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

I quickly filled Michael in on what I’d overheard. We ran outside and scanned the parking lot, but the sun had set. The winery had lights strung up outside and inside the tents, but it was still dim. As we’d been inside eating, the grounds had filled up with people. If Sybil Castleton was here, we couldn’t find her.

Back inside, we returned to our table and took a closer look around at our fellow diners. The problem was there were a lot of familiar faces. People I knew as patrons of Baby Cakes Bakery or that Michael knew from his veterinary practice. Some were friends. A few were strangers, but no one acted overly suspicious.

Michael paid the bill, and we walked around the lobby and through the wine tasting room and gift shop. Again, we saw familiar faces, but Sybil Castleton wasn’t one of them.

We went outside and walked around the tents. I couldn’t focus on the tables set up for tasting, or the judges who were the center attraction at the event. My focus was in scanning the crowds for Sybil Castleton while trying to figure out whatever devious plot Clayton Davenport had hatched and Sybil’s role in it.

“Are you sure you didn’t recognize anything that will give you a clue about who she was talking to?”

I thought for several moments but eventually gave up. I shook my head. “Nothing. Whoever it was, they kept their voice low. I couldn’t even be sure if it was a man or a woman.”

“Maybe we should tell Trooper Bob and let him look into it.”

“What are we going to say? I was in the bathroom and overheard someone I thought was Sybil Castleton demanding money from someone?”

“Yes.”

“He’d laugh me out of his office. Seriously, she said she was hired to do a job and now Clayton was dead. She wanted her money and was leaving. There’s nothing illegal in anything she said.” In explaining everything to Michael, I realized that I truly didn’t have anything that connected Sybil to Clayton’s murder. “It was more the feeling behind her words than the actual words themselves.”

“I still think you should tell Trooper Bob.”

“Have you met him?”

“I take care of his dog.”

“Let me guess. He looks like a German shepherd man to me.”

He chuckled. “Chihuahua, actually.”

“Okay, I was stereotyping. I apologize. He just seems like a big dog kind of guy.”

“You never can tell about people. I’m sure most folks would never look at you and say, I’ll bet she has a two-hundred-fifty-pound English mastiff.”

“Touché.”

Michael must have sensed that the mood had changed. We’d planned to enjoy the wine tasting, but that wasn’t going to happen. Often after a romantic dinner, we drove to the lake and looked at the waves or walked on the beach, but tonight there wouldn’t be a romantic interlude at Lake Michigan.

He pulled me into an embrace. “I know you’ve got a lot on your mind. Between Clayton Davenport’s murder and Trooper Bob sniffing around you, April, and Leroy, it’s got to be hard to focus on anything else right now. Plus, I know you’re worried about the baking contest. Just tell me what I can do to help.”

I snuggled close. “It’s enough to know that you believe in me, but . . .”

“What?”

“I could use a good sous-chef.”

“Actually, I have a lot of skills.”

“Really? Like what?”

“It would be easier if I showed you.” He kissed me, and for several moments the world stood still.

When we came up for air, I gazed into his eyes and realized that a romantic interlude wasn’t completely out of the question. We locked hands and headed to his car. We were just about to his car when I noticed what appeared to be a bundle of clothes lying on the ground near the passenger door.

Michael stopped. “Stay here.”

“Oh no you don’t.” I hurried to catch up to him. “We’ve had this discussion before. Classic slasher horror movie mistake. Never split up to investigate.”

“Fine.” He wasn’t smiling, but he didn’t try to stop me. “Stay behind me.”

He didn’t need to tell me twice. We approached the heap slowly, and I clung to his hand like plastic wrap.

Michael squatted down and turned the heap over.

What had once been Sybil Castleton lay on the ground. Her eyes bulged from her discolored face, which was permanently contorted into a grimace. A green scarf wrapped around her throat. Strangled.

A blood-curdling scream ripped through the air. It wasn’t until Michael stood up and shook me that I realized I was the one screaming.