Doughnuts & Deadly Schemes - Culinary Competition Mystery #3

Chapter 2

(Carla)

Judging from the stunned reactions, whatever was in the dressing room wasn't pleasant. Carla sprinted across the store to join the men and see if she could help. As the store owner backed out of the doorway, she got a glimpse of the horrifying scene. A blond man hung from a hook meant for clothing anchored on the side wall of the room—with his necktie acting as a noose. A trickle of blood snaked from the corner of his mouth. He stared at the doorway, eyes wide open.

Adrenaline kicked in, and Carla's medical training took over. She rushed to the man and pressed her fingers into the side of his neck to check for a pulse. The muscles were hard. His arms and legs were as stiff as a mannequin. Rigor mortis had set in, but she held her fingers in place a bit longer in a futile hope that she would find a heartbeat.

Even though his feet were several inches off the ground, she was still face-to-face with the dead man. The metallic smell of blood made her nostrils flare. She wasn't mentally prepared to deal with gore and death, not away from the emergency room while she was shopping for her wedding. The front of his pastel green dress shirt was soaked with a river of blood that bloomed from his stomach, flowed down his tan pants and pooled on the hardwood floor under his feet.

"Should we get him down and do CPR?" a male voice asked from outside the room.

She didn't know who asked the question, but it didn't matter. "I'm a nurse. I'm sorry, but there's nothing we can do for him now." She turned to face the group of people peering at her through the doorway. Amy was peeking between Matt and the customer. Carla looked at her and said, "Call 9-1-1."

Amy pulled her phone out of the front pocket of her purse and disappeared from view. When Carla emerged from the room, Amy was already talking to the emergency operator. Carla looked up at Matt and said quietly, "I'm not a detective, but judging from the injuries, I'm pretty sure this is a murder. I suggest we all stay out of the room so no evidence is destroyed. I take it you know him?"

He nodded. His skin was ashen, and his hands were shaking. Beads of sweat glittered on his forehead. "He's Luke Crowe. Co-owner of this store. He was my best friend."

"I'm sorry for your loss. Why don't you have a seat?" Carla said as she guided him to a nearby leather wingback chair. "The police will be here soon."

And hopefully, Bruce won't be one of them. It was a selfish thought, but she hoped he wouldn't take on any new cases over the next few weeks so he could help more with the wedding, instead of spending countless hours chasing down leads before they grew cold. It was bad enough that she had just gone from shopping for the wedding to telling a man his best friend was dead.

"I'm going to call Sophie and let her know that Matt is okay," Amy whispered into Carla's ear. "She'll freak out when she sees the ambulance stop here."

"Good idea," Carla said as she turned to assess the other men. The older gentleman customer had crumpled into one of the other leather chairs arranged outside the dressing rooms. He was wringing his hands and tapping his foot on the floor. She squatted in front of him. "How are you feeling, sir? Can I get you some water or something?"

"No...no. I was a medic in the Army." He smiled slightly. "I'll be okay. Just a bit shocked at the moment."

She turned her attention to the younger man who had been behind the counter. Over the breast pocket of his cardinal red vest, a gold name tag with Thane engraved on it flashed in the light. He leaned back against one of the closed dressing room doors and stared at the worn Oriental rug under his feet.