Battered to Death (Daphne Martin Cake Mysteries) by Gayle Trent Page A

Martin,” he said calmly. “This cake stand was used to bash Jordan Richards over the head. He was hit hard enough to daze him—probably even knock him out—and then his face was submerged in the cake batter until he suffocated to death.”
    “That may be,” I said, “but I’m not the one who did it. When I last saw Chef Richards, he was fine.”
    “And when was that, Ms. Martin?” Officer McAfee asked.
    “Yesterday at about a quarter to five in the afternoon,” I said.
Officer McAfee shared a look with the round-faced Officer Baker. Officer Baker took over questioning.
    “Ms. Martin, do you know a Pauline Wilson?”
    “If she’s the Ms. Wilson who was a student in our class, then I met her yesterday,” I answered.
    “Did she also use this cake stand?” Officer Baker asked.
    “No. She had her own. We all did.”
    “Did she use the same table as you?” he asked.
    “No. My table mate was Lou Gimmel from South Carolina,” I said.
    “Ms. Wilson never came over and asked to borrow your cake stand or to look at your work?” asked Officer Baker.
    I shook my head. “No. As far as I know, she had no contact—at least, during class time—with the cake stand that I was using. Why?”
    “Because her fingerprints are also on this cake stand,” he said.
    I looked from Officer McAfee to Officer Baker and back again. “Well, there you go. I should be in the clear. If another person’s fingerprints were found on the cake stand I was using, then that person obviously made use of it either before or after I was finished with it.”
    Officer McAfee rolled closer to me in his wheeled office chair. “Or that particular cake stand was being utilized by Pauline Wilson during class, and you’re the one who picked it up either before or after the class was over.”
“I’m telling you, I didn’t see Chef Richards before or after the string work class,” I said. “If you want me to take a polygraph test and tell you that again, I will do so.”
    “Some of the other students told us that Chef Richards antagonized some of you during the class,” Officer Baker said. “Is that true?”
    “I would have to say that he antagonized all of us at one point or another,” I said. “And he antagonized his assistant, Fiona, too.”
    “Chef Richards brought up your past relationship with your ex-husband and the attempt Mr. Martin made on your life, did he not?” Officer Baker asked.
    “Yes, he did.”
    Officer McAfee leaned forward. “He brought that up in front of the entire class? That must have been humiliating.”
    “It was,” I said. “But it was nothing I can’t handle . . . nothing I hadn’t been through before. Besides, everyone in Brea Ridge knows about my past. So what if Chef Richards brought it up?”
    “But it wasn’t just people from Brea Ridge in that class, was it? It was fellow bakers from all over the country . . . or, at least, the eastern part of the United States. I mean, you said your table mate was from South Carolina, right?” asked Officer McAfee.
    “That’s right.”
“These were your peers. And Chef Richards didn’t just bring up your past history with your husband,” Office McAfee said. “He made a joke of it—made a joke of you— in front of the entire class. He personally attacked you. Isn’t that true?”
    “He personally attacked all of us,” I said. “Did you talk with Mr. Conroy, whom Chef Richards called a slob?”
    “Not yet,” Officer McAfee said. “But we will be interrogating all the students.” He rolled even closer into my personal space. “However, since your fingerprints—and those of Pauline Wilson—are on the murder weapon, we will be taking a closer look at the two of you.”
    “Well, just don’t look at me so hard that the real killer gets away,” I said, praying that the two officers in the room didn’t realize that my bones and every muscle in my body felt as if they’d turned to jelly.
    “We’re going to let you go now,” said Officer