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

I didn’t learn anything more to help figure out who murdered Clayton Davenport during the second, third, or fourth retelling of Carla’s story. By the end, I was confused and Carla was exhausted. I made her promise not to skip town, took my pie, and left. There was a lot to process, and I had very little brainpower left to work it out.

I drove to the address that Holly Roberts, Trooper Bob’s daughter, gave me. I don’t know what I expected a state trooper’s house to look like, but Trooper Bob’s house didn’t disappoint. It was a brick ranch on a large piece of land, set back from the road. There was a long driveway, and I imagined it provided a great line of sight from the house to any arrivals. There was a large garage off to the side, which I imagined was where he kept his arsenal stashed. When the zombie invasion happened, Trooper Bob would be leading the resistance. This is where the rebel forces would gather.

I pulled up in front, grabbed the chocolate cake, thumbprint cookies, and the lemon meringue pie too. No sense in letting a perfectly good pie go to waste. Aunt Octavia wasn’t into marketing, but in addition to the new aprons, I’d ordered white boxes with the new Baby Cakes logos. Branding was important. Plus, the boxes made it a lot easier to carry baked goods.

At the door, I juggled the boxes to free my hand to ring the bell, but I needn’t have bothered. There were security cameras directed at me, and I couldn’t help smiling and making sure my hair was still in place. Before I could press the doorbell, the door swung open, and I found myself staring into Trooper Bob’s steely gaze. He glared and looked ready to spit nails. “Thank God you’re here. What took you so long?”

I don’t know what words I expected to come out of the state trooper’s mouth, but that wasn’t it. “I’m sorry. I was—”

“Never mind. Just get in here.” He stepped back and opened the door wide for me to enter.

I stepped over the threshold and was immediately attacked by five pounds of pure attitude in the form of a Chihuahua. “He’s so cute. He looks just like the—”

“Yeah. Yeah. He looks like the dog on the Taco Bell commercials. Save it. I’ve heard it a thousand times.” Under his breath he mumbled, “Today.” He scooped up the scrappy little dog that had gotten the string from my Sculpt shoes between his teeth and was intent on taking me down to the ground, shoe first. “Follow me.” Trooper Bob took off down a hall.

I scrambled to keep up, remembering the way drill sergeants would make the sailors march double time. As we marched through the house, I got glimpses of colorful quilts, sturdy wooden furniture, and walls overflowing with pictures. The kitchen was a montage to the 1970s with a harvest-gold single wall-oven, fridge, and dishwasher, oak cabinets, and red laminate countertops. Despite the outdated décor, the addition of rooster-themed accessories gave the room a comfy, lived-in vibe.

The kitchen was at the back of the house, and a large sliding-glass door led out to a backyard oasis. Large, lush green trees followed the perimeter of the house and hid the six-foot privacy fence, which was dotted with security cameras. Old-fashioned flowers burst into bloom, including many of the same ones April had identified for me at the Carson Law Inn—roses, peonies, hydrangeas, and wildflowers. In the center of the yard was a concrete patio and large in-ground pool. Outside was a small platoon of teens enjoying a water volleyball game, while the bass from Chloe’s latest hit boomed so loudly the glasses on a nearby table vibrated. He slid the glass door open, dropped the Chihuahua on the ground, and closed it before the dog could sneak back inside.

I was impressed by his speed in closing out the dog. “That was fast.”

“Not my first rodeo.”

Trooper Bob turned and glared at me. He dabbed at his ears. “Are my ears bleeding?”

I chuckled. “Looks like Holly has a great party going.”

“She wanted a few of her closest friends. I’m pretty sure I’ve seen some of those kids on Wanted posters, but I’ve been strictly forbidden against running any fingerprints.”

“I’m sure they’re good kids.”

He worked to hide a smile. “Most of them. Anyway, I’m glad you’re here. Holly accused me of being mean to you when I escorted you from the mayor’s office. She’s been screaming, crying, and having fits all day, afraid I’d scared you or made you so mad that she wasn’t going to get her Soul Cake and thumbprint cookies. So, I guess I should thank you for saving my sanity.” He rubbed his hand over his head. “I told her you didn’t scare easily.”

“I was raised by a Navy admiral who could make grown men cry. No offense, but it’s going to take a lot more than a grumpy state trooper to frighten me. Not only did I bring the cake and cookies, but I threw in a lemon meringue pie for good measure.” I handed over the goodies. “I gave her my word. I couldn’t go back on that. No matter what.”

He took the treats and gave them a critical eye, and then he held the boxes up to his ear. “You sure it’s not a bomb?”

I crossed my heart and held up three fingers. “Scout’s honor.”

“I’ll be right back.” He stacked the boxes by size, with the thumbprint cookies on top, opened the patio door, and slipped outside. He placed the boxes on a table under a bright pink patio umbrella.

Holly glanced over, saw the boxes, and screamed. “Soul Cake!”

The teens clambered out of the water as if they’d just spotted a great white shark and descended on the table like vultures picking flesh off a carcass in the Sahara.

I snapped a photo quickly, careful not to include any faces, just arms and legs, as the teens descended on the baked goods. #JustWhenYouThinkItsSafe #SoulCakeEmptiesThePool #SunFunAndChocolateCake #BabyCakesCatering

Trooper Bob hurried out of the way and back inside. He watched out the door as the teens feasted. “I probably should have cut a slice before I took it out there.”

“I should have brought two. I had no idea how many—”

He waved away my words with a swipe of his hand. “I had no idea how many she invited either, so there was no way for you to know.” He reached in his back pocket and pulled out a wallet. “How much do I—”

This time I shook my head and waved a hand to wipe away his words. “No charge. It’s my pleasure.”

Trooper Bob frowned. “I prefer to pay my debts. I can’t accept favors. Someone might misinterpret your well-meaning gesture.”

I shook my head. “No gesture. Holly and I had a deal, and I’m paying up.”

He tilted his head to the side and waited, but I didn’t elaborate.

I certainly couldn’t tell him that his daughter had let me listen in on his interrogation of Mayor Abernathy in exchange for baked goods.

After a few moments, he returned his wallet. “Thank you.”

We stood in an awkward silence for a few moments until I blurted out, “You don’t honestly believe Leroy killed Clayton Davenport and Sybil Castleton, do you?”

He scowled, but there was a glimmer in his eyes that told me he wasn’t serious. Maybe it was being home or perhaps it was the fact that he wasn’t wearing his uniform. Whatever it was, Trooper Bob let down his mask, and for a few moments, I saw the real man, not the state policeman. In that moment, I saw my dad, the Navy admiral who barked orders faster than an M16 assault rifle with the power to send terror up the spine of burly, hardened sailors. Yet, in the hands of his daughter, he was putty.

“You don’t believe it.” I smiled. “You’re much too smart to fall for that.”

“He confessed.” He worked to control his lips, but they twitched. He eventually lost the battle and smiled.

“I knew it.”

“Look, I shouldn’t be talking to you. You’re a suspect yourself.”

It was too late. He’d lost his tactical advantage. Now, I was in control. “You know good and well that I didn’t kill Clayton Davenport or Sybil Castleton. If you thought I had, I’d be the one in that cell, not Leroy.” I flashed him my biggest smile. “You’re setting a trap for the real killer, aren’t you? You arrested Leroy so the killer would think he or she was safe, but then you’re going to do a rear maneuver and circle around behind and pounce.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.” He turned away to keep me from seeing his smile, but it was too late. I had him pegged.

“Come on. If you tell me your full plan, maybe I can share what I know.”

That got his attention.

“I hope you’re not implying that you’ve been withholding information from the police.”

“Would I withhold information?” I gave him my most innocent look. “Now, you tell me something, and I’ll tell you something.”

“Okay. You first.”

I was shaking my head before the words left his mouth. “Nope. You first. How about you tell me what time the medical examiner thinks Clayton Davenport was murdered.”

He narrowed his gaze and hesitated. “Okay, Nancy Drew. The coroner estimates Davenport died between two and four a.m. based on the stomach contents and the last time he was known to have been alive.”

I gave him an easy one to see if he was going to play along.

“Now, your turn, Nancy Drew. What information have you uncovered?”

I hated the Nancy Drew reference. It grated on my nerves and caused me to want to wipe that smug smile off his face. “Well, I know that the woman who’s been claiming to be Marjorie Rivers is really a grifter named Carla Lattimore who Davenport and the late Brad Ellison hired to cheat Candy Rivers out of her inheritance.”

“What?” He pounded the table with his fist and leaned close. “How do you know that?”

“I just talked to her.” I knew I’d lost my advantage, and in my nervousness, I overshared. I told him not only about my conversation with Carla Lattimore, but about the visit from Davenport’s lawyer, the ammolite mines, and Sybil Castleton’s plan to taint Baby’s lineage.

When I ran out of steam, he sat staring at me as though I’d suddenly grown another head. After what felt like an eternity, he rubbed his hand over his head, pushed himself up from the table, and paced around the small kitchen.

I’d seen this behavior before. Whenever the Admiral was so angry with me he couldn’t speak, he paced. Several times, Trooper Bob stopped. He walked to within inches of me, held up a finger, but then swallowed hard and paced a bit more.

“Would it help if I said I’m sorry?” I asked.

He growled, turned, and pounded both hands on the counter. “You . . . you could have . . . grrr.” His face was red. “Where is she? Carla Lattimore.”

“She was still at Garrett Kelley’s house when I came here.”

He pulled out his cell phone, pushed a few buttons, and then ordered a patrol car to the home of Garrett Kelley to pick up Carla Lattimore. He gave a brief description. “At the moment, she’s a material witness in a murder investigation.” He hung up, but before he could put his phone away, it rang. “Fled the scene?” He turned to glare at me. “Pick her up. She’s wanted for questioning in connection with two homicides.” He jabbed his finger to disconnect and slammed the phone down on the counter. He turned and scowled. “Now, start from the beginning and tell me everything you know, or so help me, you’ll be sitting in a cell right next to your tenant and your head baker.”