Murder Takes the Cake Text Read Free

the preacher tried to intervene. ‘They both look delicious,’ he told them, ‘and I’m sure there are enough of us here to eat them both.’
    “Yodel’s and China’s eyes were locked like two snarling dogs, and I don’t believe either of them heard a word he said. China had already set her cake on the table, but Yodel was still holding hers. China calmly placed her hand on the bottom of Yodel’s cake plate and upended that cake right on Yodel’s chest.”
    I giggled. “Really?”
    “Really. And then China walked to the door and said, ‘I’ve had it with her. I won’t be back here until one of us is dead.’ And she ain’t been back to church since.”
    “Wow,” I said. “That’s some story.”
    “Makes you wonder if China finally got tired of sitting home by herself on Sunday mornings.”
    Seeing how serious Myra looked, I stifled my laughter. “Do you honestly think this woman has been nursing a grudge all these years and killed Mrs. Watson rather than simply finding herself another church?”
    “There’s not another Baptist church within ten miles of here.” She finished off her soda. “People have killed for crazier reasons than that, haven’t they?”
    “I suppose, but—”
    “And if it wasn’t China York, I can think of a few other folks who had it in for Yodel.”
    “Come on. I’ll admit she’s been a pain to work with on these cakes, but I have a hard time casting Mrs. Watson in the role of Cruella De Vil.”
    Myra got up and put her empty soda can in the garbage. “I didn’t say she made puppy coats. I said there were a lot of people who’d just as soon not have Yodel Watson around.”
     
    *
     
    I was relieved when Myra left. She seemed to be a good person, and I liked her; but she could be a bit much. Everything had to be so dramatic with her. She even had me wondering whether or not poor Mrs. Watson died of natural causes.
    I got up and walked down the hall to my office. It had a sofa bed to double as a guest room if need be. Other than that, it held a desk, a file cabinet and a bookcase full of cookbooks, cake decorating books, small-business books, marketing books and one photograph of me with Lucas and Leslie. The photo had been taken last year when I was at Violet’s house for Christmas.
    I booted up the computer. As always, I checked my e-mail first. E-mail is a procrastinator’s dream come true.
    There was a message from my friend Bonnie, still holding down the fort at the company I’d worked for in Tennessee.
    Hey, girl! Are you up to your eyebrows in cake batter? I can think of worse predicaments. We get off half a day Wednesday. I can hardly wait. Do you have tons of orders to fill before Thursday? I hope so. I mean, I hope business is off to a good start but that you have time to enjoy the holiday, too. I really miss you, Daph. Write when you can and fill me in on everything, especially whether or not any of your neighbors are HAGS!
    I smiled. HAG was our acronym for Hot Available Guys. It wasn’t a flattering acronym, but it worked.
    I marked the e-mail as unread and neglected to reply until I had better news to report. As I deleted my junk messages, I thought about Bonnie. She and I had met while I was taking culinary classes at a local college. She was taking business courses and was desperate to get into the field I wanted out of so badly. We met one evening because we were two of the oldest people in the student lounge. That night even the faculty members present were in their twenties! Bonnie and I were both in our early thirties, and after that initial meeting we had fun people-watching over coffee before all our evening classes.
    When a job came open at our company, Bonnie applied and got the job. I was glad. It wasn’t long after she got the job that my college days came to an abrupt end. Not believing that I could actually be good—make that great—at something, dear hubby Todd came by the school one evening and saw Chef Pierre. Admittedly, Chef