Vanilla Vengeance by Molly Maple

Author:Molly Maple [Maple, Molly]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Mary E. Twomey, LLC
Published: 2021-01-01T16:00:00+00:00

13

Meringue and Murder Theory

Baking cupcakes is not a task that can be rushed. It is comforting to know that if I mix eggs, sugar, butter and vanilla into flour, baking soda, and salt, it will always turn into cupcakes.

Sometimes the whole world needs more sugar; other times, it’s just me who can’t go another day without creating something that sweetens my life.

Tonight, on my fourth batch of cupcakes, Marianne and I have gone over the details of Gerald’s murder too many times to count, but we are still nowhere solid.

Marianne scrubs my mixing bowl for the seventh time tonight. “So you’re positive it both has to be Winifred, and also that it can’t be her.”

“Yes.”

She narrows one eye at me to give me a glimpse of her wry humor. “Nothing confusing about that.”

“And you’re still positive it’s Amos Vandermuth?”

Marianne nods. “I can’t shake it. He cares about money an unhealthy amount. I mean, you saw how livid he was about possibly having to pay a few dimes in late fees.” Her shoulders slump. “But on the other hand, I like Amos. He helps me with the books for the library on occasion. It feels just as wrong to point the finger at him.”

“True. But being a miser doesn’t make you a murder.”

“Neither does being clumsy with orange paint,” she points out. “I just don’t believe Winifred would murder a man.”

“Me neither,” I admit. “But I can’t discount the evidence just because I love her, or because she’s family.” My eyes close. “She’s been limping.”

“She’s not exactly a teenager.”

“Sure, but is she limping because of arthritis, or because she was just in a physical altercation that ended with her murdering a man?”

We both go silent as the question settles in the air.

I chew on my lower lip, my heart aching that I’m entertaining such thoughts. Though, as much as I’d like to dismiss them, I can’t brush them aside.

“Change the subject, I beg of you,” I insist as my angst climbs too high for my tolerance.

Marianne snorts. “I can’t believe they’re out fishing in the evening. They’re too funny.”

My mouth firms as I whip the eggs for the Italian meringue by hand. “That is weird. I didn’t think about that before. I’ve never heard of night fishing.”

Marianne stills, and then slowly turns her head toward me. “Not that I believe Winifred did it, but if I was going to dump a murder weapon or some sort of evidence, I would do it at the creek under cover of night. Preferably with an alibi, like fishing with friends.”

The fact that Marianne comes to this conclusion has me reeling. My gut doesn’t want it to make this much sense, which is no doubt why I didn’t get there sooner.

Then, as if Marianne doesn’t want to be caught saying anything that might throw me further down that trail, she corrects hard with a cheery, “But that’s not what they’re doing. They’re fishing. They’re just really, really bad at it. I still think Amos did it.

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