Banana Muffins & Mayhem - Culinary Competition Mystery #5

Chapter 4

(Carla)

Carla stared at the chunks of broken plate scattered on the floor in front of the sink. A patch of ketchup had been her downfall. The plate was heavy. The thin layer of unconsumed condiment was slippery. Her once cat-like reflexes had developed a two-second delay thanks to a perpetual lack of sleep. So now one of the beautiful, one-of-a-kind plates that her mother had made was shattered, just inches away from its intended destination—the top rack of the dishwasher.

"Are you okay?" Bruce called from the living room.

"I'm fine. The plate...not so much."

"Let me know if you need any help. I'm..." Her husband's voice trailed off. He was camped out in his recliner in the living room, doing research for his latest case. Something interesting must've popped up onto the screen. His laser focus and machine-like work ethic made him a fantastic homicide detective, but sometimes those admirable qualities didn't make being his wife easy. On top of that, their daughter had inherited his stubborn tenacity and applied it as much as possible to not sleeping at night. The crankiness from colic was beginning to lessen, but even though she was feeling better, the baby was still staying up until the wee hours of the morning. Routines were important to babies, and Macy had developed one heck of a mind-bending one that she was determined to keep with or without a tummy ache.

Carla swiped the back of her hand across a tear that had escaped from her eye. The wife and mom gig was hard. She stooped to pick up the ceramic shards. Bruce's voice filtered into the small kitchen again. Macy cooed in response. He was a wonderful father, but she was feeling like a hot mess of a mother. At the moment, she certainly looked like one. Her hair hadn't been washed for at least two days. And she was wearing puke-splattered scrubs, even though the only nursing she was doing was to provide nourishment for her infant daughter. Although she had kept the comfortable uniforms, it had been over six months since she last worked in the Kellerton Hospital emergency room, the place that used to be her second home.

After stacking the sharp pottery shards on a paper towel, she carefully folded in the sides and stood up. Carla turned toward the garbage can, took one step, and smacked her shin on the open dishwasher door. That did it. The lone tear from a moment ago turned into a torrent. "Stupid tiny kitchen," she whispered to herself.

She and Bruce had planned on moving out of the cramped townhouse soon after the baby was born but hadn't gotten around to doing so yet. Carla wasn't a cook like Amy was, but even she was becoming annoyed with the narrow galley kitchen. When she didn't get enough sleep, which was pretty much every day, she tended to smack sensitive body parts into cabinet knobs and open appliance doors. Yet the task of packing up the household and then unpacking it all again somewhere else made her head throb just thinking about it. Right on cue, a headache thumped to life at the base of her skull. Just what she needed on top of the aching shin and leaky eyes.

The doorbell chimed. Macy broke off the conversation with her daddy to do her rather impressive and seemingly accurate wailing banshee imitation. Carla dropped the broken dish parcel in the trash can and tried to mop up some of the tears with a napkin she had grabbed off the counter. Luckily, since she barely had enough free time to get dressed every day, she absolutely couldn't spare the minutes to apply mascara. It was a small consolation to know she didn't look like a raccoon.

She sighed with relief when she opened the front door. It was Amy. Not some neighborhood child selling gift wrap for a school fundraiser. If it had been, the kid probably would've run away screaming. Her BFF, on the other hand, had watched her give birth after twelve hours of labor. A bit of walking dead funk wouldn't bother her much.

"Are you alright?" Amy asked. Her nose wrinkled. Was the grimace because of concern, or did Carla smell like a bedpan during a flu outbreak? Amy held up a white paper bag. "Brownies and key lime bars from the café. Maybe they will help?"

"I just whacked my leg on the open dishwasher door. That really hurt." Carla snatched the bag out of Amy's hand. Sugary baked goods were never a bad thing, especially when they came from Riverbend or Amy's kitchen. "Brownies will definitely help."

In the living room, Macy screeched a greeting. Carla nodded toward the couch. "Why don't you go sit down? I'm going to grab some plates and forks so that we can all have a treat."

Carla returned to find Amy sitting on the floor in front of Macy's bouncy seat instead of on the couch. "You can pick her up," she said as she arranged plates topped with the baked goods in between the baby toys stacked on the coffee table.

Amy shook her head. "No...that's okay. I'm sure she's more comfortable where she is."

Bruce peeked over the top of his laptop screen once Amy had turned her attention back to Macy. He raised an eyebrow. Carla shrugged. She had thought Amy's aversion to children might go away after she got used to being around Macy, but her apprehension seemed to still be in full effect.

"So what brings you by?" Carla asked.

Amy leaned forward so she could make eye contact with Bruce around his computer screen. "I'm worried. Do you think the fact that Phoebe was found at Quantum is significant? I just can't shake the feeling that it is, and it's freaking me out."

He flipped down the screen and set the laptop on the coffee table. "It's too soon to tell. I'm sure Alex isn't involved, but there are a lot of employees in his business. You know as well as I do that some people are very good at hiding the truth. Unfortunately, Alex could have a killer on his payroll."

Amy nodded. She had a gruesome knack for finding dead bodies. Then, because it was just her nature, she tried to figure out who had committed the murder—probably her twisted way to pay back the killers for putting her through the ordeal of finding a body. Misjudging character was an Achilles' heel that had almost landed her in the morgue several times over the past few years. Yet Amy still seemed to have no problems with poking around a murder investigation.

Bruce continued. "I'm working on a new case, so I haven't had the time to check in with Lauren to see what she's found. The Dumpster enclosure could've just been the least visible spot to leave the body. That would be the optimal scenario."

"But she wasn't murdered next to the Dumpster, right?" Amy handed Macy her favorite toy—a pink, plush bunny. "Her head was covered in blood, but I didn't see any splattered anywhere. The bag containing her body wasn't even in the Dumpster, where it would've been much less likely to be discovered so quickly. To me, that points to a crime of passion or opportunity, not a thought out one. If plans had been made to kill her, why wasn't there a better plan for disposing of her body? So it's a pretty big leap to believe that if Phoebe was killed near the Dumpster, the murderer would've had the forethought to bring cleaning supplies to try to get rid of the evidence."

"Very good reasoning." Bruce picked up the key lime bar and left the plate on the table. A shower of powdered sugar drifted onto his jeans when he took a bite. "From what I saw, I don't think she was killed there either. When bodies are dumped, it's often difficult to find where the murder was committed. I know it wasn't her hotel room—I overheard that in the station today—but I'm not sure if Lauren has leads on anywhere else. Don't be surprised if she searches Quantum's building. I would if I were her."

"I understand. It's a logical place to look." Amy cringed when the baby squealed at the stuffed rabbit. "So finding the murder scene would be a huge break in the case?"

Carla removed another brownie from the bakery bag. She needed the sugar to help her sluggish brain keep up with the conversation. If Amy were paid a penny for every thought she had, she would be a millionaire. But one thing was clear to Carla—if the killer had randomly dumped the body at Alex's business, that person had made a big mistake. Amy had the determined look in her eyes that Carla had seen many times before. Whoever committed the murder had better watch themselves. Amy wasn't going to stand back, wringing her hands like a damsel in distress, while her husband got stuck in the crosshairs of a homicide investigation. She was going to try to find the killer herself.

Bruce nodded. "In this case, I think it could lead straight to the killer."