Doughnuts & Deadly Schemes (Culinary Competition Mysteries Book 3) (2 page)

"True," Carla said as she paused to wait for a car to pass on Main Street before stepping onto the yellow paint-designated walkway. "You know, we don't need to go to the bridal shop after this. I don't want a fancy dress. Certainly not a fluffy ball gown or one of those tight mermaid dresses. I'm sure I'd kill myself trying to walk with my legs pinned together. Since I want the wedding to be informal, I figured I could just pick up a short cocktail dress off-the-rack from somewhere."

"But it isn't a cocktail party," Amy whined. She glared at the driver of a black Corvette who was impatiently gunning his engine as they passed in front of the car. Apparently the
Stop For Pedestrians In Crosswalk
sign had annoyed him. Well, she was annoyed too but for a completely different reason. "I think a shorter dress is fine considering you don't want a fancy shindig, but it still needs to be a
wedding
dress."

"Let's agree to disagree for now. All of Bruce's suits need to be tailored, so finding one is first priority. He said he'd wear whatever I pick out, but he needs to get in to be measured for the alterations as soon as possible."

Bruce Shepler was a mountain of a man with wide shoulders, bulging biceps, and green eyes that sometimes looked as if they were glowing when he was perturbed. He would make a very convincing Superman at Halloween. Stretchy, casual shirts were probably the only off-the-rack clothes that fit his upper body, and a T-shirt was not suitable wedding attire. Even for hurried, ultra low-key weddings.

While her mind was on the topic, Amy decided to tackle the question that had been bugging her since Carla dropped the wedding bomb.

"I don't understand something. You've been engaged for five months, and every time I've mentioned wedding planning you've looked at me like I'm suggesting you eat moldy trash for dinner. Now you suddenly decide the wedding has to be in less than a month. Why?"

Carla fiddled with the zipper fob on her beige leather shoulder bag. She sped up her walking pace, as if arriving at Finley & Crowe would throw Amy off her line of questioning. News flash. Inquiring, about-ready-to-blow-a-gasket minds wanted to know. "Well?"

"I already told you why. Bruce and I
have
been talking about our wedding, even though I haven't said anything to you." Carla stopped in front of a bicycle shop. She stuck her hands into the front pockets of her blue jeans as she pretended to be interested in an adult-sized version of a tricycle. "We haven't come up with anything that we both really want to do, other than become husband and wife. Fancy soirees aren't our thing, so we figured we'd just throw something together and get the wedding fuss over with."

"I'm surprised you two didn't take off to Las Vegas."

Carla shook her head as she resumed the trek to the menswear store. "Believe me. We thought of that, but I'm pretty sure you would kill us if we snuck away like that. So, as my compromise, instead of leaving you completely out of the wedding by eloping…I'm giving you
over two weeks
to pull one out of thin air."

Carla giggled and sprinted ahead. She was wise to get out of arm's reach. Luckily for her, they had arrived at their destination. She was safe from retaliation for a little bit.

"Do you know what color suit you want?" Amy asked as she pulled open the door of Finley & Crowe.

"Probably gray or maybe a darker cream. I'm thinking linen since it's summer, but I'm certainly not a men's fashion expert." Carla stepped into the store and wiped her forehead with the back of her hand. "Ahh, I'm so glad they have the air conditioning turned on."

A gust of cold air from an overhead duct made Amy shiver as she looked around for Matt Finley. He would definitely have ideas for the appropriate suit for Bruce to wear. The weathered pine floorboards creaked as she moved farther into the store that looked like an old-fashioned dime store except it was full of high-end men's clothing. Mismatched vintage wardrobes were scattered around the space, their doors swung open to reveal color-coordinated suits and shirts. Metal pipes attached to the walls also acted as clothing racks.

To the left, behind an old mahogany tavern bar that had been turned into a sales counter, Matt stood talking to what appeared to be a younger, almost twin of himself. They looked like stunt doubles for Rob Lowe in the early and current stages of his acting career. Sophie said Matt had been approached several times for autographs while she was with him, from fans mistaking him for the star. Amy waved, and Matt nodded an acknowledgment.

"Good morning," he said as rounded the end of the counter. The serious scowl evaporated from his face and morphed into a slight smile as he walked toward her. "What can I help you with?"

Amy pointed at Carla, who was already studying silk ties in an antique wood and glass showcase nearby. "My friend is getting married in a couple weeks, and she desperately needs to find a suit for the groom. Probably in linen or some other lightweight fabric—whatever is appropriate for a summer wedding. She's open to your suggestions."

He nodded and led them to one of the freestanding wardrobe closets at the back of the store. "If you're having a more casual wedding, any of these would be suitable, in my opinion." He pointed to a doorway on the left wall of the store. "If you would prefer a tuxedo, those are in a separate room."

Carla chewed on her bottom lip as she stepped closer to the collection of linen suits. "If I get Bruce to come in to be measured within the next few days, would you be able to tailor a suit within two weeks? He has very wide shoulders, so nothing fits him without alterations."

"No problem." He bowed slightly. "I'll leave you to shop. Let me or Thane know if you have any questions."

Matt returned to the front of the store to continue his conversation with the man who Amy assumed was Thane. Matt and Sophie made a beautiful couple. He was tall and trim with impeccably styled walnut-brown hair streaked with swaths of gray that just made him look more sophisticated than old. He doted on Sophie, often placing his hand on the small of her back or holding her hand when they were within touching range. They were obviously very much in love. Just like Carla and Shepler.

Amy turned her attention to the suits. They were all in muted shades ranging from salmon to cream. She started at the other end of the rack from Carla and began flipping through the summery ensembles.

"What do you think of this one?" Carla asked as she held up a silver-colored jacket. "This is what I had in mind…or something similar."

"I like it. Let's see what else is here so you can choose which one you like best."

Carla exhaled with a loud hiss. "I guess. I figured the only way we'll get everything done is to decide on things quickly. So only pick out one or two more. I don't want to waste time trying to choose between a dozen suits."

Footsteps echoed through the store as Amy let out her own sigh. Carla was right. Fewer choices meant less time spent making decisions. A minimalist approach that completely suited Carla, but not her. She liked lots of choices and options. A gigantic salad bar of possibilities. Amy steeled herself to the fact that she could only pick out one more suit or risk getting zapped with the evil eye from Carla for not following directions.

There was a metallic jangle nearby as a man, who Amy assumed was a tailor from the measuring tape draped around his neck, unlocked a dressing room door for a customer. He swung open one of the paneled wood doors lined up along the back wall of the store. The key chain dropped from his hand as he took a step backward. The customer, a portly, elderly gentleman wearing a navy blue cardigan, peeked into the room. He slapped his hand over his mouth and backed away, too.

"What's wrong?" Matt called out. His footstep pounded like a frantic heartbeat as he ran to the back of the store. He lurched to a stop in the dressing room doorway. "Oh my God, Luke."

Judging from the stunned reactions, whatever was in the dressing room wasn't pleasant. Carla sprinted across the store to join the men and see if she could help. As the store owner backed out of the doorway, she got a glimpse of the horrifying scene. A blond man hung from a hook meant for clothing anchored on the side wall of the room—with his necktie acting as a noose. A trickle of blood snaked from the corner of his mouth. He stared at the doorway, eyes wide open.

Adrenaline kicked in, and Carla's medical training took over. She rushed to the man and pressed her fingers into the side of his neck to check for a pulse. The muscles were hard. His arms and legs were stiff like a mannequin. Rigor mortis had set in, but she held her fingers in place a bit longer in a futile hope that she would find a heartbeat.

Even though his feet were several inches off the ground, she was still face-to-face with the dead man. The metallic smell of blood made her nostrils flare. She wasn't mentally prepared to deal with gore and death, not away from the emergency room while she was shopping for her wedding. The front of his pastel green dress shirt was soaked with a river of blood that bloomed from his stomach, flowed down his tan pants and pooled on the hardwood floor under his feet.

"Should we get him down and do CPR?" a male voice asked from outside the room.

She didn't know who asked the question, but it didn't matter. "I'm a nurse. I'm sorry, but there's nothing we can do for him now." She turned to face the group of people peering at her through the doorway. Amy was peeking between Matt and the customer. Carla looked at her and said, "Call 9-1-1."

Amy pulled her phone out of the front pocket of her purse and disappeared from view. When Carla emerged from the room, Amy was already talking to the emergency operator. Carla looked up at Matt and said quietly, "I'm not a detective, but judging from the injuries, I'm pretty sure this is a murder. I suggest we all stay out of the room so no evidence is destroyed. I take it you know him?"

He nodded. His skin was ashen, and his hands were shaking. Beads of sweat glittered on his forehead. "He's Luke Crowe. Co-owner of this store. He was my best friend."

"I'm sorry for your loss. Why don't you have a seat?" Carla said as she guided him to a nearby leather wingback chair. "The police will be here soon."

And hopefully Bruce won't be one of them.
It was a selfish thought, but she hoped he wouldn't take on any new cases over the next few weeks so he could help more with the wedding, instead of spending countless hours chasing down leads before they grew cold. It was bad enough that she had just gone from shopping for the wedding to telling a man his best friend was dead.

"I'm going to call Sophie and let her know that Matt is okay," Amy whispered into Carla's ear. "She'll freak out when she sees the ambulance stop here."

"Good idea," Carla said as she turned to assess the other men. The older gentleman customer had crumpled into one of the other leather chairs arranged outside the dressing rooms. He was wringing his hands and tapping his foot on the floor. She squatted in front of him. "How are you feeling, sir? Can I get you some water or something?"

"No…no. I was a medic in the Army." He smiled slightly. "I'll be okay. Just a bit shocked at the moment."

She turned her attention to the younger man who had been behind the counter. Over the breast pocket of his cardinal red vest, a gold name tag with Thane engraved on it flashed in the light. He leaned back against one of the closed dressing room doors and stared at the worn Oriental rug under his feet.

"Are you okay?" she asked.

"I think so," he answered without looking up. "I can't believe this is happening."

"I know. I'm sorry." She gently touched his arm. "If you start feeling sick or dizzy, please sit down on the floor or in one of the chairs."

He nodded as the whir of approaching sirens filtered into the store. In the corner of the room the tailor wrapped the measuring tape around his finger then unfurled it repeatedly. The curls of his heavily waxed handlebar mustache quivered like mouse whiskers. He flinched when Sophie banged through the front door. She stopped short when her gaze locked onto Amy, who was standing by a display case to the left of the entrance. Sophie's dark eyes glistened, projecting her fear, as Amy silently pointed at Matt.

He stood up as she raced to him. "Oh, Matt. This is horrible. How could they kill him over a few thousand dollars?"

Carla looked at the couple as they embraced each other, hoping her expression wouldn't give away her curiosity. What was Sophie talking about? A blaring siren drowned out Matt's whispered answer. The front door crashed open again, and two uniformed police officers rushed inside followed by Bruce, Carla's soon-to-be husband. His gaze magnetically locked onto her. She met him halfway, beside a rack of tropical-colored polo shirts. An ambulance crew with a gurney clattered through the door and tromped across the wood floor to join the other officers in front of the dressing room.

"What happened?" Bruce asked as he looked past her at the lineup of people congregated in the back of the store.

"Amy and I came here to pick out a suit for you. One of the employees opened a dressing room for a customer and found the body of one of the store's owners."

He looked down at her. The corner of his mouth twitched. "Please tell me you don't have any other connection to the victim."

"I don't." She was a little annoyed at his question, but she understood his concern. Right before they got engaged, she'd ended up being the prime suspect in a murder. The accusation had turned their worlds upside down. "Matt, the tall older guy in the back, is the other owner of the shop. He's dating Sophie, from Riverbend Café. I've seen him there a few times, but the dead man doesn't look familiar at all."

"Good," Bruce said as he moved past her toward the back of the shop. "No connection makes my life much easier."

*  *  *

Two hours later Carla settled onto the thickly cushioned bench of the breakfast nook in Amy's kitchen. Her friend had reupholstered the cushions with a fabric featuring flame red poppies on a white background. The flowers matched the newly painted accent wall on the opposite side of the kitchen. The bright pop of color livened up the mostly white kitchen. Decorating wasn't Carla's forte, but Amy excelled at it, especially in her domain—the kitchen.

"I hope Shepler has his super crime-solving cap on," Amy said as she set a condensation-covered glass of peach iced tea in front of Carla. She scooted onto the bench on the other side of the table. "For Matt and Sophie's sake, I'm glad he's in charge of the investigation, but it couldn't come at a worse time for you two."

Carla took a sip of the sweet, fruity tea to stifle a yawn. It was past her bedtime. Her body was screaming for sleep. She had decided to switch back to working nights so she could take care of wedding preparations during the day. A few hours in the morning to stop at local businesses while she was still amped from working, then after sleeping she could fit in another few hours during the evening doing online stuff. The Internet and express shipping would work for some things, but not everything associated with the wedding could be taken care of that way. She'd hoped to have at least picked out Bruce's suit by the time she was ready for a nap. Instead, they'd all gotten dragged into another homicide investigation. If it was a sign from the universe, maybe she should go home and research flights to Las Vegas. Popping into a 24-hour wedding chapel would be a hell of a lot easier and less stressful way to get hitched now that a murder was further complicating their lives.

"I was hoping to get some input and help from Bruce, but that's out of the question now. I barely see him when he first gets assigned to a new case. Looks like it's just you and me putting the wedding together now." Carla grabbed one of the cinnamon-swirled snickerdoodle cookies sitting on a plate in the center of the table. Pogo, Amy's gray ragamuffin of a dog, was patiently sitting under the table by her feet, doing his sad Muppet imitation to try to guilt her into sharing her treat. She broke a chunk off the cookie and surreptitiously tossed the morsel to the little fella. He licked her knee as a token of his appreciation then skittered out of the kitchen.

Amy put her hand on top of Carla's. "I promise I will do everything in my power to make sure your wedding is the most magical, special day of your life."

"Thank you. I appreciate it, especially since I know you would like to smack me. I mostly just want to be married to Bruce, but a little part of me does want a few bells and whistles to go with the vows. He's my soul mate. I would like the day to be special, you know?"

"I understand. I can still remember most of my wedding as if it was yesterday." She winked. "Although the later-in-the-evening parts are a bit fuzzy courtesy of the champagne. Luckily Alex is happy to reenact the night as often as I would like, to help sharpen my memories."

Carla smiled as she nibbled on the edge of the soft cookie. It was sweet, spicy, and incredibly buttery. Amy was sweet and, judging by her comment, a bit spicy with her husband behind closed doors. Knowing the couple had been married for over seven years and still adored each other made her feel better about getting married. She traced a line with her finger through the foggy condensation on the glass of iced tea and said, "I just hope Bruce can get a good handle on the murder right off the bat. Did you have any idea that someone was trying to extort money from Matt and Luke?"

She was shocked when she heard Matt's tale of a hacker breaking into the store's computer network and demanding money. If the store didn't comply, revenge had been insinuated. Matt and his business partner hadn't anticipated that the retaliation would be lethal.

Amy shook her head. "No, but Matt did say they were told not to say anything to anybody. Although he obviously talked to Sophie about it. I'll ask her what she knows, just in case something slipped her mind when Shepler interviewed her today." Amy drummed her pink lacquered nails on the tabletop. "Maybe if we help, he can get this murder solved sooner rather than later."