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

Hannah wasn’t going to be able to make a lemon meringue pie or anything else.

“I’d better take her home.” Michael glanced at me. “I’m sorry.”

“No apologies necessary. You take care of Miss Hannah. Then, swing by the jail and drop off the items you have for Leroy, including the sweet potato pie. I’m sure he’s starving.”

“He’s always starving.”

“Everyone have their assignments?”

Everyone nodded.

Fiona looked distressed. “I’d like to help Hannah. She’s been so kind to me.”

“Great. Go with Michael and then you can see Leroy.”

“It won’t take long for me to drop Grandma off at home, and then we’ll go over to the jail,” Michael said. “I’m sure Leroy will be glad to see you.”

Fiona didn’t look as sure as Michael was, but she helped escort Hannah to the car.

Before he left, Michael cornered me in the kitchen. “Are you sure?”

“Of course, with any luck, I’ll be able to get a good video of the meringues this time.” I pulled out the stand mixer. “Besides, the lemon meringue pie is super easy with Aunt Octavia’s secret ingredient.”

“Secret ingredient?”

“I’d tell you, but then I’d have to kill you.” I reached up and kissed him. “Now, take care of your grandmother and let me know how Leroy’s doing. I’ll try to swing by tonight or tomorrow.”

“Do you want me to take Daisy?”

I glanced over at the two mastiffs curled up in the dog bed together. I took my phone and got a quick picture.

#MastiffsInLove #BabyHasAGirlfriend #NotTheOnly-WomanInHisLife #BigDogsInLove

I don’t know if it was the picture or the feeling of being watched, but Daisy lifted her head and thumped her tail. After a few seconds, she got up and stretched. She gave herself a shake and then trotted over to Michael. She stood on her back legs, placed both paws on his shoulders, and stared into his eyes.

“I was going to say you could leave them, but it looks like Daisy has other plans.”

He smiled and petted her. “Don’t you want to stay here and play with your buddy?”

Daisy’s tail wagged so vigorously, I thought she was going to fall. I quickly snapped another photo.

#ShesAfterMyMan #ShouldIBeJealous #ShesLuckyShes-Cute #NoShameInHerGame

I folded my arms. “Is there something going on between the two of you?”

“Maybe.” Michael grinned. “You’re never this excited to see me.”

I took my dishcloth and swatted him. “Fine, then you and Daisy can just go on. Baby and I have work to do.”

Michael and Daisy left. Baby stared at the door for a few moments after they left, but then he went back to his dog bowl and stared.

“Aww, ready for dinner, are you? Well, that means you’re getting your appetite back.” I went to the fridge and pulled out a bag of the special food Aunt Octavia used to supplement his regular dog food. I dumped the chicken and vegetable mixture into the bowl and stirred it up. Baby was a big dog, and it took quite a lot to keep him well nourished and energized.

He gobbled the food and then washed it down with about a gallon of water, sloshing a good deal of it on the floor. Normally, I would have reprimanded Baby for the spillage. However, it did my heart good to see him eating again. So, I happily wiped up the water.

Aunt Octavia’s lemon meringue pie was truly simple to make, at least the lemon filling was simple. The meringue was a bit more challenging. The first time I tried, I didn’t beat it enough and ended up with a thin, flat layer of foam. The second time I beat it too much and produced dry, stiff, crunchy mounds of Styrofoam. Leroy taught me how to tell when I hit the sweet spot, and the next time my meringue was towering white peaks of fluffiness that stood up to the heat of the oven and dissolved on your tongue.

I set up my ring light and recorded the process. This time, I remembered to lock the stand mixer in place and made sure the speed was set to low before I turned it on. A few short minutes later, I turned off the mixer, unlocked it, and lifted the head. The meringue was shiny, and the peaks stood at attention rather than curling over as they do when they are underbeaten or clumping together when overbeaten. I had enough for two pies, so I spooned the whites on top of the bright yellow lemony goodness and put them in the oven so the meringues could brown.

While I waited for the pies to set and the meringues to get golden brown, I thought about the baking memories my friends shared earlier. Simple cookie recipes had brought back memories that put smiles on their faces. I didn’t have those memories, but maybe I could help parents create those memories with their kids. I hurried to the counter and found a notebook. I’d missed Mother’s Day, but Father’s Day was only a few weeks away. I could offer a Daddy and Me Baking Class. Maybe I could even pair it with a British tea. After the baking was over, they could have a formal British tea with sandwiches. Hmm, I’m not sure most American kids would like watercress or cucumber sandwiches. But we could do peanut butter and jelly, and egg salad minus the crusts, of course. I’ll bet Fiona could help make scones. I pulled out my phone and looked up clotted cream. Maybe I’ll order it. I’m not sure I’m up to making that from scratch. I loved this idea even more than the baking classes. I loved how it created an event that a kid could do with their dad and an opportunity to build a memory. That was something I never had with my dad. In that moment, I knew what I would enter for the baking festival.

“Hey, earth to Maddy.” April waved her hand in front of my eyes and broke the spell I was in.

“Sorry, I just had a great idea for a new class to add to the schedule, and I was just working through how to make it work. Plus, I think I know what I’m going to make for the Spring Festival Baking Competition.”

“Really? That’s great.”

“What’s up?”

“I just got a message from Clayton’s attorney. He should be here any minute. I can take him downstairs—”

“Don’t be silly. You can meet in the living room. I’ll head out and leave you alone so you can talk in private.” The timer went off, and I took the lemon meringue pies from the oven. They looked delicious. They weren’t as beautiful as the amazing pies by pie artist Stephanie, at Pie Lady Books, but they were quite lovely. I snapped a few pictures and uploaded them. #LemonMeringuePie #NotAsPrettyAs@PieLadyBooks #Not-APieArtistStillYummy

“You don’t have to leave. In fact . . . I was hoping you’d stay,” April said. “You know, for moral support.”

“Of course. I’ll be happy to stay, but why do you think you’ll need support?”

“CJ was vindictive. I can’t believe he’d leave me anything short of a rattlesnake. Or maybe a pile of horse poop.”

Baby’s ears perked up. He gave a quick bark and barreled to the front door seconds before the doorbell rang.

April and I rushed to the living room. I grabbed Baby’s collar while she opened the door.

I don’t know what I expected, but the Greek god standing on the porch wasn’t it. Tall, slender, tanned, with black hair and dark eyes and a smile that was dazzlingly bright.

“Hello, which one of you lovely ladies is April Davenport?” he asked.

“It’s April Johnson.” April extended her hand. “This is my friend Madison Montgomery.”

He extended a hand to shake, but I needed both hands and a leg to pin Baby against the wall.

“Sorry, I’m not sure why he’s being such a goofball,” I said. “He’s normally very sweet.”

“Ah, no worries. What’s this beautiful boy’s name?”

“This is Baby.”

“Baby, how amazing.” He held out a hand for Baby to sniff.

That took courage considering Baby was acting like he’d like nothing more than to rip this stranger’s arm off and bury it in the backyard.

Baby sniffed.

I tightened my grip on his collar and braced my legs in case he made a lunge for the stranger’s jugular. But his muscles relaxed. The tension released, and his tail started to wag.

That’s when the Greek god put his hands on both sides of Baby’s head and scratched.

The drool poured out of both sides of Baby’s mouth like a fountain, and he leapt up and gave the stranger a facial wash that left no spot unexplored.

When the shock wore off, I ordered Baby down.

“I’m so sorry.” I didn’t know whether to use my drool towel to remove the strands of drool hanging from Baby’s face or offer it to the stranger. I chose Baby. After all, Greek god or no Greek god, he had worked for Clayton Davenport.

April opened the door wider and stepped back. “Please come inside, Mr. . . . I’m sorry, I’ve forgotten your name.”

“Nico Vassos. The stranger pulled a silk handkerchief from a pocket, wiped his face, and came inside. “I used to have a mastiff when I was a boy. That’s a fine specimen.”

Would the surprises ever cease? Prior to moving to New Bison, I’d never seen an English mastiff, let alone met anyone who’d had one. Now, I not only owned a mastiff, I knew people who knew what they were, and was seriously considering adding a second one to my pack.

We moved into the living room, and Baby’s love affair with Nico Vassos wasn’t over. In fact, once the lawyer was seated, Baby climbed up and sat in his lap.

Nico laughed. “Oh, big boy, you wanna hang out on my lap?”

April and I exchanged a look. Aunt Octavia always said that I should trust Baby’s judgment, and so far he hadn’t proven me wrong. April’s shoulders relaxed, and she loosened her grip on the arms of the chair.

“Mr. Vassos,” I said, “you’ve been so kind, but—”

“Nico, please.”

“Nico. And you can call me Maddy.” I walked over and pulled Baby off and escorted him down the hall to the master bedroom. I left him on the bed, closed the door, and hurried back to the living room.

April and Nico were making small talk. When I returned, Nico opened a briefcase that he’d brought in and pulled out an envelope. He rifled through the documents until he found the one he was looking for. He took a few moments to make sure it was the proper document and then cleared his throat.

“Mrs. Davenport . . . I mean Johnson. I—”

“April.”

He flashed April another dazzling smile. “April, I know you and Mr. Davenport were estranged. His will is very . . . well, he says some things that are not very nice.”

April waved her hand. “I expected that.”

“Well, according to the terms of his will, you are to receive one dollar and this letter.” He passed an envelope to April.

She took the envelope and rose. “Great. If that’s all, I—”

“I’m afraid there’s more.”

April sat back down.

“You see, I’m new to the firm, and I didn’t handle Mr. Davenport’s business affairs. However, it looks that while Mr. Davenport removed you as his beneficiary and made sure that the terms of his will were clear, he failed to ensure that all of his business documents reflected his wishes.” He cleared his throat. “It appears that in exchange for certain tax considerations, Mr. Davenport placed some of his business and real estate holdings in your name.”

“My name?”

The lawyer nodded.

April shook her head. “That sounds like Clayton. I suppose now that he’s dead, I’ll be strapped with paying the taxes even though I don’t own them?”

Nico waved his hands to calm April. “No. No. It’s . . . well, it’s a bit more complicated than that.”

“How could it possibly be more complicated?” I asked.

“You see, Mr. Davenport was a hardy man. He intended to live for many years. Based on what I can figure out, he always transferred deeds into your name. He reaped the tax benefits and then transferred them back.”

April released a long breath. “Oh good. Then, that all worked out. I get my dollar and all’s well, right?”

“Mostly, but there are some properties that Mr. Davenport did not get transferred back to himself.” He flipped through the papers. “There is a hardware store and a bookstore here in New Bison.”

“Oh God.” April closed her eyes and put her head in her hands. “Are you trying to tell me that I own those properties? How is that possible? I mean, his will states that I get nothing but a dollar.”

“True, but technically you cannot give, or in this case fail to give, something you don’t own. Mr. Davenport doesn’t own those properties. So, he can’t keep them from you. They belong to you.”

“But I don’t want them,” April said. “Can’t you just put them with the rest of his estate?”

Nico shook his head. “I’m sorry, but that would not be legal. As the owner, you are free to dispose of them however you’d like.”

“Great. Then that’s what I’ll do. I’ll dispose of them.” She stood. “Is that it?”

“Here are the deeds for your properties.” Nico pulled two folders from his briefcase. “There’s just one more thing. Do you know anything about the Rucker-Merkel Diamond Mine?”

A smile broke out on April’s face. She sat down. “I haven’t heard that name in years.” She paused and took a few deep breaths. “When we first met, Clayton used to say I was his diamond and one day he’d give me more diamonds than there were stars in the sky.” She wiped away a tear. “On our wedding day, he gave me a deed to a diamond mine in Alberta, Canada, as a wedding present. It was worthless, but it was one of those nice gestures. There weren’t diamonds in the mine. In fact, I think it flooded not long after he bought it.” She chuckled. “We used to go outside and look up at the sky and laugh our heads off when we talked about that mine.”

“I’m afraid the Rucker-Merkel mine isn’t exactly a laughing matter,” Nico said.

“What do you mean? Don’t tell me someone actually found a diamond?”

Nico shook his head. “No . . . no diamonds have been found.” He handed April an envelope. “Turns out the mine is full of ammolite.”

I gasped.

“What in the world is ammolite?” April said. “Is it valuable?”

“Ammolite is only one of the rarest gemstones on the planet,” I said.

April flopped back against her chair. She looked so pale, I rushed to the kitchen to get her a glass of water. “Don’t you dare pass out on me. You know I’m not good in emergencies.”

April took several deep breaths and then drank most of her water. “But I’ve never heard of ammolite. What is it?”

“Mollusks.” I pulled out my cell and searched until I found an article that would explain it. “Ammonites, with an N, were marine mollusks that have been extinct for about sixty-five million years. The fossilized shell material is either ammonite, not valuable, or an extremely rare gem quality material called ammolite.”

April stared at me and then Nico. “And that diamond . . . ah, mine has ammolite?”

Nico nodded. “My understanding is that the quality of stone in your mine is rare and extremely valuable.”

April shook her head like Baby. “This can’t be. Clayton would never have deliberately left me anything of value. You must be mistaken.”

“Well, my understanding is that the mine belongs to you. The ammolite has only recently been discovered, and there have been efforts to locate you, but …”

Nico left April with the letter from Clayton Davenport, three folders, and one dollar.

When I returned from seeing him to the door, April hadn’t moved. She looked stunned and pale.

“Are you okay?”

She lifted her head. “I can’t believe how wrong I was about Clayton.”

I swallowed the negative responses that leapt into my mind. Clayton Davenport hadn’t changed. He was still the low-down, dirty-dealing slime bag. However, he was dead, and reminding her of that didn’t seem wise. Obviously, she was feeling sentimental about him. So, I merely sat down, gritted my teeth, and tried to be a sympathetic friend. “If that mine has ammolite, then he definitely left you a very wealthy woman.”

She shook her head. “That’s not what I mean.”

“How were you wrong about him?”

She paused so long I didn’t think she was going to answer. Eventually, she sighed. “I thought the worst thing he could do to me was to leave me a rattlesnake or a pile of poop. By leaving me real estate and an ammolite mine, he’s left me with the one thing I didn’t have before—a good motive for murder.”