Dying For a Cupcake: A Devereaux's Dime Store Mystery Page 11

  Just as the idea was about to break to the surface of my consciousness, Dad and Hannah arrived. While I was giving them instructions for the day, the sleigh bells above the door jingled. I checked my watch. It was exactly nine o’clock and the first customers poured into the store. With people clamoring for my attention, all thoughts concerning Fallon, Kizzy, and the near accident fled my mind and I concentrated on helping folks spend their money.

  The continued flow of shoppers was amazing, and even Gwen Bourne, who rarely patronized my store, came by to purchase one of life’s little necessities. It was the only place in sixty miles that sold Espresso Addict dark chocolate bars, and Gwen had an eighty-gram-a-day habit.

  I was distracted by the sight of Gwen flirting with my father at the candy case, and it took several seconds for me to notice that Kizzy had entered the shop. She wore her usual genial smile as she greeted her fans, but when she got to where I was standing behind the register, her lips pressed together in a displeased moue, which deepened the wrinkles that bracketed her mouth and the crease between her brows.

  “Give me the key to your back entrance and the one to the second floor,” Kizzy demanded, holding out her palm and tapping her foot.

  “Why do you need the storeroom exit key?” I asked as I handed over the one to the second story. “I don’t like to give that out.”

  “I have several cartons of material that I need to take upstairs and I assume you don’t want me traipsing through your sales floor,” she snapped.

  “Are you by yourself?” I asked, surprised the cupcake tycoon was doing actual physical labor. “Where’s Lee?”

  “She’s at the cooking school.” Kizzy’s lips pressed even tighter together. “My assistant would normally take care of putting the last touches out for the judging.” The cupcake queen heaved a loud put-upon sigh. “But in Fallon’s absence, I’m forced to see to the details myself since apparently no around here wants to earn any extra cash.”

  “How inconvenient for you,” I commented, wanting to add that things were a hell of a lot worse for Fallon, but biting back the words just before they left my mouth. “Most available townspeople are already occupied with Cupcake Weekend activities, but I could ask my clerk if any of her friends would like a job.”

  “How about you lend me your clerk and you take one of her pals?” Kizzy suggested with a manipulative gleam in her eye. “I assume, since you seem to be a fairly sharp businesswoman, your employee’s competent, or you wouldn’t have hired her.”

  “I’m afraid that wouldn’t work for me,” I said firmly. “Let me go open that back door for you.” I apologized to the customers waiting in line and promised that I would be right back, then flipped open the counter and gestured for Kizzy to follow me into the storage room. “This way.”

  “It would be easier if you just gave me the key,” Kizzy complained.

  “I don’t mind.” I unlocked the rear exit and said, “Please make sure you turn the dead bolt when you’re finished unloading.”

  “Aren’t you going to help me?” Kizzy asked, folding her arms.

  “Sorry.” I shook my head. “I’m certain you can manage just fine on your own. Last night, you mentioned missing your personal trainer, so think of this as a good workout.”

  “Your ridiculous little opinion has been noted.” Kizzy’s eyes swept my curves. “And I’m not the one who needs to get more exercise.”

  I drew in a sharp breath. Kizzy was getting damn close to my particular international enough mob, but instead of laying into her, I said, “You saw the line of shoppers waiting for me to ring up their sales. I need to get back out front.”

  “You wouldn’t have that crowd if it weren’t for my contest.” Kizzy’s pout was truly impressive. “Without help, I’m going to have to make three or four trips from the parking lot up to the display room.”

  “Sorry,” I repeated, edging away from the petulant cupcake queen.

  “Fine.” Kizzy narrowed her eyes. “But I’m going to remember how uncooperative you’ve been and you might not be included in my next hometown promotion.” She lifted her chin. “And I just might do this every year. That is, if I can get a little cooperation.”

  “Sorry,” I repeated for the third time before hurrying back to the cash register. For about a second and a half, I questioned my decision, but then I mentally shook my head. I seriously doubted that Kizzy would have an annual cupcake contest in Shadow Bend, and even if she did, and she excluded me from the committee, the out-of-towners who attended would still patronize my shop.

  Half an hour or so went by and the store was still crammed full of customers when I heard the faint ringing of the second-floor smoke detectors. For a moment, I froze and a voice inside my head wailed that my schedule was too full for a crisis today. Then my common sense kicked in and I yelled for everyone to get out of the building.

  Leaving Hannah and my father to oversee the evacuation and call 911, I grabbed the fire extinguisher from behind the counter and raced over to the door leading to the stairwell. It was cool to the touch, so I yanked it open. When there were no clouds of billowing smoke to greet me, I took the steps two at a time, hoping against hope that the alarm was nothing more than a low backup battery.

  Besides someone getting hurt or the store burning to the ground, my worst fear was of the fire sprinklers being triggered. Per the regulations for commercial establishments, the sprinklers had been installed every hundred and fifty square feet throughout the building, and they automatically came on if the temperature exceeded a certain point. Activation would cause an untold amount of water damage.

  As I reached the top of the stairs, I called out, “Kizzy, are you up here?” There was no answer and I tried again. “Kizzy, are you here?” Again, there was silence.

  Sniffing, I raced down the short hallway. The odor of smoke was coming from the office suite that had been left intact to use as a lounge for the judges. Skidding to a stop, I put my palm on the closed door’s surface. The wood didn’t feel hot, so I eased the door open. Kizzy lay on the floor, surrounded by a ring of burning papers.

  Pulling the pin on the extinguisher, I aimed the nozzle at the circle of flames, squeezed the handle, and swept the fire from side to side. Ten seconds later, the fire appeared to be out, which was a good thing since I had used up all the foam and didn’t have a second extinguisher with me.

  Now that the smoke was clearing, I could see Kizzy lying facedown. It looked as if she had been hit over the head with the trophy lying next to her on the floor. The foot-tall Lucite pedestal topped with a crystal cupcake was spattered with gore, and the glass column was cracked near the metal base.

  Kneeling by Kizzy’s unconscious form, I grimaced. There was a lot of blood. Kizzy’s French twist had come undone and her hair was matted with the sticky red stuff.

  Oh. My. God! Was she dead? I resisted the urge to turn her over, having read that it was extremely dangerous to move an injured person. Instead, I checked for a pulse, then breathed a huge sigh of relief when I felt a strong beat against my fingertips.

  I searched my pockets for my cell, until I remembered setting it down on the shelf under the register. As I debated whether I should leave Kizzy alone in order to go downstairs and telephone for an ambulance or wait for help to arrive in response to the alarm, I heard the fire truck’s siren. A few seconds later, booted feet pounded up the stairs, and an instant after that, a firefighter in full turnout gear stomped into the office.

  I pointed out the charred trash surrounding Kizzy, and after he made sure that the flames were totally extinguished, the firefighter called for an EMT. He then took my elbow and firmly escorted me out of the building. I joined my father and Hannah on the concrete bench in front of my dime store, and we all watched as various uniformed individuals hustled in and out of the glass door.

  While we waited, I filled in my staff regarding the situation inside; then
I borrowed Hannah’s cell and called Poppy. Thank goodness that I had her number memorized. After I explained the situation, Poppy promised to contact Ronni and Lee and have one of them telephone me on my clerk’s phone. As I waited, I vowed never to be parted from my own cell again. If necessary, I would have it surgically Velcroed to my side.

  The ambulance and Chief Kincaid had both arrived soon after I had been banished from my store. Both disappeared inside, the chief shooting me a frustrated glare. I wasn’t sure why I was the object of his exasperation, but I was willing to bet that he would soon inform me of the reason. Meanwhile, I fielded questions from the folks who had gathered to watch the spectacle. While I was trying to downplay the incident to the crowd, both Ronni and Lee called and I lowered my voice, hunched my shoulders, and told each of them about Kizzy and the fire.

  Speaking of Kizzy, I was surprised that the paramedics hadn’t brought out the cupcake CEO yet, but then, time flies when you’re in a panic. Still I had begun to fear that she had died when I heard her screech, “Put me down this instant. Do you have any idea who I am? I do not have time to go the hospital. I have a contest to run.”

  Luckily, Lee arrived just in time to hear Kizzy browbeating the poor EMTs. I noticed she was driving Fallon’s car and wondered how she felt about having to borrow a dead woman’s vehicle. Lee marched up to her business partner and said, “You most certainly are going to the hospital. Devereaux told me that you were struck on the head and unconscious when she found you. Not to mention possible smoke inhalation and loss of blood. You need to be checked out by a doctor.”

  She glanced at me and I waved but didn’t join her. I was sitting only a few feet away and could hear the conversation perfectly. No need to get involved and give Kizzy more reasons to be upset with me. I only wished Lee hadn’t named me as the snitch.

  After some back-and-forth between the partners, Kizzy agreed to have a doctor take a look at her. No one was happy with the compromise. Kizzy sulked and the paramedics tried once again to persuade the injured woman to allow them to take her to the hospital.

  While the EMTs completed a report reflecting that the patient refused treatment and/or transport, Lee called me over and said, “When Fallon was so ill, Ronni mentioned that there was a medical facility in town, but it wasn’t open that night. Is it open today?”

  “Yes.” I pointed. “The Underwood Clinic is two blocks over. Just hang a right when you get past the town square and you can’t miss it. It’ll be the big brick building on your left.”

  Kizzy signed the document that the paramedics had prepared, then with the help of her partner eased into the car. Just before they drove away, Kizzy rolled down the window and beckoned to me.

  When I approached, she said, “If we can’t have the cupcake exhibition at your store, it is your responsibility to find somewhere else that’s suitable and fund the change.” I opened my mouth to protest, but she warned, “Otherwise, I expect a full refund of all the money already paid to you.” I opened my mouth again and she advised, “Check your contract if you doubt my sincerity.”

  Lee exchanged a sympathetic glance with me, then put the Fiat in gear and pulled into the street. As I hurried into the dime store, I checked my watch. I had less than two hours to determine if we needed an alternative location for the first round of judging and, if we did, to find a place that could accommodate the event.

  Having sent Hannah and my father home with instructions to return for the store’s evening hours, I now stood alone in the middle of the sales floor. Firefighters had been hurrying past me for the last twenty minutes, and the last of the crew clomped out the front door without acknowledging me. Did that mean they were finished with my shop? I looked around. Everything seemed about the same as when the smoke detector went off and we cleared the place. Were they still inspecting the second-floor space?

  “Yoo-hoo! Anyone around?” I called up the stairwell. “I need to talk to someone.” I put my hand on the railing. “Are you all done up there?” I raised my voice. “May I speak to whoever is in charge?”

  Nothing.

  “Hello!” I started to slowly climb steps, then nearly fell backward when a massive figure loomed at the top of the landing.

  Thank goodness, my common sense took over before I screamed like a five-year-old. Mentally smacking myself, I took a deep steadying breath. The guy was decked out in a bright yellow coat, trousers, and helmet. He was obviously one of the firefighters rather than the mad arsonist that my fevered imagination had immediately feared.

  He raised his visor and said, “We meet again.”

  Wowie! Even all dirty and sweaty, or maybe because of that, this guy was a hunk. Trying to regain some of my cool, I asked, “Were you the first firefighter on the scene? The one who called the ambulance?”

  “Yep.” His frown was teasing. “Guess I didn’t make that much of an impression on you.”

  “Sorry. You all sort of look the same in that getup of yours,” I explained.

  “Well, let me take off my turnout gear so you recognize me next time.”

  As he descended the stairs, I hastily backed up, then remembering my manners, asked, “Would you like a bottle of water?”

  “That would be great. Thanks.” He grinned. “Let me slip into something more comfortable and I’ll tell you about your fire.”

  “Great,” I echoed. It was ironic that such a hot guy put out fires for a living. My guess was that he lit a lot of women’s flames and dousing those blazes involved a hose different from the one on his truck.

  CHAPTER 12

  While I waited for the firefighter to return, I went behind the soda fountain to pour myself a cup of coffee. Miraculously, no one had turned off the pot. I had just taken my first sip and nearly choked when, as if by magic, Chief Kincaid appeared in front of me. That man was quieter than my grandmother’s cat, Banshee. And nearly as intimidating as the Siamese who enjoyed dive-bombing my head whenever I got close enough to his kitty condo for him to pounce.

  The chief had questioned me earlier while I was sitting on the bench outside, but now he informed me that his crime scene techs were currently processing the second floor, and until they were finished, that area was off-limits. When pressed, he grudgingly admitted that the techs would probably be done by late afternoon, but he refused to name a specific time.

  As he hurried away to track down Kizzy, I walked over to the front counter and retrieved my cell phone from the shelf underneath the register, where I had carelessly left it before the fire. As I was dialing Poppy’s number, it suddenly dawned on me that the chief didn’t know that the cupcake queen had nixed the EMTs’ original plan to transport her to the hospital. If I’d remembered, I could have told him she would be at Noah’s clinic, but I’d been so rattled at his declaration that my upstairs was going to be unavailable for the next several hours, I’d forgotten.

  Because Winnie’s cooking school was too small to accommodate observers, the Dessert Channel had agreed to provide a live feed, and Kizzy’s company had outfitted Gossip Central with several large plasma screens so the Cupcake Weekenders could watch as the finalists whipped up their entries. With most of the audience already at Poppy’s bar, I suggested that we move the cupcake exhibition to her place. She agreed to set up the Hayloft for the presentation but stipulated that I had to get the displays over to her by two. Now all I had to do was figure out how to sweet-talk someone into releasing the stands to me in time.

  I chewed my thumbnail. How was I going to do that? None of the police officers were particular friends of mine, and unfortunately, no one on the force owed me a favor. I needed another option, but my mind was a blank. Then, as if a sign from heaven that a hero was coming to my rescue, the sleigh bells above the store’s entrance jingled. Maybe the cute firefighter walking toward me would be my knight in shining running shorts and white T-shirt.

  Allowing myself a couple of long seconds to admire t
he powerful physique that his abbreviated outfit revealed, I almost drooled at his broad shoulders, well-developed arms, and muscular thighs. Then I reminded myself of the two handsome men already creating confusion in my life and forced myself to look away. But not before I took one more tiny peek at his massive chest.

  Finally, getting my hormones under control, I asked, “Would you like to sit here or would you prefer to talk in the back room at my desk?”

  “Here’s fine.” He swung a leg over the stool and sat down. “Sorry about the clothes. They’re the only ones I had in my unit.”

  “Not a problem,” I assured him, then realized that I had seen the fire truck leave. “You didn’t come over with the others?”

  “No. I drove my own vehicle.” The firefighter held out his hand. “I’m Chief Cooper McCall. But my friends call me Coop.”

  “I’m Devereaux Sinclair and my friends call me Dev,” I said. “So you’re the new fire chief. The one they hired when Augustus Leary retired.”

  “Right. I started a month ago.” Coop took the water bottle I silently held out to him. “Since the department is mostly volunteers, the city council hired me to take over when he left. I’ve only been on the job a couple of weeks.”

  “Are you a native Shadow Bender?” I asked. I was pretty sure he wasn’t since we were roughly the same age and I, like any other woman who set eyes on him, would have remembered him if we’d been in school together. “Or did you move here for the job?”

  “I’m originally from a small town in Georgia, but I joined the marines right out of high school, which is where I got my fire protection training.” He took a long swig of water, finishing half the bottle in one gulp, then said, “I’ve been working in Kansas City since I got out of the service.”

  “I worked in Kansas City for years before buying the dime store.” I took a sip of coffee. “But I’ve always lived in Shadow Bend.”