Bananas Foster and a Dead Mobster Read Free Page A

believe you. But it's going to take one hell of an investigation for me to convince everyone else."
    My vision goes blurry as more tears come flooding out. I try to stop them by focusing on something other than the farmers' market and the dead body of the man in the pinstripe suit. I'm not doing a very good job. I keep seeing the man's face in my head. His smug smile as he reached for his dessert. The sweat stains on his shirt. The way he resembled a thick tree trunk in his bark-colored suit.
    "How?" It's all I can manage to get out at the moment.
    "Someone must have stolen it from you," Detective Reid responds. "With how many people have circulated through here today, it could've been anyone." He pauses, giving me more time to dry my cheeks. "If more than one person can verify that you indeed were in your booth at the time of the murder then you have nothing to worry about."
    "See." Bree changes the tone of her voice and tries to sound more upbeat. "You're off the hook. I saw you . Karl saw you. Georgina might've seen you."
    "Stay put this time," he instructs. "No wandering off looking for clues. The Bianco family are not people you want to mess with." He nods. "And Poppy…" He waits for me to look at him, affirming that he has my full attention.
    "Yeah?"
    "Call me if you notice anything suspicious. Anything at all."
    I still have his number from last year's murder mess, but he hands me another one of his cards. Bree keeps her arm around me as he walks away. It makes me feel like a lost chick under her mother's wing. I sniffle, pulling myself together as Bree's eyes go wide.
    "Oh, cupcakes," she says in almost a whisper. She removes her arm from around my shoulder and begins twiddling her thumbs. Her hands are itching to work, but there's no time for nervous baking or stress eating. The police are shutting down the farmer's market, and we have to pack up our booth.
    "You forgot to make your bed this morning?" I guess. The usual banter doesn't lighten the mood. I still feel like a fool for being at the center of Detective Derek Reid's radar—yet again. Hopefully he'll trust me a little more this time.
    "Derek is right," Bree continues. "Keep his number handy."
    "I don't get it." I take a deep breath. "I thought the school was cleansed of ruthless nutballs last year, but obviously someone still has it out for me."
    "Poppy." Bree gulps. "You know how the mob operates, don't you?"
    "Only in the movies," I answer.
    "When a member dies, they send someone to retaliate." Her eyes dart around the field. "Sooner or later someone else will come looking for answers, and you know what he'll find?"
    "Oh, cupcakes," I mutter back, shaking my head. "A murder weapon with my name on it."
    A promise from Detective Reid won't be enough to save me when a pissed-off mobster comes banging on my door.
    I might as well start digging my own grave.
     

CHAPTER THREE
     
    "We can do it," Bree insists. "You have a knack for figuring things out."
    "That's because I have a knack for being in the wrong place at the wrong time." I continue to watch as the two women at the Sweet T Soaps stand hurriedly untie their banner. One of the quickest takedowns I've ever seen. "It's called being unlucky."
    "You figured it out last time," Bree goes on. "You managed to survive Paris too. Don't let Detective Reid douse your cakes with lumpy frosting. By the time he's done pouring his morning coffee tomorrow the mob could already be on your tail."
    "I know," I admit. "You don't have to remind me."
    My heart thumps in my chest like a hard ball of dough.
    I'm in deep.
    I breathe in the fiery, humid air, and it doesn't help any. I take a second look at the soap stand—thoughtful arrangements of sudsy strawberry shortcakes on cake stands and trays of colorful bars laid out like cookies at a bake sale all shoved in a box. I tilt my head toward the booth until Bree catches on. She eyes the women as they begin folding tablecloths and clearing their pamphlet display.
    It's as