Never Trust a Skinny Cupcake Baker (Death by Cupcake Book 1) (7 page)

BOOK: Never Trust a Skinny Cupcake Baker (Death by Cupcake Book 1)
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Chapter
13

According
to this BMI chart, I’m too short.

Instead of spending my morning working on the never ending
avalanche of administrative paperwork for the bakery the next morning, I’m
checking medical directories for a doctor in the region named Abram or
Abramson. Except I can’t find one. By the time Anna arrives, I’m ready to throw
my laptop against the wall and start screaming.

“Someone got up on the wrong side of bed this morning.” She
gently pries the laptop from my fingers and sets it down on the desk. “What’s
up?”

“I can’t find any doctors named Abram or Abramson in the
entire region!”

Anna grabs my laptop and sits on the chair in front of my
desk. “What about similar names? Like Abraham or something?” She starts typing
away. After a moment she looks up and shakes her head. “Hmm…let me try adding
an S or something.” It doesn’t take long before she’s shouting in triumph.
“There’s a Dr. Abrahams, a gynecologist. He’s at the University Medical
Center.”

“What’s his number?” I ask as I reach for my phone.

Anna grabs my phone out of my hand. “It’s just after four in
the morning! I don’t think you want to be calling right now.” Bummer, I hate it
when she’s right. She hands me my laptop with the website open to the doctor’s
information on the medical center’s page. “Time to bake!” she shouts in
excitement before skipping to the kitchen.

I try to sort through the inventory sheets to prepare this
week’s supply order, but I can’t concentrate. I give up after thirty minutes
and join Anna in the kitchen. She can always use some help. At six, I open the
bakery while Anna works on preparing sandwiches for the lunch crowd. The first
two hours are always a rush of professionals grabbing coffee and muffins to go
before heading out to their respective work places. As the fall semester has
yet to start at the University, there aren’t many students mingling around.

At exactly 8 a.m. I shout at Anna to take over the front so
I can call Dr. Abrahams. I go into my office and shut the door before dialing
his office number. “Dr. Abrahams office, how may I help you?”

“I’d like to speak to Dr. Abrahams, please.”

“Are you a patient?”

I shake my head. “Um no. This is for a private matter.”

“Honey, everything in this office is for a private matter.”
I blush as I remember Abrahams is a gynecologist.

I clear my throat. “Er, I mean it doesn’t have anything to
do with a medical condition.”

“Are you sure? Because if you’re not a patient and this is a
personal matter, but you don’t have the doctor’s private number, I can’t help
you.”

I take a deep breath and lie. “You got me. It is for a
medical condition. Gosh, this is embarrassing.” I don’t know where that last
part came from, but all I have to do is think of my pole dancing performance
yesterday and I’m feeling as embarrassed as I just pretended to be.

“Okay,” she chirps. “I can make an appointment for you. When
can you come in?”

“When is your earliest appointment?”

“I can pencil you in for Saturday at two. How’s that sound,
hon?”

“Great,” I say and give her my information. Now I just need
to come up with a gynecological medical issue. Oh yeah, no need to fake
embarrassment now.

I’ve only just set down my phone when it rings again.
“Hello?”

“Hold for Mr. Advocaat.” Oh great, my defense attorney’s
calling. It’s only 8 a.m. How much worse can this day get?

Mr. Advocaat comes onto the line. “Ms. Muller?”  

“Callie, please,” I automatically respond.

“Callie, then.” He clears his throat. “I received the
surveillance tape from the gym. Do you want to come over here and view it?”

“Yes, that’d be great. Are you available this afternoon after
the bakery closes?” In the lull between summer semester and fall semester,
we’re always a bit short on part-time workers. And I’m sure if I try to leave
Anna behind, she’ll start a riot or something.

“No problem. How does five sound?” We set the appointment
and hang up. Should I ask Ben to come with? I don’t want to jeopardize his
career, but he’s the one with investigative experience. I decide to just go for
it and quickly text him to ask him to meet me at the attorney’s office to watch
the surveillance tape from the gym. Naturally, he responds that he’ll pick me
up at the bakery.

♥♥♥

I’m doing a last wipe down of the tables in the café when
Ben arrives. He knocks on the door and smiles at me. I roll my eyes at him but
open the door. He sweeps me into his arms immediately. He kisses me as if he’s
been missing me for years instead of just a few days.

He ends the kiss and rests his forehead against mine. “I
feel like I haven’t seen you in forever.”

“It’s only been since Monday,” I giggle.

He closes his eyes and sighs. “I can’t believe that I
finally have you in my arms, but I have to stay away to protect you.”

Anna ruins the moment by shouting, “Are you guys gonna make
out all day in the bakery or are we going to see the lawyer?” I turn to her and
she winks at me. I shake my head at her, and Ben releases me.

“My car’s out front.” Ben nods to the car parked directly in
front of the bakery.

“I’ll check that the back door is locked,” Anna says and
rushes off. We try to leave the back door locked at all times, but it doesn’t
hurt to check. She’s back in less than a minute, and we all head out to Ben’s
car.

The drive to Advocaat’s office takes less than fifteen
minutes. His office is in the typical office park setting. Although the
planners have obviously made an attempt to create a nicer atmosphere by adding
green areas, it’s still sterile. Advocaat’s secretary ushers us into a
conference room. She tells us to take whatever refreshments we’d like from the sideboard
and then leaves us alone.

I take a seat while Ben moves to the drinks. He grabs a Coke
and a Sprite. He places the Sprite in front of me before taking a seat next to
me. I shake my head. “How do you know everything about me?”

He smiles and winks at me. “Did you forget I’m a detective?”

My attorney entering the room forestalls my response. He’s
carrying a large manila folder, and I panic for a moment. Is that my file? How
can the police possibly think I killed Dolly? Ben must sense my growing panic.
His hand moves to my neck, and he rubs circles into my skin with his
thumb. 

“Good afternoon, Callie. Thanks for coming in.” He nods at
Ben and Anna before grabbing a remote control from the table. “Let’s get
started, shall we?” Apparently, defense attorneys don’t do small talk.

There’s a large flat screen television covering a large area
of one wall of the room. A black and white video starts to play. Although the
picture is fuzzy, it’s clearly the parking lot outside of the gym. Advocaat
fast forwards a bit. “Hold on. I’ll just queue it to where the car is keyed.”

“Which car is it?” Ben asks as he stands and moves to stand
directly in front of the screen.

Advocaat pauses for a moment and points to an SUV taking up
two parking spots. When Ben nods, he starts the video again. A figure enters
the screen, and I stand to get a better look. It’s impossible to tell if the
person is a man or woman as the body is completely covered in baggy, dark
clothes and the hair is covered by the hood of the sweatshirt he or she is
wearing.

What is obvious is the person’s size. “There’s no way that’s
me. Whoever it is—is way too skinny to be me.” No one responds to my outburst,
and I continue to watch the tape.

The person doesn’t bother to look around before moving directly
to the SUV and taking out a key. He or I guess it could be she places the key
against the middle of the front door and keys the SUV from front to back.
“Wow!” Anna says. “A woman’s revenge strikes again!”

Advocaat stops the video and nods. “Yes, it’s impossible to
tell if the person is a woman, but we’re assuming it’s a woman.”

“Can you see what type of car that is?” Ben asks.

Advocaat looks at his notes. “According to my file, Dolly
owned a Toyota Sienna.”

Ben nods. “Callie didn’t do this.”

I roll my eyes. “That’s what I’m saying. That person is way
too thin to be me.”

Ben ignores my outburst – again. “How tall are you,
sweetheart?”

What does that have to do with anything? “Five feet five.
Why?”

He points to the video. “Take a look at the vehicle. What do
you notice about it?”

I shrug but take a closer look. “It’s an SUV.”

Ben nods. “And what is a characteristic of an SUV?”

“Technically an SUV is a large vehicle designed to be used on
rough surfaces. In reality, the acronym is used to describe nearly any vehicle
with all-wheel drive and raised ground clearance.” I’m not sure what knowing
the definition of an SUV has to do with anything.

Anna jumps up. “Oh! I know. It’s tall!”

Ben grins at Anna. “Can you look up the height of a Toyota
Sienna?”

Anna whips out her phone and starts tapping away. I start to
ask what is going on, but Ben just holds up one finger indicating I should
wait. “Sixty-eighty point nine inches.” More tapping. “That’s five feet seven
and a half inches.”

Ben takes the remote from Advocaat and reverses until the
person is standing next to the car. “What do you notice now?”

I gasp. How had I missed that? “She’s as tall as the car!”

Advocaat is furiously making notes in the file. I look to
him and ask, “What now?”

He finishes his notes before looking up and answering. “I’ll
contact the detectives and let him know of our findings.” He caps his pen and
leans back in his chair. “I’m afraid they’re going to still consider you a
suspect, though.” He shakes his head. “They have to be the most hard-headed
detectives I’ve seen.”

My heart falls. This is beyond ridiculous. “So that’s it?
There’s nothing we can do.”

Advocaat reaches into his dossier and pulls out a photocopy.
“Actually, there is. I have a copy of the note you supposedly wrote. But my
handwriting expert is backed up. He can’t get to it until end of next week.”

I start to yell about the unfairness of it all when I
suddenly remember something. “Does it have to be a certain expert?”

Advocaat shakes his head. “No. As long as it’s someone
recognized as an expert in the field.”

Ben moves to me. “What are you thinking?”

“Well,” I blush. “I met one of the forensic experts at the
University at one of Dean Jorgenson’s dinner events.” There are always tons of
dinners to attend as the University is constantly trying to raise money for
some research project.

“That’s great.” Ben smiles, and I squirm. “Why are you
nervous?”

“Um. I kind of met him because he asked me out.” I feel my
face heating up.

Ben scowls. “Set up an appointment with him, but I’m going
with you.”

“Don’t forget about me!” Anna pipes up. As if that is even
remotely possible.

Chapter
14

Stressed
spelled backwards is desserts. Coincidence? I think not.

I call my colleague, Andy Tanner, as soon as it’s a
respectable hour the next morning. He answers on the first ring. “This is
Professor Tanner.”

I sure hope he remembers me. “Hi, Professor. This is Dr.
Callie Muller. I don’t know if you remember me.” I take a deep breath and
prepare myself to beg for help.

“Callie! Of course, I remember you.” His voice is friendly
and warm. Maybe I won’t have to beg after all. “What a nasty business that
murder is. I can’t believe they’re accusing you. I even heard a rumor that you
were suspended.” It doesn’t matter that the students gone for summer break; the
University is a hotbed of rumors.

“Actually that’s why I’m calling,” I start cautiously.

“What can I do to help?” I immediately switch gears from begging
to asking a fellow colleague for a favor.

“It’s a bit complicated, but I think I’m being framed.” I
clear my throat. “You see the victim was found with a note on her that I
supposedly wrote, but I didn’t write it.”

“And you think I can take an expert look?”

“Would you?” My voice is pleading.

“Of course. Do you have the note?”

“I have a copy. Is that okay?”

He takes a moment to respond, and I start to get nervous.
“Well,” he finally responds. “It won’t be admissible in court unless I have the
original document, but it should be enough to clear you in the investigation.”

I nearly laugh.
Yeah, right.
For some reason, logical
thinking is missing from the detectives who should be investigating the murder.
“Can I bring the sample by this afternoon? I know it’s Friday, but it’d be a
great help.”

“No worries. I’ll be in until four.” I thank him and hang
up. I quickly text Ben with the time and location before standing to tell Anna
she’s going to miss the appointment as we don’t have any other workers coming
in this afternoon.

♥♥♥

Ben is already waiting outside of the social sciences hall
when I arrive on my bike. He meets me as I lock up my bike. “Hi, sweetheart,”
he whispers as he kisses my forehead.

I smile up at him and grab his hand. “Come on. Andy’s only
here for another half an hour.” We walk to the building, and then climb the
stairs to the third floor where Tanner’s office is located. His office door is
closed when we arrive and I’m about to knock, but Ben stops me with a pull on
my hand. I turn to question him, but he doesn’t give me a chance to speak.
Instead, he kisses the life out of me. Only when I’m completely breathless does
he release me and smile.

“There, now we can go see your admirer.” He smirks. I shake
my head at his caveman display.

I knock on the door and then push it open when I hear
someone yell, “Come in”. A disheveled man stands up from his overflowing desk
and smiles.

“Hi, Callie! I’m glad you called,” Tanner says and walks
around his desk to shake my hand.

“Hey Andy. This is Ben.” I shake his hand and nod towards
Ben.

“Her boyfriend,” Ben insists when I don’t indicate why he’s
here with me.

I roll my eyes. “Stop saying that!”

“Did I or did I not just kiss you breathless in the
hallway?” His eyes heat up, and I blush.

I clear my throat and decide to not bother replying to Ben’s
caveman displays. I open my backpack and pull out the photocopy of the
postcard, which I supposedly wrote. “This is the writing I was talking about.”
I hand him the card, and he moves off to a corner desk containing a large
magnifying glass.

“Can you write the exact same message for me?” He asks and
hands me a pen and piece of paper.

“Sure.” I move the papers covering his guest chair and sit
down to write. I don’t need to look at the postcard. I have the text memorized.
Sorry about your car, Callie.
I quickly scribble the words before
standing and handing the card to Andy. He places the cards next to each other
on his table and projects them onto the opposite wall.

Ben moves to study the projections on the wall and looks at
the samples. “I’m not an expert, but even I can tell that this isn’t Callie’s
handwriting.”

Andy continues to study the samples. “Let’s not get ahead of
ourselves,” he mumbles. “You’re sure this is one of your postcards?”

“Yeah,” I nod at him although his eyes are still
concentrated on his table. “I saw the original when the police questioned me.
It was the same colors and type of paper.”

“I think it’s safe to assume the card came from Callie’s
bakery. She doesn’t deny that. But she didn’t write that,” Ben speaks with
absolute confidence and a butterfly or two may flutter in my stomach at his
belief in me.

I stand next to Andy and peer over his shoulder. “So how
does this work?”

“I’m looking for differences in the individual characteristics
of the handwriting.”

I look at Ben to see if he understands, but he just shrugs
at me. “What are individual characteristics?”

Andy looks up from his desk and puts his glasses on top of his
head. “How a letter is formed. For example, the curves, slants, size of the
letters, slope of writing, and use of connecting lines.” He walks to the
projection on the wall and points to my sample. “If you look here, you can see
your letters slope slightly to the left, which indicates that you are most
likely left-handed.”

I nod. “But you knew that already.”

Andy turns to me and smiles. “Yes, I did, but apparently
whoever wrote this note did not.”

“What?”

He turns back to the projection and this time points to the
original note. “Whoever wrote this note is most definitely right-handed. See
here,” he points to the l’s in Callie. “This is a most distinctive slant to the
right. A left-handed person would only slant his letters like this if she was
trying to forge someone else’s writing.” I think about it and imagine myself
writing my name with a right slant. Andy’s right, it would be awkward and
uncomfortable.

“You said she. Can you tell the gender of the person who
wrote the note?” Ben asks.

 Andy looks at Ben and raises an eyebrow. “Interesting
question. Before we were all attached to digital devices
twenty-four seven
, it was possible to determine
someone’s gender by looking at a handwriting sample. These days,” he shrugs,
“it’s not as easy.”

Ben turns back to the samples. “How come I get the distinct
feeling that the person who wrote this is a woman, then?”

“Because this person is probably born in a time when
handwriting was still part of daily life. I’d guess at least forty.”

“So this is definitely a woman’s writing?” I hold my breath
waiting for his answer. This could be a big break in the case.

Andy shakes his head. “Not necessarily. The writing
certainly looks female, but it could be simulated.”

“You mean faked?” Ben asks, and Andy nods.

“Is there any way to tell if it is faked?”

Andy turns back to stare at the projected handwriting
sample. “It’s difficult, but there are things I can look for. Shaky lines, dark
and thick starts and finishes for words, and lots of pen lifts. These
characteristics indicate a person slowly and carefully formed words instead of
writing naturally.”

“Do you see any signs of that?”

Andy shrugs. “I really need the original to make an accurate
assessment. And these things take time. I can’t just look at a handwriting
example and make judgments. It needs careful and scientific study. Otherwise,
it won’t be admissible in court.”

I nod. “What about the writer being right-handed? Is that
admissible?” I’d like to walk away from here with at least a bit of good news.

Andy smiles. “I haven’t done a careful analysis, but I’m
fairly certain that the writer is right-handed. Why don’t you leave the samples
with me, and I’ll take some time next week to have a closer look?”

I nod because I don’t really have a choice. Did I really
expect to walk away with definitive proof that I didn’t write the note? The
note is the only evidence the homicide detectives have. It would be great to
say that there’s not a chance in the world that I wrote the note, but it
doesn’t look like that is how things work.

Ben sees the downturn in my mood and steps up to me to wrap
his arm around me. He squeezes tight, and I lean my head against his shoulder.
He kisses my hair. “This is good news, Callie.” I nod because he’s right. It’s
just not the great news I was hoping for.

BOOK: Never Trust a Skinny Cupcake Baker (Death by Cupcake Book 1)
4.56Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
ads

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