got up and went over to the sink, filled a glass from the faucet, and took a few sips.

Hannah shrugged and offered the flask to me.

It took everything in me not to grab that flask and take a long swig. Instead, I declined and took another sip of my coffee. I wondered if Michael was aware that his grandmother carried a flask in her purse. I also wondered what was in that flask.

Marjorie put her glass in the sink and turned to face us. “I’m a bit shaken, and I think I’d like to lie down. I hope you understand.”

I understood. She wanted to get rid of us without answering the question, but there really wasn’t much we could do.

Hannah and I stood. Hannah promised to return with a sweet potato pie. I stood and mumbled how I hoped she was okay and wouldn’t have any ill effects. Then we hurried out to the car.

“Well, that was awkward.” I glanced at the car’s backup cameras and then turned and looked over my shoulder for good measure as I backed out of the driveway. It was a habit I hadn’t broken. The Admiral taught me to drive in a military jeep that was likely manufactured during World War II. It had a manual transmission with no power steering, no power brakes, no rear or side assist cameras, and the numbers on the gear shift were probably last seen during the Korean War. In the large picture window of the house, the curtains moved, and I caught a glimpse of Marjorie watching us as we left.

“I’ll come by tomorrow with a sweet potato or a lemon meringue pie,” Hannah said. “I’ll get the truth out of her.” She said it with a lot more confidence than I felt.

“How?”

“Nothing loosens the tongue like a slice of my sweet potato pie.”

I smiled. “I love your pies, but isn’t that asking a lot from one pie?”

She waved her hand. “That’s nothing. I’ve got a recipe for chicken that’ll make a grown man drop to his knees and propose marriage.” She gave me a glance from the corner of her eye. “I’ll write down the recipe for you. After all, I’m not getting any younger.”

I had to swerve to avoid hitting the curb.