Murder Takes the Cake Text (27 page)

“I don’t want you to have to go out of your way, when I’m the one who wants to talk.”

“That’s not a problem. I’ll be there in a jiffy.”

While I was waiting for Candy, I put
Rebecca
into the DVD player. I’d seen the movie before, but somehow a movie based on a book written by my namesake gave me a teensy sense of security. I know it’s dumb, but I had to have something to cling to when I was getting ready to confront a killer’s alibi. I decided to take on the guise of the perfect, cold, impenetrable Rebecca. Not the unnamed, mousy heroine. Rebecca—with her expensive stationery with the fancy “R”—would be able to ferret out the truth.

Candy showed up, all smiles and concern. “Hi,” she said. “You sounded upset over the phone. I hope everything’s okay.”

“Come on in. Can I get you something to drink?”

“No, honey, I’m fine.” Her megawatt smile faded. “What’s got you fretting?”

“I understand the police found snake venom in Mrs. Watson’s house.”

Candy shook her head and flopped onto my club chair. “That Joanne Hayden. Ain’t she got nothing better to do than to run her mouth?”

“I’m not complaining—at least, she’s not running it about me this time,” I said with a smile.

“Still . . .” She blew out a breath. “She and Yodel Watson must be kin somewhere down the line.”

“So gossip is a genetic trait?”

“Must be.”

I sat down on the sofa. “I’m worried about you.”

“Why? You think Kel killed her?”

“Who else would have snake venom?”

“Anybody that wanted it. Anybody that wanted to set Kel up.”

“Who’d want to do that?”

“I don’t know, okay?” She was glaring at me. “All I know is that one day the old woman was wagging her finger at us and not long after that she was dead. But Kel did not kill her.”

“Are you sure?”

“As sure as I’m sitting here. Kel’s wife had gone off to a spa retreat somewhere for a few days, and he spent that entire weekend with me.” She stood. “Are you done with the questions?”

I got to my feet, too. “Candy, please don’t be angry with me. I truly was worried about you. I didn’t want you to be in danger.”

“It’s okay. I appreciate your concern, but I’m not in danger, Daphne.”

“Good. I’m glad. And I’m sorry someone made it look as if Mr. Dobbs was to blame.”

“Me, too.” She marched to the door. “I’ll tell you who else is gonna be sorry—Joanne Hayden. She’s gonna be sorry she ever ran her mouth about this.”

“Please . . . I don’t want to be the cause of any trouble.”

“You’re not. She is.” With that, she flounced out the door.

I sighed.
I need to learn to mind my own business.
The irony of the message painted on my walkway wasn’t lost on me.

*

“I know I took a risk by bringing only this one design,” I told Mrs. Fremont, “but I believe this exemplifies everything you’re looking for.”

“You say you got the idea from a Sylvia Weinstock book?” she asked, her eyes still on my designs.

“Yes. I modified the design to incorporate not only lots of flowers but also gum-paste fruit and vegetables to keep the cake closely tied to Guinevere’s basket ‘cake.’”

“Gum-paste fruit and vegetables will be used on the cake for the human guests, and actual fruit and vegetables will be in the basket cake, correct?”

“That’s correct. I know how important Vitamin C is to a cavy’s diet.”

“Excellent! I’m impressed, Ms. Martin. You’ve done your homework, and I love your vision for both cakes.”

“Thank you.”

“Where will you be getting the basket? Will it be organic?”

“The basket will be organic. I’ll be weaving it from peeled willow branches.”

Mrs. Fontaine clapped her hands. “Fantastic. I appreciate all the thought and effort you’re putting into this.”

“Thank you for allowing me to be a part of your special occasion.”

“The cavies are in their sitting room. Would you like to meet them?”

“I’d love to. Annabelle tells me they’re all champions.”

“They are. I’m quite proud of them.”

“As you should be.”

As Mrs. Fremont led the way upstairs to the sitting room, I promised I’d be quiet and restrain myself this time.

The sitting room was an eclectic mix of Las Vegas fake fur, teen-girl bedroom and penthouse posh. A white, sectional sofa curved around the fireplace. Pink, blue, yellow and green fake-fur pillows adorned the sofa and gave it a whimsical touch. A fuzzy white rug covered the floor, which was littered with toys and treats.

Mrs. Fremont took a seat on the sofa and nodded for me to sit down as well.

“They hid when they heard us coming,” she said, “but they’ll join us in a moment.”

She was right. We were soon surrounded by the furry friends. She bent and picked up Guinevere.

“Here’s our birthday girl.” She handed her to me.

I sat the guinea pig on my lap and stroked her silky hair. She began to make a purring sound.

“She likes you.” Mrs. Fremont picked up a black–and-white guinea pig and settled him on her lap. “This is Lancelot.”

“They’re beautiful.” I looked up at the photographs and ribbons displayed above the fireplace. “Annabelle was right—that’s impressive.”

“Thank you. Have you spoken with her recently?”

“Yes, I spoke with her on Friday.”

“I need to give her a call. How’s she doing?”

“As well as can be expected. The police confirmed her mother was murdered.”

“I’m sorry to hear that. Though I’m not surprised. I cared for Mrs. Watson, but she could be a real piece of work.” She smiled. “That woman would blackmail the devil if she had something on him.” She sat Lancelot back onto the floor.

“Annabelle is such a sweet person.” I continued petting Guinevere. “I was dumbfounded by that when I first met her, having already been acquainted with her mother, I mean.”

“She takes after her daddy. Everybody loved Arlo Watson. Nobody had much use for Yodel.”

“At least Yodel had Mrs. Dobbs.”

Mrs. Fremont laughed. “You think Yodel Watson and Janey Dobbs were friends? How’d you arrive at that conclusion?”

“Mrs. Dobbs came to the house the day after Mrs. Watson died. She brought a casserole,” I finished lamely.

“If Janey was at the house, she was there to make sure Yodel was dead.” She took Guinevere, gave her a kiss and returned her to the floor. “Yodel held the secret of Janey’s sister over her head for years.”

“You mean the secret of Gloria’s baby?”

“I mean the secret that the Clines bribed someone at the mental institution to make sure Gloria remained there . . .and heavily sedated with narcotics.”

I blinked. “One teenage slip-up led to Gloria being punished for the rest of her life?”

“It did indeed . . .and it left Janey the sole benefactor after her parents died.”

“Gloria got nothing?”

“She’d been declared mentally incompetent, and Janey was given her sister’s power of attorney.”

“But what about Gloria’s son?”

“From what I understand, there was no specific provision for him in the Cline’s will. I suppose his father could’ve made some entreaties to the court, but he died before that could happen.” She stood. “Well, then, let’s go downstairs and make our final arrangements for the party.” She then addressed the cavies. “Hilda will be up shortly to take you back to your rooms, darlings. I’ll look in on you later.”

*

By the time I left Mrs. Fremont’s house, it was not only getting dark but it had begun to rain. As my windshield wipers thumped out a rhythmic beat, I recalled what Ms. York had said.

“Your subconscious knows. Your here and now just has to catch up.”

My subconscious was nagging at me . . .trying to tell me something. It was the same sort of feeling you get when you’re watching a movie and someone looks familiar. It’s hard to enjoy the movie because you’re trying to recall where you’ve seen that person before.

But I wasn’t watching a movie. I was driving home. What was my subconscious trying to tell me? It was there on the fringes of realization . . .waiting in the wings . . . it was about Vern March.

I’d been afraid Uncle Hal had caused Vern’s accident, but why would he? Vern had left town; he wasn’t seeing Mom anymore.

The date of Vern’s accident flashed into my mind:
Wednesday, May 7, 1975.

I heard Peggy March’s telling me about the Cline’s death: “
They came to a tragic end—died when a plane they’d chartered crashed back in late April or early May of 1975. The lawyer told me that, too. In fact, I seem to remember hearing something about it on the news or reading about it in the newspaper . . . but it hardly meant anything to me at the time, and then Jonah’s dad had his accident . . . .”

I remembered the day my car had a flat tire. Janey Dobbs happened to come along after visiting the guitar museum, which was two hours in the opposite direction. Had she been out seeing sites other than the guitar museum, or had she been following me?

I also recalled Candy’s accusation that somebody had used snake venom as a murder weapon as a way of framing Kellen Dobbs.

“Kel’s wife had gone off to a spa retreat somewhere for a few days,”
she’d said.

Kel had an alibi.

The conversation I’d had with Janey yesterday played out in my mind:

“He told me once that’s how he’d kill someone. . . that it would be practically untraceable to determine snake venom as a cause of death in the absence of fang marks.” She closed her eyes. “He said they might believe the victim had been poisoned, but they wouldn’t suspect snake venom.”

“But why? Why would he kill Mrs. Watson?”

Janey opened her eyes. “Yodel knew. She caught Kellen and. . . that woman . . . in an embrace in the store. She told me about it. But Kellen doesn’t know that.”

Yodel knew what everyone else in town suspected. Was Kellen’s secret one worth killing to keep?

My painted walkway message had warned:
Mind your own business.

Thanks to my
not
minding my own business, Peggy was now looking into Gloria Cline’s estate . . . an estate currently being overseen by Janey Dobbs.

My “here and now” suddenly caught up with my subconscious. And both were saying “Uh-oh,” because right after I turned up into my driveway Janey Dobbs’ black Mercedes pulled in behind me, blocking me in.

I reached into my purse and took out my cell phone. I flipped it open and turned it on, but it immediately died. I really should learn to charge that thing more often.

All I could do now was play it cool. Snoopy Cool. Joe Cool. Stay Alive Until I Can Get Away Cool.

I got out of the car. Janey was already out of hers. I saw that the bumper of her Mercedes was nearly touching my back bumper.

“Hi, Janey! How are you?”

“I’m all right.”

“Did you get out of your house yet?”

“For now.”

“Oh, that’s good.”

“Could we go inside? It’s rather chilly out here.”

She was saying she was chilly even though she was wearing a black leather coat and matching gloves.

“Actually, I’m on my way back out,” I said. “I only stopped by here to get my design portfolio.” I smiled broadly. “I have a potential new client.”

“That’s marvelous. Who is your client?”

I had to think quickly. “Juanita, from the Save-A-Buck.”

“I’m surprised she can afford a decorator of your quality on her cashier’s salary.”

“Sometimes, especially when you’re starting out like I am, you do some work more as a good will gesture than anything. I’m sure you know that, though.”

“Of course.” She walked closer to the door. “Don’t you have a second to spare for me? You promised you’d go with me to the police about Kellen.”

“How about I run by the Save-A-Buck, tell Juanita I’m going to be late and then meet you at the police station?”

“Daphne, is something wrong?”

“No. Why?”

“You seem nervous.”

“I . . .I am. I’m afraid Mr. Dobbs will come after you. D-do you have family in the area . . . or somewhere you could stay after we talk with the police?”

“No, but I’m not terribly worried about him anymore. I have everything I need to see Kellen get precisely what he deserves.”

“Y-you found more evidence?”

She rubbed her hands up and down her arms. “Could we please go inside and warm up a minute?”

“Let’s go on to the station. I’ll meet you there.”

“But you said you had to get your portfolio.”

“Since I’m going to have to reschedule, I don’t need it.”

“If you call Juanita now, you won’t have to go to the Save-A-Buck, and we can drive to the police station together.”

“I’d rather tell her in person. You never know how long you’ll have to be on hold waiting for someone to answer the phone when you call Save-A-Buck.”

Janey chuckled. “You can think on your feet; I’ll give you that. Let’s go inside, Daphne.”

“I’d rather not.”

“When did you figure it out?” An arrogant smirk remained on her face.

“I haven’t figured anything out.”

“Come now. We’re through playing cat and mouse.” She placed her hands in her pockets and noticed me staring. “No gun. I promise.”

“Look,” I said, “I don’t
know
that you did anything to anyone. Let’s both simply forget about all this.”

She seemed to deliberate on that. “Okay. No one would believe you anyway.”

“Exactly.”

“I do appreciate your friendship. I believe you realize I’m a victim here, nothing more.” She took a step toward me. “Give me a hug to seal the deal.”

I glanced back down at those hands in those pockets and took a step backward.

“I don’t know what you’re up to, Janey, but it’s not going to work. I won’t be your next victim.”

She took her right hand out of her pocket. In it was a hypodermic needle filled with a golden fluid. “Yes, you will.”

I nearly said “Puhleez.” I’d lived with an abusive husband . . . a man twice my size. I’d fought him every time he’d attacked me. I could defend myself from her.

She came at me with the needle raised. As she drove her arm down toward me, I grasped her wrist in my right hand. I pivoted onto my left foot and turned her away from me. Standing behind her, I wrapped my left forearm around her throat as we struggled for control of the needle. Finally, I was able to depress the needle’s plunger and dispense the fluid onto the walkway.