Murder is a Piece of Cake (A Baker Street Mystery Book 2)

Three months ago, I was awakened in the middle of the night by two police officers who came to my house and asked me to come to the New Bison Police Station because someone had been murdered in my bakery. When the doorbell rang at midnight and the same two policemen came to the door, I thought I was dreaming. It was déjà vu. The last time, I’d only been in town less than twenty-four hours, and I didn’t know their names. One of the officers was round and pudgy. He reminded me of the Pillsbury Doughboy. This time, I knew that his name was Officer Al Norris. The other one had a bad case of acne, red hair, and looked about twelve. In an attempt to look older, he’d started growing a beard that made him look like a wire-haired terrier. His name was Officer Jerrod Thomas.

“Good evening, Miss Montgomery,” Officer Norris said. “We’re sorry to bother you, but the boss asked us to swing by and kindly ask if you’d come downtown with us.”

Normally, the sheriff and the police were two separate entities, with the sheriff covering an entire county, rather than a small village the size of New Bison. But April’s predecessor, Sheriff Harper, had wielded a great deal of power in his day, and combined the two. When April defeated him and became sheriff, she now held the reins of power, which amounted to an elected title and head of a police force with less than ten people.

“April? Is everything okay? Of course, I’ll come. She’s not hurt is she?” My mind immediately went there, and even though I knew the likelihood of April getting shot was slim, it was still an occupational hazard. We’d talked about it, but given the size of New Bison, it seemed remote. However, we never dreamed that Michael and Baby would get shot either, but that had happened.

“Sheriff Johnson’s fine. She’s waiting for us downtown.”

In the three months that I’d known Officer Norris, he hadn’t changed much. He still wasn’t volunteering any information.

“Fine, I’ll come, but I need to put on some clothes.”

They declined to wait inside. I suspected their reluctance was due to Baby, but everyone at the NBPD knew he was just a big cuddly teddy bear who drooled a lot. Well, mostly, when he wasn’t trying to protect me and take out deranged murderers. Regardless, they chose to wait in their patrol car instead.

I hurried upstairs and threw on a pair of black Khaite leggings and a wool asymmetrical sweater that I’d commissioned from Tyler. It was spring, but the wind coming across Lake Michigan could be chilly at night.

Baby looked on from his perch on my bed.

I slipped on a pair of black mules and turned to Baby. “What do you think?”

Baby yawned and rolled over on his side.

“Everybody’s a critic.” I slipped off the mules and put on a pair of caramel suede loafers with a gold-toned metal kitten heel. “How are these?”

Baby sat up.

“Males,” I mumbled. I debated bringing Baby with me. “Baby, come.”

He jumped down and followed me outside.

I stopped at the back door long enough for Baby to answer the call of nature and then opened the passenger door, and he climbed into the front seat of my Range Rover. When I moved to New Bison, I rented the SUV at the airport with every intention of returning the car in a week or two. But when Aunt Octavia’s will made it clear that I’d be staying here for at least a year, combined with the wear, tear, and drool of a large mastiff, I arranged to buy the car from the rental agency. Baby was a lot of dog for the two-seat, Lexus LC convertible I drove in L.A. And my convertible would never hold up to New Bison winters.

I tooted my horn as I backed out of the two-car garage that was attached to the house to let the patrolmen know I was ready and then followed them toward downtown.

My first surprise came when they missed the turn that would have led directly to the police station and instead turned toward Main Street.

New Bison is a small town that closes at eleven. The few stoplights in town actually stop operating and flash yellow in all directions. When I asked about this, I learned there was no point waiting at a stoplight when there’s no traffic. The patrol car pulled up behind Baby Cakes Bakery. April’s patrol car and two other cars belonging to the state police lined the back of the building and blocked the alley.

I got out of the car. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw the expensive McLaren Spider that belonged to my lawyer, Chris Russell, parked next door, behind what used to be Candy Rivers’s coffee shop. I didn’t have time to ponder how or why he was there.

April came outside just as I got out. Based on the look on her face, I knew something awful had happened.

“What is it?”

“Murder.”

My stomach contracted into a knot. My throat was suddenly so dry, I had to swallow several times to work up enough saliva to talk. “Leroy?”

“No. Leroy’s fine. He’s with Tyler.”

I exhaled. “Thank God.” I glanced at April. “Who?”

She took a deep breath. “Clayton. He’s been stabbed.”