Murder Takes the Cake Text Read Online Free

all. I’m a cake decorator, and—”
    “Ooh, how neat!” Candy exclaimed, returning with the cat food. “Do you have a business card? You never know when you’re gonna need a pretty birthday cake or . . . I don’t know . . . a wedding cake.” She giggled.
    Mr. Dobbs rang up my purchase. “This should have that cat fattened up in no time.”
    “Thank you.” I paid for the cat food and handed Candy a business card.
    “Thanks,” Candy said with a glance at Mr. Dobbs. “I plan on callin’ you real soon.”
    As I left, I heard one of them lock the door behind me.
     
    *
     
    The next stop on my agenda was the grocery store. I needed shortening and confectioner’s sugar, as always, along with a few odds and ends. When I got up to the register, Juanita, the usual morning cashier, was at her post. Sure, I’d only been back in town for a month, but when you bake as much as I do, you get to know the people who work at your grocery store.
    “Good morning, Juanita. Do you have big plans for Thanksgiving?”
    “Oh, yes. My family will have a turkey, but we will also enjoy some of our traditional Mexican favorites like chimichangas.”
    I smiled. “Sounds good.”
    “It is.” She beamed. “And what of you? What are your big plans?”
    My smile faltered. “Dinner with the family.”
    Fred, the produce manager, came to the register and began bagging my groceries. He nodded at me in greeting.
    “I’m surprised the produce department can spare you this close to Thanksgiving,” I said.
    “They can spare me, all right.” He dropped my shortening sticks into a plastic bag. “I’m a bagger now.”
    I looked at Juanita, and she confirmed his announcement with downcast eyes and a slight tilt of her head.
    “I’m sorry,” I told Fred.
    He shrugged. “Not your fault. You’re not the one who complained about the stupid potatoes.” He shook a strand of his long dark hair out of his eyes. “That was Yodel Watson. It was her third complaint about the produce department in a week, and the manager demoted me to keep her happy.”
    “Surely, it’s only temporary,” I said.
    “That’s right,” Juanita agreed. “Maybe things will go back to normal now.”
    “Now that the old bag is dead?” Fred grinned. “Couldn’t have happened to a better person.”
    “Um . . . is the manager in? I’ve heard the store sometimes buys baked goods on commission, and I’d like to talk with him about that.”
    “Of course,” Juanita said. She called the store manager over the loudspeaker as Fred stalked away from the register.
    Within a couple minutes, a short, balding man came hurrying from the back of the store. He looked wary as he shot his hand out toward me. “Steve Franklin,” he said. “What can I do for you?”
    “I’m Daphne Martin of Daphne’s Delectable Cakes.” I shook his hand and then gave him a business card. “I’m of the understanding the store sometimes buys baked goods on commission?”
    “That’s right. We take whatever you bring in; and if it sells, we get a twenty-five percent commission.”
    “That sounds fair. May I put my logo and phone number on the boxes?”
    “Of course.” He tilted his head. “Tomorrow is one of our busiest days. How many cakes can you bring me before the store opens tomorrow morning?”
    “Any special requests?”
    He shook his head.
    I mentally took stock of my freezer. “Then I can bring ten.”
    “Fantastic. I’ll set up a display table right here at the front of the store.”
    “Thank you, Mr. Franklin. I’ll see you in the morning.”
     
    *
     
    I was happy to get back home and get to work. Raging rattlers and bitter baggers did not make for a pleasant morning. Nor had they helped my headache one bit. The ten-cake order, on the other hand, had done wonders for my mood.
    I’d finished putting my groceries away and removed the ten cakes from the freezer when Myra knocked on the door.
    In the spirit of Banjo, I called, “Come on in!”
    Myra came