Fireworks, a Firecracker & Foul Play Page 6

  “Relationship?” He snorts. “I don’t have a relationship with them.”

  “Well, we heard a rumor you are trying to … er… lessen their influence.” Look at me asking questions without interrogating.

  “Lessen their influence?” He shakes his head. “No. I’m trying to eradicate their presence in the city.”

  “Did you know there are at least 21,500 gangs and more than 731,000 active gang members in the US?” I roll my eyes at Callie. “What? I was merely pointing out eradicating gangs is going to be difficult.”

  “I don’t want to eradicate all gangs. Just Angel Band.” Now we’re cooking with Crisco!

  “Why Angel Band?” I ask.

  Roger gazes out of the window for a minute before returning his attention to me. “Because they killed my son.”

  Despite wanting to jump right in, I bite my lip and count to twenty before asking, “Do you mind telling us what happened?”

  He focuses on some point outside the window as he tells his story. “My son, Charlie, broke his leg playing football. It was a bad break – a compound fracture. He had surgery, and they placed a metal plate in his leg. The pain was bad. He was taking oxycontin for it. I thought when he came home from the hospital, everything was fine. It wasn’t. He got hooked on those dang pills. When he couldn’t get a prescription for oxy anymore, he went to the streets to find something to feed his addiction. He found it all right.” His shoulders sag.

  “I’m sorry for your loss.” I want to wrap him up in a big fat hug, but I don’t think he would appreciate it.

  I debate whether we should take off as we sit in silence. I can’t ask this man about Angel Band. I can’t blame him for wanting to kill every last member of the gang. As I contemplate, I twirl my engagement ring around my finger. Son of a biscuit. If I want a wedding band to join this ring, I need to find out who killed Drake.

  “My fiancé, Logan, is a police detective. He works in the gang division.” I wait for a response but am met with silence. Okay, then. I plunge forward. “He’s been accused of killing Alastor Drake, the leader of Angel Band.”

  The ends of Roger’s mouth tip up slightly. “Can you thank him for me?”

  “No. No. No.” I shake my head. “He didn’t do it. I’m trying to prove he’s innocent, so we can get married on Saturday.”

  His eyes narrow. “What do you want from me?”

  Before I have a chance to open my mouth and accuse him of murder, Kristie cuts in. “Actually, since you’ve been …um… observing the gang and their activities since your son’s death, we thought you might have seen something.”

  He raises an eyebrow. “That’s what you wanted to ask me? If I saw anything?”

  Callie, Kristie, and I squirm on the sofa. None of us is willing to admit we came here to accuse him of murder. “Drake was killed between 1 and 4 p.m. a week ago Monday. Maybe you saw him somewhere?” Lame Anna. Totally lame.

  “I was at work on Monday.” I deflate. Fudge buckets. Another dead end. “I work in an office with twenty other people. I’ll give you the information, and you can check my alibi.” I open my mouth to protest, but he shushes me. “Sweetheart, don’t bother lying and telling me you didn’t come here for my alibi.”

  Five minutes later we’re seated in Kristie’s car. I’m trying really hard not to pout, but I’m fairly certain my bottom lip is jutted out regardless of my wishes.

  “Well,” Kristie says as she shows me the search result on her phone. “The company exists and it says right here, he’s one of their employees.”

  I wave her away. There was no need to check his alibi. It’s obvious Roger Travers is not our guy. But who is?

  “Here. Have a cupcake. It will make you feel better.”

  I stare at the cupcake Callie’s offering me. “Did you bring your cupcakes with us?”

  She shrugs. “I didn’t want to hit a sugar low or something.” As if it’s possible for an owner of a bakery to ever hit a sugar low.

  “It’s okay, Anna. We’ll think of something.”

  Easy for Kristie to say. She doesn’t have a wedding planned in six days. Six days! Less than one week before Logan and I say our ‘I do’s’. Assuming he’s not in jail for murdering a gang member, that is.

  Chapter 11

  Pixies can be melodramatic. Best to just let them get on with it.

  I have no idea how long I’ve been staring at this fudging cupcake. I’m holding my pastry bag poised above the chocolatey goodness, but for the first time in my life, I don’t feel like frosting a cupcake. What’s the point? Any moment now some stupid detective is going to arrest Logan for murder. I just know it.

  “Stop being Ms. Melodramatic.” Callie snatches the bag from my hands and places it on the stainless steel table.

  “What do you expect? My fiancé is going to prison for a crime he didn’t commit!”

  “Wow! When you decide to take a dip in the overreact pool, you don’t stick your toe in first. You dive right in and head for the deep end to splash around.”

  I wag my finger at her. “Don’t you dare. You’re the one who thought Logan might be guilty.”

  Her cheeks turn a bright shade of red before she ducks her head. “I’m sorry. I never should have said anything. Ben nearly ruptured a vein in his forehead when he found out. I thought I was going to have to take him to the emergency room when his face started puffing up and turning bright red. Sorry.”

  Fat lot of good her apology does. I still have a time bomb ticking away in my head. Tick-tock tick-tock. And it’s getting louder and louder and louder.

  “Anyway, I had an idea.”

  The swinging door between the kitchen and the café bangs open. “Did someone say they have an idea?”

  “When did Kristie develop the hearing of a bat?”

  “Actually, moths have better hearing than bats. Since the main predator of moths are bats, moth hearing had to evolve to evade the bat. Moths can hear a higher frequency than bats.”

  I blame myself for Callie’s verbal spouting of trivia no one in the entire world cares about. I never should have made a comment about Kristie’s hearing. “You had an idea?”

  Callie blinks her eyes a few times. “Oh yeah. I did. As it happens, one of the medical investigators assigned to Alastor Drake’s case is a former student of mine.”

  “You want to talk to the medical investigator?” I scratch my head. “How will that help? We know Drake overdosed.”

  Callie smirks. “Haven’t you wondered how an overdose got classified as a murder?”

  Sweet buttercream frosting! I haven’t but I should have. After all, what’s unusual about a gang member in a gang known to distribute drugs overdosing? Absolutely, positively nothing. Until homicide detectives arrest your fiancé for murder.

  I untie my apron and throw it on the table. “Let’s go!”

  “Hold your horses. Tom is meeting us here in an hour.”

  “Okay.” I nod and turn around to start pulling out supplies. “That gives me enough time to make him a treat.”

  Callie snorts. “Because there aren’t any treats in the café or something?”

  I don’t bother responding as I measure the ingredients for the Jello cupcakes. An hour later, I’m putting the finishing touch on my firecracker cupcakes by placing a Twizzler I’ve fashioned to look like a firecracker into the center of each cupcake.

  “Wow, Anna. Are those firecrackers? Totally cool. Awesome job!”

  I shake my head. “Compliment me all you want Callie. You’re still not getting a cupcake.”

  “Oh come on,” she whines. “You made two dozen. Tom won’t eat two dozen cupcakes.”

  I grab one of our Callie’s Cakes boxes and gently place the cupcakes in it. “He can take these to the medical examiner’s office.” It’s not bribery if it’s cupcakes.

  “Whatever. Tom is here.”

  I finish filling the box up with cupcakes and close the lid before following Callie to the café where she joins a man sitting by h
imself at the table in the corner. He smiles and stands when he notices her. “Dr. Muller. It’s great to see you.”

  “Call me Callie,” she orders as they shake hands. “This is my business partner, Anna, and one of our workers, Kristie.”

  “These are for you.” I shove the box his way. “They’re Twizzler firecracker cupcakes.”

  “Um, thank you?”

  “I wanted to decorate the cupcakes with mini human coffins, but Callie nixed the idea.” I make a face at her. I’m still annoyed at her for restraining my creative freedom.

  Once we’re all seated with coffee, because the world will end before Kristie will sit down without a cup of liquid gold, Callie begins, “Anna here is engaged to the police officer, Logan Allen.”

  Tom wrinkles his brow. “Okay.”

  I jump right in. “Logan is a suspect in Drake’s murder.”

  His eyes widen and he leans back from the table as if I’m contagious or something.

  “He didn’t do it. He’s got an airtight alibi.” Not exactly airtight but Mr. Medical Investigator doesn’t need to know the details. “But it got us thinking. Drake died of an overdose. How is an overdose murder?”

  “Actually.” He clears his throat. “Overdose wasn’t the cause of his murder.”

  “What?” Callie, Kristie, and I shout in unison.

  “I shouldn’t be talking about this.” He looks around the empty café before leaning in close and whispering, “I could lose my job.”

  His job? He’s worried about his job? I’m worried about my future husband getting sent to the slammer for a murder he didn’t commit.

  “I’m supposed to be getting married in days! How can I get married if my future husband is in jail?” I don’t realize I’m shouting until he winces and pulls away from me. “Sorry. I’m a little stressed.” Understatement of the year.

  “No one needs to know we talked to you,” Callie says. “My fiancé is a detective. If push comes to shove, I can always claim I learned the information from him. But most likely no one will ever realize we know anything about the cause of death.”

  Kristie snorts. “Yeah, like Ben would ever divulge details of an ongoing investigation to you.”

  I glare at her. “Shush, you.”

  “What?” She shrugs. “It’s true. Ben is Mr. Goody Two Shoes.”

  “Oh yeah, what does that make you? The Queen of Goody Two Shoes?”

  “Fine! Fine. I’ll tell you what I know if everyone will calm down and be quiet.” I slam my mouth shut and nod. I can be quiet. “Drake died of a massive asthma attack.”

  “I’m confused. How does an asthma attack equal murder?”

  “Oxycodone and asthma are a lethal combination.”

  “Okay.” I nod. “Obviously, Drake was a total idiot and should not have been taking oxy, but I still don’t understand how him being an idiot translates into murder.”

  Tom stares at me for such a long time I start squirming. I’m about ready to jump out of my chair when he finally sighs and explains, “first of all, there was evidence of a fight. Alastor Drake presented with bruises and scratches on his hands and various defensive wounds indicating a struggle. In addition to the physical altercation, his inhalers were smashed to smithereens.” Alrighty then. Murder it is.

  “You think someone forced him to take the oxy against his will?” Kristie asks.

  He nods.

  “Well then, someone had to have known he had asthma.” Callie drums her fingers on the table.

  “Whoa!” I hold up my hands. “How did you jump to that conclusion?”

  “Why else would someone force him to take oxy?”

  Oh, yeah. Good point. But still. “Everyone probably knew he had asthma. It’s not like you can hide having breathing problems.” My roommate in college had asthma. She always had an inhaler with her, and I would find spare ones littered throughout our dorm room in the oddest of places.

  Kristie shakes her head. “I disagree. Something like asthma and having to take an inhaler would be seen as a weakness. You can’t be the leader of a gang and have weaknesses.”

  I’m not sure I believe her, but I bite anyway. “What are you saying?”

  “I’m saying we need to find out who knew he had asthma.”

  “How in the world are we going to manage that?”

  “We can start with his family.”

  My eyes practically bug out of my face. “You want to visit a gangbanger’s family?” Her work as a social worker has obviously made her think she’s undefeatable. Not me. I have no desire to walk into the viper’s den. There are some places even cupcakes can’t soothe things over.

  “Actually.” Tom clears his throat. “The Drake family is quite lovely.”

  The bell over the door dings and Logan saunters in. I can’t help a smile from spreading across my face. Tom looks over his shoulder to see what I’m smiling at. His face pales when he notices Logan. “I need to get going.”

  I hand him the box of cupcakes. “Here. These are for your office.” He grabs the box and scampers out of the café. Geez. You’d think Logan had some sort of disease or something. I don’t bother yelling at the guy, though. Not when he handed us a great big yummy clue in solving Alastor Drake’s murder.

  Chapter 12

  Do not push an impatient pixie.

  “Come on, come on. Let’s go.” I grab the box of cupcakes and motion towards the door.

  Callie groans. “Please tell me you didn’t make July 4th cupcakes for a grieving family.”

  Golly gee. Does she think I’m an insensitive boob? Drake may have been a gangbanger, but I’m willing to give his family a chance. Especially since it turns out they live in suburbia. Bad things don’t happen in suburbia, or at least I assume not. “Of course not! I made condolence cupcakes.”

  “This I gotta see.” Kristie opens the flap of the box to peek at my creation. “Huh. Not what I expected.”

  I don’t know why not. My sympathy dove cupcakes are gorgeous and completely appropriate. The vanilla cupcakes are filled with white chocolate ganache, topped with white chocolate frosting, and decorated with fondant doves and flowers. Yummy and pretty.

  The drive to the Drake family house doesn’t take long. They may live in suburbia, but our city isn’t big enough to make the drive a long one. Callie parks in front of a large American craftsman bungalow. “Wow. This house is gorgeous.” And pretty much the opposite of what I expected the family of a gangbanger to live in. “I can’t believe Alastor grew up here.”

  “Just because someone comes from a middle-class background doesn’t mean they won’t end up a criminal or in a gang,” Kristie can’t help herself from pointing out.

  I don’t dare respond. If I do, she’ll take it as license to start some lecture about criminals with middle-class backgrounds or something. No, thanks. I hop out of the car and walk towards the front door with Callie and Kristie trailing me.

  The door opens before I can ring the bell. “Can I help you?”

  My mouth drops open at the perfect vision of June Cleaver of Leave it to Beaver fame in front of me. I didn’t expect to be confronted with a housewife, let alone a housewife stuck in the 1950s. I manage to swallow my tongue and speak, “Mrs. Drake?” At her nod, I offer her the box. “I’m sorry for your loss.”

  At my words, she looks around the neighborhood and then motions us in. “Come in. Come in.” Huh. It seems she doesn’t want the neighborhood knowing about her son. Interesting.

  We follow her into the sunny kitchen at the back of the house. “Can I offer you something to drink? Coffee?”

  I stop Kristie before she has the chance to accept. I am not planning on listening to her complain about the quality of the drink the entire drive home. “Actually, we have some questions.”

  “Questions?” She narrows her eyes. “You don’t look like detectives.”

  “We’re not. I’m actually a baker. I made those.” I point to the box of cupcakes. “We’re from Callie’s Cakes. It’s a cupcake
bakery downtown by the college.”

  “I’m not sure I’m following.”

  “It’s a lovely home you have here,” Callie comments when I can’t figure out how to begin questioning the mother of a murder victim. Sure, she must have known her son wasn’t exactly an angel – despite the name of his gang being Angel Band – but she’s probably still grieving.

  “Thank you. We moved here about five years ago.”

  “Alastor didn’t grow up here then?” The question pops out of my mouth before I can stop it.