Murder by Devil's Food Read online

  Bowdin admitted they still had no suspects. The only lead was an old man who was seen hanging around the area. "One of the shopkeepers said they thought his name was Bob or Rob or something like that," Bowdin said. "But we haven't been able to find him. He was probably just a drifter."

  "Could be, but if people noticed him enough to mention him to you, something unusual caught their attention about the guy."

  "That's what we thought. We haven't given up on him altogether. Only other lead was a shoe print. A clear one."

  Paavo glanced at him, interested. "Did you make a cast of it?"

  "The county did. It was a K-Mart sneaker. The problem was that one of the M.E.'s team wore the same shoe, same size. He swore he never stepped in that spot, but who knows?"

  "True." It sounded like another dead end. No one ever admitted to stomping over a crime scene, but it was known to happen. The one interesting point was that in Tiburon, few people wore K-Mart anything.

  "I'll let you know something," Bowdin added, "police force to police force. We're keeping it out of the press, of course."

  "Agreed." Paavo had no problem with keeping any information from the media.

  "It was very strange, and we really can't explain it at all. Maybe it was just a coincidence, you know, but we stored the body in a mortuary—our morgue is small, and we knew we'd have to keep the body on ice a long time pending the outcome of the investigation."

  Paavo nodded his understanding of the situation.

  "The woman's heart was stolen."

  That was the last thing he'd expected to hear. "Was it recovered?"

  "No. We can't figure out what happened. All we know is, it's gone. Disappeared. We tried to reconstruct who had access, and how whoever did it managed to get inside. As far as we could tell, it wasn't difficult. I mean, mortuaries don't have top-notch security. It's not like people are dying to break in." With that he chuckled at his own wit.

  Paavo ignored the old joke. "You said the candles were still in a bag beside the body, right?"

  "Correct."

  "Maybe the ritual wasn't all that important, and the killer was really after the victim's heart."

  Bowdin was silent a long moment. "You know, Inspector, it sounds like you might have a case in the city we should know about. Is that what brought you here?"

  Paavo told him about the Anna Gomez and Lorraine Miller murders.

  "Damn," was Bowdin's only reply.

  o0o

  Each night he grew closer to his Queen. He still had a bit more to do before he could take her to his dominion. There, they would rule for eternity, champions of all who bowed before them.

  And all who didn't.

  He would move with lightning speed, faster than ever before, now that he'd been fortunate enough to find the one woman in the entire world that he wanted to make his Queen.

  It was such a strange coincidence. Why, that night of all nights, had he decided to take that particular street at that particular time?

  He'd been guided there to find her.

  That was the only sensible answer.

  He had watched her every step that night, her and her friend, until the place began crawling with police.

  But tonight, with everything quieted down, he had returned. His entire body, his every sense, told him that if he explored the area long enough and thoroughly enough he would find some clue that would lead him to her.

  And now, after much searching, he had discovered it.

  He pulled a brochure from his pocket and gazed upon it with pure adoration: Custom Cupcakes by Angie.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  "Hello, Connie," Angie said as she burst into Everyone's Fancy the next day. As usual, the shop was empty. It wasn't yet time for the afternoon tea room to open. She headed straight for the counter and began putting out freshly baked pastries.

  Connie said nothing but picked up her feather duster and began flicking it over the knickknacks.

  Angie finished putting out the first box of pastries, but instead of displaying those in the second box, she gazed at Connie's sour expression, and then sat at a table. She had spent all evening talking to Paavo (and, frankly, to herself) about the blow-up with Connie. She couldn't help but think about words Connie had said to her a while back, that while Angie's life seemed to be going well, Connie was feeling stuck in a routine. Connie even expressed worry that Angie might not have time for her.

  Angie wanted to assure her that they would always be best friends, and to remind her that life was filled with ups and downs. You never knew from one day to the next if you were going to be riding high or knocked low. She remembered Paavo once telling her that the worst part of his job was informing people of the sudden, unexpected death of a loved one. At such times, he said he could see that with his words a person's life would be forever changed.

  It wasn't easy. Not for anyone.

  Of course, Connie knew all that, but for some reason, at the moment, she was feeling fragile. Angie hoped to help her get over it.

  "Could you come sit with me?" Angie asked.

  Connie sighed heavily. "If you wish." She plopped into a chair across the table from Angie.

  "I'd like to talk about yesterday," Angie said gently, "and why you were so upset."

  Connie's lips pursed. "Why shouldn't I be? You schmooze while I stand around working, and I'm tired of it. I'm the one with a store to run, with bills to pay."

  "I was only trying to find customers," Angie explained logically. "But I believe that's not what—"

  "I need customers, too!" Connie shouted. "Serving coffee isn't what I signed up for." With that, she stood up, grabbed her duster, and again began furiously whisking it about.

  Angie hurried after her. "Connie, you know I'm trying to find us both customers. Even Stan was a big help until he got scared and fled. But I think something more is going on."

  "I'll tell you what's going on. I see people talking about how cute your cupcakes are and it helps your 'custom cupcake' business grow," Connie continued, a cloud of dust wafting around her. "But it isn't doing my business any good at all. I can't take any more of this."

  "It's only been a little over three weeks."

  "That's three weeks too many."

  "What are you saying? I thought you wanted to do this, and that it would help your shop," Angie said. "We can work this out, can't we?"

  "I just wasn't cut out for this, Angie. I'll lose all my gift shop customers if I concentrate on the tea room."

  Angie looked around. "What customers?"

  Connie's mouth dropped open and she put down the duster. "Well! So that's how you feel!" She headed for the sales counter and the too-silent cash register.

  Angie pressed her hand to her mouth. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean it that way. I just meant that—"

  "Take your pastries and go. The tea room is closed." Angry tears filled her eyes.

  "Connie, tell me what's wrong? Can't we talk?"

  "First you insult my shop, then you ask why I'm upset?"

  "I didn't insult your shop. People will come to your store when they need a cute gift whether you're behind this cash register or over there pouring coffee."

  "Oh, so it doesn't matter where I am or what I do. Here, there. Who cares? Not my customers. I could be a department store mannequin for all they care. Is that what you're saying?" Connie was so angry she could scarcely spit out her words.

  "My God!" Angie gathered up her box of pastries and bustled toward the door. "There's simply no talking to you right now!"

  "You've got that right." Connie rushed to the door, opened it, and with folded arms waited for Angie to leave.

  Angie made sure she didn't have to wait long.

  o0o

  "Looks like we've got a friggin' serial killer on our hands," Calderon said as he wandered through the aging steel desks, file cabinets, stacks of folders, books, and papers that made up the Homicide bureau. He dropped a report onto Bo Benson's desk. "The autopsy came in."

  The two detec
tives, plus Paavo and Yosh, were the only ones in the office at the moment.

  Paavo stood up and looked over Bo's shoulder. "It's the same M.O., then?" he asked as Bo began reading through the material.

  "Sure is," Calderon replied. "Same lethal drug used on the victim; same kind of blade used; no sexual assault. What a mess."

  Soon after his visit to Tiburon, Paavo had informed them by phone about Joy Woolsey's murder, but now that the serial killer possibility was live, they wanted every detail he could give.

  "So, unless we can come up with a connection between the three women, not only are we dealing with a serial killer, but we've got one who attacks randomly," Calderon said. "That's the toughest kind to catch."

  Bo picked up the phone. "I'll call the Marin County Sheriff's Department. I know a detective there. They might have more information than the Tiburon PD."

  "Good idea," Calderon said. "And Paavo, good work."

  Bo's call was short. The Marin County deputy over the investigation was in the office and waiting for them. Soon, the two inspectors swaggered out the door.

  Paavo dropped back in his chair and watched them go. He would have loved to go along, he had to admit.

  "How's Angie doing?" Yosh asked. "Has she gotten over her fright from the other night?"

  "She'll feel a lot better if we find whoever killed her customer. I've asked her to stop doing deliveries, especially at night. Seems to me her customers can go to Connie's shop to pick up their orders."

  "Makes sense," Yosh said. "Does she have a lot of customers?"

  "All I can say is, it seems the only thing she does anymore is bake. You know Angie. When she's into something, she's like a dog with a bone."

  Yosh chuckled. "Sounds like she's pushed you over for Duncan Hines. What a gal!"

  "Funny," Paavo said.

  "I think I'd worry." Yosh couldn't help but snicker.

  Just then, the sound of high heels on the outer office's scruffy linoleum floor was heard. Angie appeared in the doorway, an almost other-world vision against the drabness of Homicide in a smart rose tweed suit over a trim and petite body, four-inch high heels, rose-colored lipstick, and matching fingernail polish. She was carrying a bakery box.

  "Here's your chance to get your wife back. Not an oven or Mixmaster in sight," Yosh said, then louder, "Hey, Angie. How you doing?"

  "Hey, Yosh. I'm fine, thanks." She handed Paavo the pastries. "Do you think your co-workers would like these?"

  He opened the box and the aroma of freshly backed pastries filled the office. Yosh sprang from his desk. "Oh, wow! I'll put them by the coffee machine after I pick out one, or maybe two, for myself."

  "Thanks," Paavo said as he led Angie to his desk.

  "Are you terribly busy?" she asked.

  Paavo pushed the paperwork to one side. "It can wait." He noticed the dark smudges under her eyes and a pinched look to her face that wasn't there a couple of days ago. The uneasiness he'd been feeling over the past few days came back to him. "Something's wrong," he managed to say with some modicum of calm. "Do you want to tell me about it?"

  She took a deep breath then blurted, "Connie hates me."

  Connie? "I'm sure she doesn't," he insisted. "You're her best friend."

  "She does." Angie placed her hand on his. "She threw me out of her shop." Dejected, she gazed at him with big, brown, woeful eyes.

  He could all but feel Yosh eavesdropping in the quiet room. He stood and shrugged on his sports jacket. "Let's go." As they walked out the door he glanced back at Yosh. "Lunch time."

  They went to Zeno's Greek restaurant around the corner. Police inspectors, assistant DAs, and even judges could be found there all hours of the day.

  They both ordered gyros and iced tea. "Now, tell me about you and Connie," Paavo said as they settled into a small, dark nook.

  She presented her sad story in heart-rending fashion.

  "Maybe you're being hard on her," he said after their food arrived. "She does have a business to run."

  "Hard? I wasn't. I tried to explain—"

  "But you clearly hurt her feelings."

  She was stunned. "I did? Me? How can you say that? I was only trying to help." Elbow on the table, she propped her chin in her hand. "People just don't understand me."

  "People?" He gazed at her. "You mean Connie?"

  "Well …" She straightened. "My sister Frannie wouldn't talk to me for months when she and Seth were having troubles—this was before they got married—and I told her I thought she'd be better off dropping a loser like him. He was a loser. In fact, I think he still is."

  "In other words, you said that about her fiancé."

  "I thought she'd want to know how I felt." She stared out the window a moment, then confessed, "I thought wrong."

  He didn't reply. He'd seen homicides resulting from people giving unwanted opinions on matters of the heart. "Sounds like you learned a lesson."

  "I suppose." She took a sip of tea. "And then there was the time when my cousin Richie was going through a very bad patch after his fiancée was killed. I tried to get him to shape up and eat right. He didn't appreciate my advice and told me to butt out of his life. I only gave him advice because I love him."

  "Oh? And how would you feel if someone did that to you?"

  "This was different. He was drinking too much and eating too much of the wrong food. He was making himself sick."

  "Don't you think he knew that?"

  "I was just trying to help. But he didn't let me explain."

  "I see."

  "Then," Angie began, but when she caught Paavo's eye, she clamped her lips together.

  "Then?" he nudged.

  "I don't—"

  "Come on."

  She sighed. "It has to do with my old friend, Nona Farraday."

  "The restaurant reviewer?"

  "That's right. On occasion, I'd make a suggestion about a review, especially if she had something wrong. Like once, she called cream rolls roulade, which are beef rolls, rather than rouleaux. I would have died of embarrassment if it had been me. I called her and told her she should demand an immediate retraction of her magazine article. Instead of doing that, she got mad at me! She told me to keep my nose out of her business. Can you imagine?"

  "Well..."

  "I give up. I'm misunderstood. I'm the victim here! I was just trying to be helpful, to help Connie, help Nona, help Richie, help all those near and dear to me and what happens? They get mad at me. Nobody appreciates me, Paavo. Nobody!"

  It was on the tip of his tongue to tell her how much he appreciated her, and then some. But a couple of assistant DAs walked in, stopped, and said hello before putting in their orders, and the moment passed.

  He finished his gyro, then said, "You're all worked up, but you must be missing something. What I mean is, you might be too outspoken at times, but your friends and relatives know you; they know that's what you're about. Frannie and your Cousin Richie still love you, Nona Farraday still talks to you about restaurants, and I'm sure Connie has a reason for acting the way she is, which has nothing to do with hating you."

  "But she does! It's my fault. Maybe I've been so busy with my business, I haven't paid enough attention to those around me."

  "I can't argue with that," he said, wondering if this might not, after all, be the opening he needed. "You've been pretty exhausted ever since we got back from our honeymoon. Don't you think you might be overdoing it?"

  "See what I mean? Even you …" She gave a deep sigh. "Okay, that settles it. I'm turning over a new leaf. I'm going to talk to my sisters about how to change my ways."

  The slight hope he'd felt at the words 'a new leaf' dissolved into hope that he hadn't heard right. "Your sisters?" Angie had four older sisters. Nice women, but fonts of enlightenment and comfort they were not.

  "They can help me," Angie said. "I'll ask them what it takes to be a friend."

  He rubbed his chin. "I don't know about that. Well, maybe Bianca, but..."

  "But what?
"

  He realized this was not the time to tell her what he thought of her sisters' help. From what he'd seen, they often made matters worse. "I'm sure you can think of a way to take care of this by yourself. Go to Connie. Talk to her and try to work it out."

  "I've tried that already. She won't listen. My sisters are older and wiser. I'm sure they'll have lots of advice for me. That'll settle it, I'm sure. Yes. I feel much better already." She glanced at her watch and jumped to her feet. "My God, I had no idea it was so late. I've got to get home and bake. I'm doing a special order for a new customer. He called this morning and wants the cupcakes delivered tonight. I was so upset about Connie I almost forgot! How could I do that?"

  "But Angie, you said you wouldn't—"

  "Got to run. My car's down the street. I might be a little late tonight." She gave him a quick kiss, then rushed out the door.

  He dropped some money onto the table and headed back to work. So much for paying more attention to those around her.

  o0o

  That night, Angie drove to the Haight-Ashbury district. She was so tired, she ached in places she never even knew existed. The dozen devil's food cupcakes with red frosting and a little trident and black cape on each one, rested snugly in the passenger seat of the Mercedes. She had barely finished them in time for the late evening, same-day delivery. But she was making extra money for the rush job, so she didn't mind it too much. Despite being exhausted, she was pleased to have met the deadline she had promised.

  The neighborhood wasn't a good one. She was surprised to be delivering gourmet custom cupcakes to a shop here, but then, almost every day her customers surprised her.

  The delivery location was a hardware shop. As expected, it was already closed, but she had been told that the office was down a walkway along the side of the building.

  She easily found it, and then inched along the dark, narrow space between two tall buildings. She was near the end of the walkway when a man appeared and stepped toward her. He wore a baseball cap and heavy tortoise-shell glasses over a high, hawk-like nose. His mustache was so black and wide it looked positively fake.