Muffins & Murder (Sweet Bites Book 3) (Sweet Bites Mysteries) (20 page)

“To work for,” I corrected, wondering if he was serious or teasing.

“Right. That’s why he brought you with him tonight. He can’t be away from you long enough to spend time with us?” He glared at me, as if I were the
other woman
, forcing Kat to accept the leftovers.

I wondered if they were all going to be this nasty or if it was just Rick. “Lenny’s like a brother to me. He came here because he wanted to work for someone he didn’t hate, and the change of scene has been good, don’t you think?”

“Well, Kat finally got him to make an honest woman out of her,” Jared, her father, said. “I don’t s’pose you’re happy about that, him making it legal and all instead of living in sin.”

That’s right. I had forgotten how upset Kat said her family had been about their living arrangements. There was no right approach to take on the subject without causing an argument or hurt feelings for someone, so I ignored the comment and focused on the rest of it. “I’m thrilled Lenny and Kat are ready to get married. They’re so good together. She’s changed his life and she’s a total sweetheart.”

“You’re not married, are you?” Jared asked accusingly.

“Nope. I keep trying, but it never ends where I expect it to,” I joked lamely, though it was uncomfortable and awkward for me to discuss. And totally none of their business.

“You have to be looking for the right kind of man if you want to be married, honey.” His words were condescending and irritating.

I’d had enough of the topic and turned my attention to the sister-in-law, Jasie. “You must have your hands full with those kids. Don’t you just love being a mom?” It was the one topic most women I knew all enjoyed talking about.

“Yes, it’s the best thing ever,” she said with a wide smile. I wasn’t sure that it reached her eyes.

I couldn’t blame her, even if you loved motherhood, it still had its struggles—eating in a restaurant with three wiggling, noisy kids had to be exhausting. “Tough, isn’t it? Worth it for sure, but not easy at all.”

I saw the look of relief in her eyes, as if no one else quite seemed to get it. “Yes.”

I tried not to let my mind stray down the path of wondering what kind of expectations the family had for Kat, if her sister-in-law felt put upon. Then again, maybe that was just me projecting.

“Don’t be stupid. Women have been having babies for six-thousand years, it can’t be that hard,” Rick said.

I didn’t comment on the fact that men hadn’t had a baby once, and very few stayed home to care for the kids, so what would he know? I wanted to say it, but I was good and held my tongue, something he clearly wasn’t capable of.

He continued, “A woman belongs in the home and she’s just where she is, and no better than she should be, not to mention wasting her time playing the violin.”

“Lay off, Rick.” This from Leon, Jasie’s husband. “I like hearing her play the violin, and she works hard with the kids.”

“Just sayin’ a woman’s getting above herself, playing something that hoity toity. Like she doesn’t come from farmer stock just like the rest of us.” Rick scowled.

Leon’s voice got real low so I could barely hear it, but it had taken on a mean edge. “Nothing wrong with wanting something more. Leave off. You can harass your own woman. Or you could, if you
had
one.”

“That was below the belt.”

I watched them, inching away, afraid this was going to come to blows. I was glad at least one of the men in this family was decent, though, sticking up for his wife.

“Picking on a woman is pretty low too. Leave off,” Leon said.

The adults were all quiet, watching the byplay. I had the feeling the two brothers didn’t live near each other and really hoped they got it out of their systems now so it wouldn’t crop up in the middle of the wedding.

I wanted to shake Rick until his head rattled, but smiled at Jasie instead, hoping the change of subject would help defuse the situation. “We’re planning a bachelorette party for Kat the night before the wedding—nothing wild or crazy, just my friend Honey and Kat and me, and hopefully you and Melissa can join us.” I included Kat’s mom in the request, hoping that when the men weren’t around, the conversation would be easier.

“We don’t cotton to drinking and strippers,” Kat’s dad protested.

“We won’t have either, just some girl time to unwind so Kat will be relaxed and ready for the ceremony the next day.” I answered him but kept looking at Melissa. “I’m making a special stain-glass window cake for Kat for the party. Vanilla bean cake and a strawberry Swiss buttercream filling. It’s to die for.”

“It really is, Mom,” Kat said. “Please come. We’ll have fun.”

Her dad didn’t seem the least pleased, but after glancing at her husband, Melissa took on a stubborn expression. “I’d love to. Jasie and I will join you. When and where should we meet?”

I told them we’d head out from the wedding rehearsal dinner. The men folk didn’t seem pleased, but I noticed none of them argued with Melissa—not even her husband.

The oldest brother turned on Lenny then. “So, you bake for a living. Why would you want to do that? Doesn’t it make you feel like a pansy?”

Lenny took on an expression of aggravation and I understood why he’d been so unhappy about Kat’s family coming to town. I wondered if he’d make it to the wedding in two days if he had them picking at him all the time. I might need to have him working longer hours for the next day or two as a way to escape his in-laws.

I was glad to have an excuse to leave the dinner early—I had a cake delivery that had to be made during the party. I didn’t usually do this, but the customer tacked on an extra thirty bucks in gratuity when they ordered it off my website, so I went with it—the customer is always right, after all.

The address on the form was down a winding road shooting west of Silver Springs. There were only a few houses out there, so it didn’t get much traffic. Especially not at seven-thirty at night. I took the curves at a leisurely pace, unwinding from my day and the maddening dinner and found the house easily enough—the directions on the order had been very good.

The small blue clapboard house wasn’t typical for the area, nor was it big enough for me to imagine it holding the number of guests required to consume the thirteen-inch round cake that had been ordered. And there were no cars in the driveway, just one in a carport that was tucked nearly out of sight.

I hefted the cake from the back of my Outlander and walked up to the front steps, wishing I had straightened the chef’s jacket before I picked up the cake. It didn’t take long for the door to open. A little old man peered out at me through the crack in the door, his eyes narrowing in suspicion.

“Hi, are you Ralph Taylor?” I asked, smiling my best and wondering where all of the cars were. I knew I had the right date—I’d checked it at least three times already.

“Yes.” His voice was gravely, as if he’d smoked for the past ninety years.

“I have a cake delivery for you.”

“What’s it for?” The man couldn’t be more than five-foot-three at the most and reminded me of the old medicine man from the Princess Bride.

“Your birthday. I was told you were having a party.”

His brows lowered and he scowled. “My birthday isn’t until March. What kind of joke is this?”

For the first time I felt uncertain. “But you
are
Ralph Taylor. I have the right address, don’t I?”

“I didn’t order a cake,” he insisted.

“Let me bring it in and I’ll show you the order form. Maybe you’ll know who it’s from.”

He opened the door, reservation showing in his eyes, and I set the cake on the table. I glanced around the room and saw a single soup bowl and spoon, dirty from dinner. A saucepan was drying on a nearby rack, and medicine bottles lined up on the counter. It didn’t look like anyone else lived with him. I pulled the order form from my pocket while he peeked at the cake.

“It’s beautiful,” he finally said. “But I can’t eat something that big all by myself.”

“No, that would be quite an accomplishment if you did,” I agreed.

He patted his pockets for a moment, then picked up a pair of glasses on the counter and slid them on, peering at the order form. “That’s my address, all right, and good directions too. Did you have any trouble finding it?”

“No.”

“Hmmm, I have no idea who this Marty Clawson is. I don’t know a Marty or any Clawsons.” He looked at the cake longingly. “It sure is pretty, but I can’t accept it.”

Weird. “It’s paid for, and obviously someone wanted you to have it, so you might as well keep it. Have a few neighbors over to help you eat it,” I suggested. “Bet it can get quiet here, all alone.”

“It does at that. I’ve heard of your bakery,” he said, smiling over at me. “Heard you make mighty fine cakes.”

That made me smile back. “Now you’ll get to find out for yourself. You have a good night.” I returned to the Outlander, puzzling over why someone the old man didn’t know had spent so much on a cake for a birthday party that wasn’t happening—and that they’d insisted on this time of day for the delivery. I shook it off as I climbed into the front seat and snapped on my seatbelt. I needed to get things ready for the next day, and the last-minute wedding details. This just got weirder and weirder all the time.

I was only a few blocks from Ralph’s house when a truck came up behind me. I’d seen the lights a moment before, but he had to be moving fast to have caught up with me so quickly. I hoped he didn’t expect me to zoom around the curves coming up ahead.

I watched the speed limit signs and followed them carefully as I rounded the first bend. The truck was right on my bumper now, feet from my car, its grill completely filling my mirror. I considered calling it in to the sheriff’s office, but I couldn’t see his license plate, and now wasn’t the time to have my eyes off the road, or one of my hands off the wheel. As we rounded the second curve, I felt a hard shove and heard the grinding of metal. My head flipped back against the headrest and my Outlander shuddered. The truck had rammed me!

I glanced in my mirror and saw the driver moving in for a second go as another curve approached in front of me. I put on some speed, just enough to hopefully reduce the force he’d hit me with, but it didn’t seem to help. I think the force was worse the second time. I could hear metal crunching even as I clenched the steering wheel, trying to keep my vehicle on the road.

As soon as the road was almost to a straightaway, I fumbled for my phone, trying to dial 911 while keeping my eyes on where I was going. I lost the phone when he rammed me once more, this time forcing the vehicle off the road, down the incline and my Outlander started to roll.

It happened so fast I hardly had time to breathe, even if I
could
have breathed with the terror flooding my body.

I came to rest at the bottom of the hill after turning at least twice. I was pretty sure it was twice; the vehicle now rested on the passenger’s side and everything had been a blur.

My head spun and I just managed to hold in my dinner as nausea swept through me.

Pebbles crunched as the truck pulled to a stop on the edge of the road above me, and then another vehicle pulled in. A big engine sped off, spewing gravel and a male voice called out to me.

I was in my seatbelt, trapped between the steering wheel airbag, the side airbags and the seat, trying to suck in breath but dizzy anyway. I had no idea where my phone was, and I was fuzzy on which way was up. Was the male voice the person who forced me off the road? Had he come back to make sure I was dead?

I pushed the side bags out of the way—or as out of the way as I could get them when they were still deflating—and maneuvered so I could look out my crushed side window. The vehicle parked at the top of the road was a car, not a truck. Relief trickled through me and I called out to the person walking toward me, “I’m here. I’m okay.”

I took stock of my limbs, my aches and pains. I didn’t think there was anything serious, but I knew from experience that shock could make injuries seem less serious than they really were.

“My wife has already called 911,” the man said, drawing closer. “Is anyone else in there besides you?”

“No, just me. I’m stuck in this seatbelt, but I’m fine. No bleeders or broken bones.” At least, I didn’t think so, but then I hadn’t thought my gunshot wounds were all that serious at first, either.

“What happened, did you swerve to miss a deer?” the man asked.

“No, someone forced me off the road in a truck.” I supported my head as it started pounding. I needed to get out to the fresh air, but I had only worn my chef’s jacket, not a real coat and it was chilly out there now. I was already starting to shiver.

“Paramedics are on the way,” a woman’s voice said.

I tapped my head back against the seat’s headrest. Of course they were; Jack was on call tonight. “Perfect.”

The couple didn’t want to move me, in case I was hurt worse than I thought and I had to slide out of the seatbelt on my own. I let my feet rest on the opposite door for a moment, making sure it would take my weight, before I unclipped the belt. But then I couldn’t get out of the vehicle. I didn’t really feel like I could climb out the top, I was just too shaken up, and the windshield, while a mess of cracks, still held together.