Battered to Death (Daphne Martin Cake Mysteries) (17 page)

A
FTER TALKING
with Fiona, Ben and Mark decided to follow up on Lily Richards’s story that she’d arrived in town the night before. Myra, Pauline, and I returned to the cake show.

“What do you think?” Pauline asked Myra and me. “Do you think Lily Richards killed her husband?”

I shook my head. “I don’t think she did. I’m inclined to agree with her that it’s more logical that a man did it. Chef Richards was no spring chicken, but he was fairly stout.”

“We get it,” I said. “Fiona sure doesn’t like Ms. Richards. I wonder what Chef Richards said about his former wife to make Fiona despise her so much.”

“Chef Richards was Fiona’s mentor. Sometimes that alone encourages blind devotion.” Pauline shrugged. “Oh, well, I’m off to check on my cake. I’ll catch up with you later.”

I was watching the door. It was nearing time for Alex to give his demonstration, and I hadn’t seen Violet and her family at the inn yet. Myra told me that she was going to snoop around a little and that she’d see me at Alex’s demonstration.

I took a seat on a riser where I could get a better view of the ballroom entrance, and at last I spotted Jason’s red hair threading through the sea of heads. I stood and waved both arms.

“Jason! Over here!”

He looked up at the sound of his name, but he didn’t see me. Before I could try again, China York climbed the steps to greet me.

“Hi, China,” I said. “Could you help me get Jason’s attention? Lucas and Leslie are supposed to help Alex with his cake decorating demonstration, and it’s almost time for him to begin.”

“Um . . . okay.” China often philosophized in such a way that I had no idea what she was talking about.

“And there’s a Latin proverb that says:
A man is not where he lives, but where he loves
. Think about it, dear. Are you and Ben looking in the same direction? If so, the only thing that matters is where your hearts are at.” Before giving me a chance to respond, China said, “I’ll go tell Jason and Violet where you are and that you’re waiting for them.”

“Thanks,” I said to her retreating back, watching her pigtails bob like a young girl’s as she tromped down the stairs.

By the time Violet, Jason, Leslie, and Lucas got to the risers, I’d already climbed down so I could go with them to meet with Alex. After hugging me, Leslie and the two guys hurried on ahead of Violet and me.

“Did China pass along any philosophical words of wisdom to you today?” I asked.

“No . . . but then I don’t know her as well as you do,” said Vi. “What wisdom is she imparting unto you?” She waved her hands around in a gesture that was meant, I’m sure, to look mystical.

“I guess I’d better start at the beginning, or else you’d be totally in the dark. Ben is considering taking a job in Kentucky,” I said.

“I’m not.” I took a deep breath. “And the worst part is that it’s with his old college girlfriend.”

Her eyes widened. “Nickie?”

“You know about Nickie?” I asked.

She shrugged. “Brea Ridge is a small town.”

“China seems to think—if I understood her message—that if Ben loves me, it doesn’t matter where he’s at,” I said.

“True . . . but if I were you, I’d keep him as far away from Nickie as possible.”

Great. Vi seemed to think that if Ben went to Kentucky, I was as good as dumped. Did she see something I didn’t? Could she tell that Ben wasn’t that crazy about me? Or did she know how much in love he had been—and maybe still was—with Nickie Zane?

I was now eager to change the subject. “Chef Richards’s ex-wife Lily is here. She apparently came in to identify his body last night and then came to the cake show this morning looking for answers.”

“I hope she gets some,” Vi said.

“So do I. Even if Ben doesn’t go off to Kentucky, I might be going to the slammer if a more viable suspect doesn’t turn up.”

“Have you told Mom and Dad about this mess with Chef Richards?” she asked.

“No . . . and don’t you,” I said. “I’m innocent, so I’m sure to be exonerated . . . right?”

“Thanks,” I said. “Big help, sis.”

“I’m sorry. I’m just worried about you, and I think Mom and Dad should know,” she said. “What if you end up getting arrested, and they see it on the news before you can break it to them gently? What if Mom has another heart attack?”

I rolled my eyes. “One, if Mom
ever
has another heart attack, it will most assuredly be my fault somehow. Two, if I
do
get arrested, it’s unlikely it would make the news two hours away from here right off the bat. But in case it might, you can call and break it to them gently.”

I wasn’t as close to Mom as Violet was. I was close to Dad, but my relationship with Mom had never been great and it had soured even more after Todd tried to kill me. Mom had defended him—said it was an accident, that Todd hadn’t meant to do it, that I
know
how I can be. . . . It still made me angry just to think about it. She hadn’t wanted me to divorce Todd. She’d wanted me to give him another chance. I preferred not to give him or his gun a second chance.

Before Violet and I could talk anymore about Mom or Todd or Ben, Leslie came running back to see what was keeping us.

“Gosh, guys, hurry up!” she said.

“Sorry,” I told her. “We’re old.”

“I know,” she said. “But still, you don’t have to go
that
slow.”

“I’m kidding. You’re not that old.” Leslie giggled. “So, Aunt Daph, are you nervous about the awards ceremony? I am.”

“So am I,” I said. “Did your mom tell you about Alex’s demo?”

“She did. She said he wants Lucas and me to be there with him, right?”

I nodded. “That’s right.”

“Are you up to that, Les?” Violet asked.

“Of course. I might be a little bit nervous standing up there in front of everybody, but I’ll do it for Alex,” she said.

By that time, we’d caught up to Jason and Lucas, who were waiting for Alex in the demonstration area.

Lucas, who’d overheard Leslie’s last comment, said, “I’m not nervous at all. I’m a natural born showman. All my teachers say so.”

“Yeah, and I’m worried you’re going to find yourself in natural born detention because of it one of these days,” Violet said.

“Aw, he’ll be fine,” said Jason. “I was a rowdy youth, and I turned out all right.” He winked at Lucas.

“ ‘A rowdy youth’?” Lucas scoffed. “Who are you, Dad, Ward Cleaver?”

At my surprised expression, Violet told me that the kids had been watching
Leave It to Beaver
and some of the other “oldies” on TV Land.

“Or a parallel universe,” Lucas said. “That’d be fun.”

“Yeah,” I said. “I’ve heard those are a blast.”

“Oh, good,” said Violet. “Here they come.”

I turned to see Molly, Chris, and Alex making their way quickly toward us. Leslie and Lucas raced to meet them.

“Are you excited?” Leslie asked.

“Thanks for asking us to help,” Lucas said. “We won’t let you down.”

Alex merely smiled and led the way behind the table, where he began to take his icing, tips, pastry bags, and other decorating tools from a plastic bag. When he was finished unloading the first bag, Molly handed him the one she carried. Chris was holding a cake box.

“Did the restaurant allow Alex to bake a cake last night?” Violet asked.

“No,” said Molly. “This is the cake that was made to be used in this demonstration. I believe a Mr. Conroy was scheduled to do the demo, but he backed out for some reason at the last minute.”

“That’s odd,” I said.

“I think it will be too,” Chris said. “At least, I hope it will.” He placed the cake box on the table.

Kimmie Compton joined us and gave Molly a hearty handshake. “Thank you again—and thank Alex for me—for his agreeing to do this demonstration. I think it’s marvelous to get young people interested in the art, and who better to do that than one of their own?”

“You’re sure Mr. Conroy won’t change his mind at the last minute and ask to do the demo himself?” Molly asked.

“Hardly. He’s on his high horse about Chef Richards’s death,” said Ms. Compton. “Of course, it’s a horrible tragedy that the man was murdered, but it was unforeseeable. Mr. Conroy thinks we should’ve planned a memorial into the festivities, but we simply did not have the time or the resources to do so.”

“A memorial?” Chris spat out his words as if they left a bad taste in his mouth. “A celebration would have been more apt. That man was a menace. He’s the reason Alex stopped decorating and had to go on antidepressants.”

“Is that true?” a vaguely familiar female voice asked.

None of us had noticed that Lily Richards had joined us until she’d spoken.

“I’m sorry,” Ms. Richards said. “I had no idea.”

“This is Lily Richards,” I said softly. “She’s Chef Richards’s former wife.”

“Well, I pity you, then,” said Chris. “Not because that monster is dead but because you were married to him in the first place. Because of him, Alex shut down for weeks. He has Asperger’s syndrome, Ms. Richards, so he was delicate to begin with. But I don’t care who the child is, or what condition he might or might not be in, you don’t treat a child the way your husband did.”

“I’m sorry.” This time Ms. Richards’s voice was a whisper, and tears welled in her eyes. “May I apologize to the boy?”

“That’s not necessary,” Molly said. “Chris, you’re being mean. Ms. Richards didn’t do anything wrong.”

“I know. But
he
did. I came here to make him apologize to Alex for what he’d done.” He clenched his fists. “I need to get some air. I’ll be back in time to watch Alex do the demo.”

Ms. Richards took a tissue from her purse and dabbed at her eyes. “Still, I’m sorry that Jordan treated your son so badly. I know better than anyone that Jordan could be harsh and abrasive. Deep down, though, he had a good heart. He just didn’t always show it. And he was a stickler for the rules. I can well imagine that he’d have behaved badly had he thought Alex had received help from an experienced baker.”

We all fell silent momentarily as we watched the children setting up for the demonstration. Alex took Lucas and Leslie—each in turn—by the shoulders to position them exactly where he wanted them to stand.

“May I speak with Alex?” Ms. Richards asked.

“Of course,” said Molly.

The two of them walked closer to the table.

“Hi, Alex,” Ms. Richards said. “I’m Lily Richards. I was Chef Jordan Richards’s wife. He wanted me to apologize to you for the way he treated you the last time you saw him. He knows what a good baker you are.”

“Thank you,” Alex said in his quiet voice.

“You’re welcome. May I stay and watch your exhibition?” she asked.

He nodded.

“Thank you. I’m looking forward to it.” Before she could rejoin our group, Gavin Conroy intercepted her.

“Thank you, Gavin,” she said.

“It’s good that you’re here,” he said. “I plan to say a few words about Jordan later today . . . have a sort of makeshift memorial for those in the baking world who are here but who won’t be able to attend his actual services.”

“That’s very thoughtful of you,” said Ms. Richards.

“Would you like to say a few words about Jordan?” he asked.

“I might,” she said. “Right now, I’m going to watch Alex do a demonstration for the children. Apparently, he has remarkable talent, but Jordan almost ruined his love of cake decorating.”

“I doubt that Jordan’s behavior toward the child was intentional,” said Gavin.

“I wouldn’t be too sure about that,” Ms. Richards told him. “As I told the boy’s mother, Jordan could be mean when he thought someone was breaking the rules . . . and he didn’t always clarify whether or not they had before he formed his own conclusions.”

“Still, it was one competition . . . ” Gavin spread his hands.

“It was a
child,
” Ms. Richards said. “Excuse me.” She looked at me. “May I sit with you?”

“Of course,” I said.