For several seconds after Davenport’s departure, we stood in a tense silence. Then, the avalanche hit and the silence was gone.
“Are you out of your mind?”
“You can’t do that.”
“What were you thinking?”
My head was spinning as I was hit with the barrage of comments questioning my sanity. In one moment of anger, I went from cripplingly indecisive to bold impulsivity, and the swing made me light-headed. I held up my hand and sifted through a bazillion thoughts to give a response that could explain what I’d just done. Nothing came to mind.
“Wow! Who peed in his Cheerios?”
I turned to see who had just spoken and caught sight of Candace Hurston Rivers.
Candy was small, not more than five feet tall, but she knew how to use her assets to her best advantage. She wore heels that appeared to add at least a foot to her small frame. The heels made her already short skirts seem shorter, and her shapely legs looked as though they went on forever. She teased her hair so that it gave the illusion of another couple of inches. Her eyes were prominent, probably due to her preference for the overly dramatic drag queen lashes she wore. Michael was fascinated that she was capable of opening her eyelids with the excessively thick, overly dramatic lashes, but she had skills.
“How’d you get in?” I asked.
Candy pointed toward the back of the building. “I came through the tunnel.”
“Tunnel? What tunnel?”
“The tunnel that connects your store to mine.” She stared. “You didn’t know?”
I glanced at Leroy, who shrugged and shook his head.
“The construction folks found it while they were renovating the coffee shop. It’s old and dusty, but it works, and it looks like someone has been through there recently. I assumed you knew. I guess it’s true what they say about assuming. Come on, I’ll show you.”
Candy led us toward a door to a closet off the kitchen. She pushed aside the mops and cleaning supplies, and at the back of the closet was another door. She twisted the knob and opened the door.
A dank, earthy scent wafted through along with a breeze that sent a shiver up my spine.
That’s when I noticed that Candy had a cobweb hanging off the back of her skirt.
“Come on.” She picked up a flashlight that she’d left on the kitchen counter and stepped through the door.
I shook my head. No way was I going through that tunnel. “Classic slasher horror movie mistake. Never take the tunnel down into the dark abyss of doom.”
Michael smiled at the running joke we had shared since our first adventure. He hesitated for a moment until Candy yelled, “Hey, are you guys coming or what?” Then, he shrugged and followed Candy.
“I can’t believe this has been here the entire time and Miss Octavia didn’t know,” Leroy mumbled and then headed through the closet.
April and I exchanged looks. She patted the gun holstered to her leg. “I suppose I should go too, in case the boys need cover. I am the only one packing heat.” She headed toward the closet, but before she descended, she turned. “You coming?”
“Absolutely not. I’m staying here with my finger on my phone, ready to call nine-one-one if you don’t come back in ten minutes.”
She nodded and headed through the closet.
“Or if someone screams,” I mumbled to myself. “And to think, I used to dream of visiting Narnia.”
I waited for fifteen minutes and was just about to call for reinforcements when I heard voices from the closet.
Leroy came out first with his hair full of cobwebs and brushing dirt from his shirt. Once he was out, he turned and held out a hand to help April and then Candy. It didn’t surprise me to see that Michael was the last one to emerge.
“I guess now we know how Mayor Rivers got into Baby Cakes the night he was murdered,” Leroy said.
April swiped his arm and glanced in Candy’s direction.
“Oh, I’m sorry,” he apologized.
Candy shrugged. “It’s okay.”
“So, where does it lead?” I asked.
“Next door,” April said.
“I gathered that much.” It took a great deal of effort for me to swallow the Thanks, Captain Obvious retort, but I did. “I mean, is that it? Why build a secret passage that leads next door? I mean, was one of these buildings ever a bank?”
April shook her head. “Not that I know. Why do you ask?”
“It just seems odd, sort of like a Sherlock Holmes story I read.”
“Not another Sherlock Holmes book,” Michael said. “Between you and your great-aunt Octavia, everything boils down to a mystery by a fictional detective.”
I made a point of ignoring him. “It was ‘The Red-Headed League.’ There’s this redheaded guy . . . I can’t remember his name.” I swiped my phone and asked Siri, “What are the names of the characters in the ‘Red-Headed League’ by Sir Arthur Conan Doyle?”
Siri rattled off the names, and I stopped her after I heard the name I was looking for. “Mr. Wilson. Wilson was this red-headed man who owned a shop. He had hired an assistant named Clay who encouraged him to respond to a newspaper ad offering a job by the Red-Headed League. The League supposedly had an endowment that provided money to a redheaded man to copy the encyclopedia.”
“The encyclopedia?” Michael asked. “Whatever for?”
“Actually, it turned out to be busy work. They just wanted him out of his shop because his shop was across the street from a bank. So, while Mr. Wilson was out copying the encyclopedia, his assistant was digging a tunnel so they could break into the bank. Once their tunnel was done, they ended Wilson’s assignment. Wilson hired Sherlock Holmes to find out why.”
April narrowed her eyes. “I can check at the clerk’s office, but I don’t think there was ever a bank here. At least not since I’ve lived here.” She glanced at Leroy, who shook his head.
Michael had only lived here a year longer than me. He’d had a successful veterinarian practice in Chicago but moved to New Bison when his grandmother was diagnosed with dementia. I was the new kid on the block.
“What happened to Mr. Wilson?” Candy asked.
“Nothing. Sherlock Holmes figured out what the assistant was up to and set a trap. When the gang tried to break into the bank vault, Holmes was waiting for him with the police.”
Candy stared. “That’s fascinating. I’ll bet that’s what happened here. Maybe Paul wanted to break into Baby Cakes and steal . . .” She glanced around at the bakery kitchen.
Leroy chuckled. “What? Cookies? What’s here worth stealing? Miss Octavia’s secret recipe for Chocolate Soul Cake?”
Candy snapped her fingers and smiled. “Yes. I’ll bet that’s it.”
April and I exchanged glances, but neither of us spoke. Candy wasn’t the sharpest knife in the drawer, but she was nice.
“Since he’s passed, I’ve learned that Paul was into some shady things. I wouldn’t put it past him to try and steal Miss Octavia’s recipe. I mean, he’d have done anything to get her house and this building. The louse.” She stared at April. “Anyway, it sounds like your husband is pretty shady too.”
April’s cheeks flushed, and she glanced around the room. Candy had apparently been listening to our conversation a lot longer than we realized. She must have heard April mention that Clayton Davenport was her husband, but Leroy and Michael weren’t aware of the details. They still thought Davenport was April’s ex. April must have realized it was just a matter of time before everyone in town knew the secret she’d been hiding. Eventually, she sighed. “Look, now that he’s here, I’m sure everything is going to come out anyway, so I might as well tell you. Clayton Davenport is my husband. We’re separated, and I intend to get divorced just as soon as I can. However, I don’t want to talk about it.” April folded her arms across her chest and stared at the floor.
An awkward silence followed April’s statement. After a few moments, Candy walked over and enveloped April in an embrace.
“I completely understand,” Candy said. “Some men can be such pigs.”
I glanced at Leroy, who was fuming. He had the world’s biggest crush on April, so I assumed he was upset at learning that April wasn’t divorced and that her husband was actually here in town. I walked over to him. “It’s going to be okay.”
“Is it?” He slammed his fist on the counter, causing me to jump.
“Of course, it is.”
“How? How is it going to be okay? He’s rich. He’s flying in a master chef from Belgium. You can barely boil water, and you just accepted a challenge from him to a winner take all bake-off like some kind of old-fashioned Gunfight at the O.K. Corral. What were you thinking?”
Everyone stared at me.
“I wasn’t thinking.”
“Obviously,” Leroy mumbled.
“I was impulsive and irresponsible. Not the first time. I thought I was making progress, but obviously, I just had a relapse. I know on the surface I have about as much chance of winning a baking contest against a professionally trained master chef as a snowball in . . . well, you know, but—”
Michael stopped my verbal bombardment by walking over and giving me a hug. “Never mind, Squid. I’ll do everything I can to support you.”
I glanced across at Leroy, my head baker and friend. We’d only known each other for a short time, but we’d bonded. He was what I’d imagined it would be like if I had a brother. So, it hurt not to have his support. My heart ached, and I snuggled my head into Michael’s chest.
After a few moments, April stepped forward. “I’m no master baker, but I’ll do what I can to help. There’s no way I’m going to let CJ take your bakery, no matter what I have to do.”
I hugged her.
“Well, I probably know even less about baking than anyone here, but I’ll help if I can,” Candy said.
I hugged her too. Their words of comfort and reassurance helped keep me from having a meltdown. These were my friends. Actually, more like family. I had to take several deep breaths and choke back the tears. “I appreciate the support.” I turned to Leroy, who had been surprisingly quiet.
Leroy took a deep breath. “My dad was a gambler. My mom said he would have bet with the devil himself if the spread was good enough. I don’t really remember much about him.” Leroy stared for several seconds. “He walked out on us when I was a kid.”
He never talked about his dad, so I wasn’t sure where this was going. My heart sank when he turned and headed toward the door.
He opened the door and turned back to face me. “I do remember one thing he always said. Scared money never wins.” He grinned. “You may not be able to cook, but you’re brave, and you’re definitely a fighter. My money is on you one hundred percent. Now, if we’re going to take on a master chef, we need to get busy. We can’t stand around wasting time.”
I smiled up at Michael. “Hooyah!”
