Read Online Battered to Death (Daphne Martin Cake Mysteries) by Gayle Trent - Free Book Online
Authors: Gayle Trent
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for whoever did kill the old goat.”
I lowered the washcloth. “You’ve got a point.”
“Don’t I always?” she asked.
“Yes,” I said. “Yes, you do. The police think either I or one of the other students killed Jordan Richards. They’re going to stay focused on me unless I can point them in some other direction.”
“Right. Now you’re sounding more like the Daphne I know,” China said. “And although I imagine Myra would be much more of a hindrance than a help to him, I think you should get Mark Thompson to give you a hand.”
“I can’t afford Mark’s rates,” I said. “I blew my budget all to pieces on Chef Richards’s class . . . which was cut short by a day . . . for obvious reasons, but I doubt that anyone will be refunding half my tuition.”
She grinned. “You let Myra take care of Mark’s fee. I imagine she’ll take the case herself in order to gain some experience. He’ll be forced to do all the real work to keep her from looking bad.”
“Well, she did come over earlier and start making out a suspect list,” I said. “Of course, I was at the top of that list. Wait until I tell her my fingerprints were on the murder weapon.”
“What was the murder weapon?” China asked. “Did you say it was a cake plate?”
“It was a porcelain cake stand with a metal turntable . . . kind of like the one I use when I’m decorating cakes, except mine is plastic,” I said.
“Is there a good reason why your fingerprints were on the cake stand?”
I nodded. “We were each given one to work with. Plus, another student’s fingerprints were found on the cake stand too.”
“So, there you go,” she said. “You’re not the only suspect. Turn Mark Thompson loose on this other student. What’s his name?”
“ Her name is Pauline Wilson,” I said.
“Do you think she murdered the chef?” China asked.
“No. She just didn’t seem to be the type. He humiliated her yesterday—like he did the rest of us—and it was all she could do not to cry,” I said. “I felt sorry for her.”
“Still, you don’t know that her humiliation didn’t turn to rage after class ended,” she said. “Maybe the woman stayed behind to confront him. No one ever seems to be the type who would haul off and kill somebody, but just about all of us are capable of it under the right circumstances.”
“I guess,” I said.
“Other than this Pauline Wilson, was there anybody else that Chef Richards picked on . . . someone who wasn’t afraid to give it right back to him?” China asked.
“There was a guy named Gavin Conroy who stood up to Chef Richards,” I said. “And Chef Richards backed off of harassing him. At one point, I even thought Mr. Conroy might be a plant to show that not everyone was browbeaten by Chef Richards.”
“Why would Chef Richards plant someone in his own class to stand up to him?” she asked.
“I don’t know.” I sighed. “I feel that I don’t know anything anymore. Even Thursday’s class is all a blur now. And I left in such a hurry, I didn’t see what happened once Chef Richards told us he’d see us all tomorrow . . . or those of you who are brave enough to come back. That’s how he put it. I all but sprinted to the door.”
“Then go in there to your kitchen, work on your cakes, and let your mind relax enough to help you remember,” she said. “You’re bound to have noticed something. . . . You’re just too upset to think about it right now.”
6
A FTER C HINA left, I felt composed enough to check the messages on my answering machine. The first was from Violet.
“Hey, Daph. I heard about Chef Richards,” she said. “I’m so sorry. Do you know what happened to him? I’m guessing with that temper he was famous for that he had a heart attack or a stroke. Call me when you get time. Love you.”
The next message was from Ben.
“Hi, sweetheart. I’m calling to see if you’re okay. One of my friends on the police force told me you’re one of the
I lowered the washcloth. “You’ve got a point.”
“Don’t I always?” she asked.
“Yes,” I said. “Yes, you do. The police think either I or one of the other students killed Jordan Richards. They’re going to stay focused on me unless I can point them in some other direction.”
“Right. Now you’re sounding more like the Daphne I know,” China said. “And although I imagine Myra would be much more of a hindrance than a help to him, I think you should get Mark Thompson to give you a hand.”
“I can’t afford Mark’s rates,” I said. “I blew my budget all to pieces on Chef Richards’s class . . . which was cut short by a day . . . for obvious reasons, but I doubt that anyone will be refunding half my tuition.”
She grinned. “You let Myra take care of Mark’s fee. I imagine she’ll take the case herself in order to gain some experience. He’ll be forced to do all the real work to keep her from looking bad.”
“Well, she did come over earlier and start making out a suspect list,” I said. “Of course, I was at the top of that list. Wait until I tell her my fingerprints were on the murder weapon.”
“What was the murder weapon?” China asked. “Did you say it was a cake plate?”
“It was a porcelain cake stand with a metal turntable . . . kind of like the one I use when I’m decorating cakes, except mine is plastic,” I said.
“Is there a good reason why your fingerprints were on the cake stand?”
I nodded. “We were each given one to work with. Plus, another student’s fingerprints were found on the cake stand too.”
“So, there you go,” she said. “You’re not the only suspect. Turn Mark Thompson loose on this other student. What’s his name?”
“ Her name is Pauline Wilson,” I said.
“Do you think she murdered the chef?” China asked.
“No. She just didn’t seem to be the type. He humiliated her yesterday—like he did the rest of us—and it was all she could do not to cry,” I said. “I felt sorry for her.”
“Still, you don’t know that her humiliation didn’t turn to rage after class ended,” she said. “Maybe the woman stayed behind to confront him. No one ever seems to be the type who would haul off and kill somebody, but just about all of us are capable of it under the right circumstances.”
“I guess,” I said.
“Other than this Pauline Wilson, was there anybody else that Chef Richards picked on . . . someone who wasn’t afraid to give it right back to him?” China asked.
“There was a guy named Gavin Conroy who stood up to Chef Richards,” I said. “And Chef Richards backed off of harassing him. At one point, I even thought Mr. Conroy might be a plant to show that not everyone was browbeaten by Chef Richards.”
“Why would Chef Richards plant someone in his own class to stand up to him?” she asked.
“I don’t know.” I sighed. “I feel that I don’t know anything anymore. Even Thursday’s class is all a blur now. And I left in such a hurry, I didn’t see what happened once Chef Richards told us he’d see us all tomorrow . . . or those of you who are brave enough to come back. That’s how he put it. I all but sprinted to the door.”
“Then go in there to your kitchen, work on your cakes, and let your mind relax enough to help you remember,” she said. “You’re bound to have noticed something. . . . You’re just too upset to think about it right now.”
6
A FTER C HINA left, I felt composed enough to check the messages on my answering machine. The first was from Violet.
“Hey, Daph. I heard about Chef Richards,” she said. “I’m so sorry. Do you know what happened to him? I’m guessing with that temper he was famous for that he had a heart attack or a stroke. Call me when you get time. Love you.”
The next message was from Ben.
“Hi, sweetheart. I’m calling to see if you’re okay. One of my friends on the police force told me you’re one of the
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