Instigator

By DelSheree Gladden

“Why would someone commit murder over a cupcake?”

That is Detective Gordon’s question. Eliza doesn’t have an answer, and doesn’t particularly want to find one. Gordy promises she doesn’t have to get involved...just look at the cupcake and use her culinary knowledge to tell him why it would inspire murder.

It’s never that easy.

Not for Eliza Carlisle.

What should be a relaxing two week break between semesters of culinary school turns into a never ending string of embarrassing, injury-inducing, rat-filled situations Eliza can’t escape. She hadn’t wanted to meet Puck’s parents to begin with. Meeting them in the middle of the murder investigation and running into Chef Harper, her least favorite instructor who is intent on making her life miserable, guarantees anything but a good time.
Add it just keeps getting better. Baxter is getting impatient. His ex-wife, the Evil Queen of Darkness, is getting more vicious by the second. Cupcake bakers are dropping every time the cops turns around. Eliza quickly finds herself hating the Christmas holidays even more than usual. All she has to do to survive her least favorite time of the year is catch a killer, beat Megan at her own evil game, hold off Baxter a little longer, and face down Puck’s unimpressed parents.

Piece of...cupcake.

• Language: English
• Publisher: DelSheree Gladden
• Release date: Jan 26, 2018
• ISBN: 9781370397600

DelSheree Gladden

DelSheree Gladden was one of those shy, quiet kids who spent more time reading than talking. She didn't speak a single word for the first few months of preschool. Her fascination with reading led to many hours spent in the library and bookstores, and eventually to writing. She wrote her first novel when she was sixteen years old, but spent ten years rewriting before it was published.Native to New Mexico, DelSheree and her family spent several years in Colorado before returning to northern New Mexico. When not writing novels, you can find DelSheree reading, hiking, sewing, playing with her dogs, and working with other authors.DelSheree has several bestselling young adult series and has hit the USA Today Bestseller list twice as part of box sets. DelSheree also has contemporary romance, cozy mystery, and paranormal new adult series. Her writing is as varied as her reading interests.

Book preview

I held my breath as Chef Harper examined my workstation and determined the fate of my career as a chef. The written final exam had been the day before, a multiple-choice test with fill-in bubbles graded by a computer, the kind he couldn’t dock unnecessary points from like he’d been doing for the last few months since I’d inadvertently accused him of sexual harassment. In the men’s bathroom. In front of the director of the culinary school. If Chef Harper had hated me before, there was no fitting description for how vehemently he wanted to ruin my life since that incident. 

Sean had insisted I go to the director, tell him how Harper had been treating me and demand someone else grade my final skills exam. That sounded a whole lot like throwing water on a grease fire to me. Sean shook his head silently as our instructor scrutinized every tiny detail of the various preparations laid across my workstation. I ignored my friend and tried to have faith in my abilities and the tiny scrap of humanity I hoped was buried down deep beneath Chef Harper’s acidic and vindictive exterior.

If he hadn’t hated me for no reason to begin with, I wouldn’t have darted into the men’s bathroom—an honest mistake—in order to escape him when a certain overly enthusiastic young cop had wandered in to tell me he was watching the building in order to make sure no drug-dealing murders could get me. It wasn’t totally my fault the director inferred my hiding from Chef Harper was due to him sexually harassing me. Apparently, my most hated instructor had a history that had nothing to do with me if that was his boss’s first guess about the situation.

Finally, Chef Harper straightened, eyes narrowed as he leveled his gaze at me. "Seventy-five percent. Barely a passing score."

What it took for me to not grab a knife off the table and pretend I might actually use it on him…. Instead, I forced a smile onto my face and grated out, Thank you, Chef.

He spun away from me and moved on to the next station where he spent all of two minutes inspecting Rapha’s preparations before proclaiming a grade of ninety-two. I stood still, breathing in order to control my anger and not glancing over at an equally peeved Sean. Though Sean had dumped me after one date on account of me being too hazardous to his chances of finishing culinary school, he was still one of my best friends and hated Harper on my behalf. Well, everyone hated Harper, because he was a pretentious prick, but we hated him even more for good reason.

When the examination concluded and Harper stalked out of the room looking all too satisfied with himself, everyone relaxed. The semester was officially over. One down, four more to go.

I hate that guy, Sean muttered as he started cleaning up his station.

Rapha patted me on the shoulder. You deserved much higher than a seventy-five. His melodic Brazilian accent was as soothing as his actual words.

Shrugging, I said, It’s over, and I passed. Good riddance to him.

You realize we have him again next semester, right? Sean asked.

I spun to stare at him. What?

Intro to all the meats. He sighed and shook his head. Didn’t you see his name when you registered for spring classes?

My shoulders dropped. Puck was distracting me. I just clicked the ones I needed and hit submit. You’re serious? I have to deal with him for another full semester?

He and Rapha both grimaced and went back to cleaning up. There went my moderately happy mood. Stewing over the news as I cleared everything, I tried to at least enjoy the fact that I had three weeks away from school, more hours at Saul’s, and extra shifts at Mina’s Bakery to help her keep up with holiday orders. I hoped it would all keep me distracted from actually having to think about Christmas. Now, if I could just avoid getting tangled up with any murderers, sex traffickers, or drug dealers over the next few weeks, I could actually enjoy the break. Minus Christmas and New Year’s. I wasn’t a big fan of those two holidays regardless.

Did Puck talk to you about this weekend? Sean asked as he shouldered his backpack.

I nodded and stuffed a stack of notes into my bag. He didn’t give me much details, but his family is supposed to get here late Friday night. Thinking of Puck’s family made my stomach swim uncomfortably.

You look like you’re going to hurl, Sean said with a laugh. Don’t freak out. They’re going to adore you. They love everyone.

I smirked at his last comment. I wasn’t hard to adore. People liked me. Mostly. The ones who didn’t mind my knack for trouble, anyway. Or at least put up with it.

Sean threw an arm around my shoulders as we headed out of class. All teasing aside, you really don’t have to worry about meeting them. They’re great. Puck’s probably already told them so much about you, meeting in person is just a formality.

I sighed, because that was what had me so anxious. Puck and I had officially been dating for about two months. He’d told me he loved me. He’d brought up children and marriage, though only in a someday in the future sort of way. He talked about what we would do next summer when I was between semesters. He had invited me to meet his parents. I, on the other hand, had carefully avoided the L word so far, was vague on the topic of marriage or kids, didn’t like planning more than a week in advance, and hadn’t spoken to my parents in over five years and had zero plans of introducing him to them.

Despite the fact that I enjoyed every minute I spent with Puck and cared about him a great deal, I couldn’t picture forever with him. He knew that. He knew I had a storm of complicated feelings for my neighbor, Baxter, and that Baxter was part of why I shied away from any serious commitment. I had been honest with Puck about how things stood between us, but that hadn’t stopped him from doing his best to convince me we were heading for a fairytale ending. I feared meeting his parents was part of his plan to convince me we were soulmates or whatever, and that they would show up with expectations about what we were and what our future held.

You would tell me if he was planning any…surprises, right?

Sean hesitated. He and Puck had been friends much longer than we had. He owed more allegiance to him than me. Yet, he knew his friend well and what lengths he might go to in order to get what he wanted. After all, Puck had tried to steal me from Sean the night we met, despite the fact I had arrived at his band’s show with Sean and spent a decent amount of time making out with him on the dance floor. Sean tightened his arm around my shoulders in a reassuring squeeze. I’ll warn you if I hear anything.

Breathing out a sigh of relief, I said, Thanks.

Then I was yanked to a stop as we exited the school. What now? Sean grumbled.

The tension in his body immediately drew my gaze up. As soon as I saw Detective Gordon standing on the sidewalk, clearly waiting for me, I echoed Sean’s sentiment. A second later, fear gripped me. I tore out of Sean’s grip and hurried over to him. Is it Simon? I demanded.

There had been no sign of my murderous half-brother anywhere in the city. Gordy couldn’t even prove the photos he’d been sent of Puck and I had even been taken by Simon. I knew it had been him, though, and was desperate for news.

It’s not about Simon, Gordy said. Sorry. Still no trace of him.

A mix of relief and fear stuttered through me, neither one sure which should take precedence. Then why are you here? I asked.

Gordy’s frown deepened. He chewed on his answer, and I got the sense he didn’t like whatever was about to come out of his mouth.

Oh no, I groaned, who’s dead now?

Nobody you know, he said, but I need your help. That last part came out a bit grudgingly, likely due to the fact that he was still sore about me winning the precinct pool on who would be the first to solve the last case I’d gotten mixed up in.

Help with what? I asked warily. Even though my track record was surprisingly good, I was the exact opposite of jumping at the chance to try my hand at detective work a fourth time.

Again, Gordy hesitated. His ruddy cheeks grew even redder as he contemplated his response. Any thoughts on why someone would commit murder over a cupcake?

2: Still Young

After dropping my motorcycle off behind Saul’s Diner, I climbed into the unmarked police car. The backseat—which made me feel like a criminal instead of a person there to help. I swear Gordy’s partner, Spencer, smirked at me when the door shut and he knew I was locked in. He was not one of the people who liked me despite my knack for winding up smack dab in the middle of criminal investigations…or his friends’ love lives.

Not that Baxter’s feud with his hopefully-someday-soon ex-wife could really be considered a love life.

Shoving away thoughts of Baxter, his horrendous wife Megan, and Detective Spencer’s dislike for me, I tried to get a few more details about this cupcake murder. So, how exactly am I expected to help with this case?

"You’re not helping with the case, Gordy said. You’re coming along to answer a few questions about the cupcake. That’s it."

Spencer turned to glare at me. "Don’t touch anything, talk to anyone, or help in any other way. Got it?"

I bit back a snarky response about them asking me for help. Whatever. Just make sure I’m returned to Saul’s by five-thirty. I hate being late for my actual job, especially for the reason of doing someone else’s job for them. That last part kind of slipped past my control. My ability to put up with arrogance had reached its limit within five minutes of Chef Harper starting the skills exam.

Enough, Gordy grumbled, giving his older partner a warning glance.

I’d yet to discover exactly why Baxter’s father was so revered by his former department, and why the current members all felt they needed to look out for Baxter even when it wasn’t needed or appreciated. There had been many times I’d almost given in and gone to the internet for a few clues. Only respect for Baxter had kept me from doing it. It was his place to tell me more about his family. Spencer accusing me of trying to ruin Baxter’s life and being a jerk to me every time we had the misfortune of speaking made it awfully hard to remember how much Baxter valued people not sticking their noses into his personal life.

The car lurched to a stop and I glanced up at the police station in confusion. I thought we were going to a crime scene.

No, Gordy said, I just need you to look at some evidence.

Then why did Spencer tell me not to touch anything or talk to anyone like I was a two-year-old?

Gordy sighed. Just come on. Spencer will behave. We don’t have a lot of time if you want to make it to work on time tonight.

Glaring at Spencer as he took his time opening my door, I ignored him once I was released and scurried up next to Gordy. I followed him through the station, glad that for once it wasn’t as either a witness, a victim, or because I was in trouble for getting in the way. Realizing that actually improved my mood somewhat. At least until we reached an interrogation room. It wasn’t my favorite kind of place.

Gordy gestured me into the room after unlocking the door, but I stopped at the sight of a white cloth draped over what appeared to be a small, square box of some sort. Why’s it covered up like that?

To make sure nobody accidentally ate it, Gordy said.

Really?

He shrugged. Snacks disappear fast around here.

Glad to know I wasn’t about to look at a cupcake covered in blood and gore, I sat down in one of the chairs and waited for Gordy to take the lead. I wasn’t supposed to touch anything, after all. As soon as Gordy lifted the white cloth, my eyes widened and I sat back in my chair. Well, that explains a lot.

Both detectives stared at the light purple box in confusion, then turned their gazes on me. It does? Gordy asked.

Gesturing at the elaborate logo on the side facing me, I nodded, surprised they didn’t know the importance of the box. "This is from the Sweet Life bakery."

They stared at me, not understanding the significance.

"Sweet Life, I said again, pausing for it to sink in. When it didn’t, I shook my head. Do neither of you watch TV?"

If you’re referring to cooking shows…no, Gordy said.

Yes, my go-to channel was Food Network, but this was way bigger than that. "You both need to get away from work more often. How do neither of you know about Sweet Life? They’ve got ads on all the time, not just TV but taxis and buses too. Especially with the contest going on. How could you both miss all of that?"

Spencer shrugged. I don’t like sugar.

That wasn’t surprising. His general expression was that of someone who’d never had a sweet in his life and was pissed off about it. I looked at Gordy for his excuse.

I rarely watch TV and I have a car, so I don’t pay attention to transit ads.

Before I could expound on my disbelief, someone knocked on the door then pushed in without waiting for a response. Detective Gordon, I was sent to find you by… Officer Morales, my biggest fanboy, was distracted when he saw me. Hey, Eliza! He gestured at the cupcake box. "Did you enter the Sweet Life contest without telling anyone? I keep seeing the ads and think about you every time. Is that a sample?"

He stepped forward, but Spencer snapped a hand down on the kid’s shoulder in a vice grip. The poor greenie winced, but didn’t try to get away. Spencer glowered at him. "It’s evidence. Do not touch it."

Morales’s eyes widened. Eliza, what happened now?

Holding up my hands, I pled my innocence. I’m just consulting. Promise.

Relieved, he seemed to forget about Spencer trying to crush his shoulder. Anything I can do to help?

No! Gordy and Spencer said at the same time. Morales frowned, a little dejected at being shut down so quickly. Gordy rubbed at his temples. Why are you here?

Oh, yeah. The Sergeant was looking for you.

Why?

Morales shrugged, well one shoulder anyway. The other one was still stuck under Spencer’s grip. She didn’t say. Just saw me walking by and yelled at me to go find you.

Fine. I’ll be there in a few minutes. He made a shooing motion at the young cop and turned back to me. What contest?

One of the pastry chefs left the bakery, and the show. She got offered her own show and jumped ship. The network decided to hold a contest to replace her. Only the six people selected for the contest were given these boxes. They’re supposed to make their best cupcake on the show…next Tuesday. The judging is going to be a live show, a big special right before Christmas. Winner gets to join the bakery and the show in January.

Honestly, this wasn’t anything they needed me to figure out. Morales was nodding along with everything I’d said, so they could have just asked him or done a quick Google search to figure out more about Sweet Life and the contest. I wasn’t sure why they’d bothered to pull me in, but something suddenly occurred to me.

It was one of the contestants, wasn’t it? No one else would have one of these boxes. Their regular boxes are pink.

Possibly. We didn’t know about the contest until now, but we’ll find out.

I frowned at his response, despite the fact that I suspected I was right about this. There were other things I was significantly less certain about. Standing and carefully leaning forward, I looked into the box. I stared at the well-crafted treat, even more confused. It was gorgeous, and looked equally delicious. It was clearly basic carrot cake with cream cheese frosting, though. Nothing a high end pastry chef vying for a lucrative TV spot would hand over to world class judges. Something wasn’t adding up.

"I thought you said someone was murdered over a cupcake."

Yes, that seems to be the case, Gordy said.

But, this one is perfect, which implies there wasn’t any sort of struggle for it. I glanced between the two detectives. How exactly was the victim murdered?

Spencer had finally let go of Morales’s shoulder and now crossed his arms. We’re not sure. Still waiting on an autopsy and toxicology report.

Then how do you know the murder had anything to do with the cupcake?

Gordy and Spencer shared a glance that seemed to debate how much to tell me. After the silent battle of wills was over, Spencer’s frown deepened while Gordy faced me resolutely. The victim was found on a bus stop bench. Multiple witnesses on an approaching bus saw someone hurrying away from the bench with an identical box.

Somehow, Morales had managed to work his way past Spencer while Gordy was talking and was now standing directly behind me. He leaned forward, squinting at the logo. The detectives noticed him about the same time I did, and looked as if they were about to order him out of the room, but he spoke before they could.

There’s something wrong with this box.

Moving my face a little closer, I squinted at the area where he’d pointed. Embossed on the purple box was the usual silver logo of the bakery, different only due to the addition of the contest label. At first, I didn’t see anything, but then I noticed the fleck of silver peeling off the box where the words describing the contest had been added. Doubting a show as popular as Sweet Life had gone so chintzy on such a high status promotional box, I had to agree with Morales.

This box is a fake. The murderer has the real one. And the real cupcake.

Gordy’s expression seemed pained. "Why would someone want the box or the cupcake?"

The cupcake might be used to reverse engineer a recipe, I said with a shrug. Though I doubt anyone who was accepted as a contestant would need to do that.

That leaves the box, but just having a box won’t get the killer on the show, Spencer argued, so why take it?

He was right about that. I tried to think of some logical explanation for why the killer would want the box, but came up empty. It was one of many questions swimming around in my mind, including the fact that the live show was supposed to air the following week. Why would someone be delivering a cupcake at all, let alone so early? It would be stale by the time a judge tasted it.

"I think you guys need to talk to someone at the show. None of this is making sense, but I’m almost positive the Sweet Life contest is at the center of this…somehow."

Gordy nodded slowly. When he looked back up at me, I could tell he was hatching something I most definitely wouldn’t like. You’re done with classes until after the new year, right?

Yes…

Spencer grunted, not happy either.

Good, Gordy said. He didn’t elaborate, but he didn’t really need to. Facing Morales, he said, Drive Eliza back to work.

What about the cupcake? Morales asked.

Gordy glared at him. No, you can’t eat it.

Rolling his eyes, Morales actually got a little snippy with his superior. "No kidding, but don’t you think maybe we should have it tested? Make sure there’s nothing dangerous in it? Eliza might be right that the killer wanted the cupcake recipe or the box, but what if the goal was to have it delivered to Sweet Life and something went wrong?"

For once, neither detective brushed off the newbie’s suggestion. After a moment of consideration, Gordy pointed at the young cop. Take Eliza to work. We’ll deal with the cupcake.

Though no actual thanks or appreciation had been offered, Morales beamed that his suggestion had been taken seriously. He happily ushered me out of the interrogation room and to his squad car. He even let me sit up front, which I thought might be against the rules, but I didn’t complain. I thought maybe my day was looking up until we pulled up to the diner and I spotted Baxter’s car in the parking lot. That wouldn’t have been a bad thing by itself. Megan and her pregnant belly following him into the diner with a sneer on her face made me wish Gordy had arrested me instead of only wanting my help. The night was still young. Dealing with Megan was enough to make anyone want to commit murder.

3: Heat

Isn’t that Baxter? Morales asked. When I didn’t answer, he glanced over at me and his eyes widened at the fury in my expression. Is everything okay? I thought you were dating Puck…not Baxter. His voice trailed off a little at the end, suddenly uncertain and maybe a little scared.

I had to focus to get my teeth to unclench. "I am dating Puck, but Baxter is still my friend and his wife is one of the worst people I’ve ever met."

You’ve met some pretty awful people since moving to the city, Morales said, clearly struggling to believe a pregnant woman could be that terrible.

Yeah, and she’s at the top of my list.

He still seemed skeptical, but showed his loyalty by saying, Should I do something about her?

Can you arrest her for something?

Like what?

Being a horrible human being?

Morales sighed. Unfortunately, no.

Unbuckling my seatbelt, I scowled at the diner. Then I’m on my own. See you later, Morales. Thanks for the ride and feel free to ignore any calls for help originating from the diner.

He laughed nervously, mostly sure I was joking. You can call me Chris.

I wasn’t sure Gordy wanted me getting that friendly with his subordinates, so I only nodded and exited the vehicle without making any promises. I stomped up to the diner and stormed through the dining room without even glancing over at Baxter and Megan’s table. Part of me wondered why the hell Baxter would bring her here. Megan had been viciously rude to me every time we’d crossed paths, calling me a lousy maid and a prostitute. I avoided her even more rigorously than Baxter did, and hadn’t come face to face with her since being accused of being Baxter’s paid booty call. That didn’t mean Baxter didn’t vent about all the shady, manipulative things she pulled in order to delay their divorce and attempt to get him kicked out of the apartment building.

Just because I was dating Puck, it didn’t mean I wasn’t still angry about the way Megan treated Baxter. We were only friends at the moment, but I didn’t take that lightly. Any woman who pretended her unborn child had been fathered by someone simply to ruin their life didn’t deserve any sympathy. She knew the baby wasn’t Baxter’s and refused to submit to a paternity test until after the birth. It kept the divorce battle alive, which kept her on Baxter’s lease because our kooky old landlord took issue with divorce. It also kept Baxter on the verge of being booted from the building.

Danielle, my lesser nemesis, slapped a ticket down on the counter and glared at me. Who is that woman with Baxter? I hate her, and the fact that he rescued me from jail is not enough to erase her level of bitchiness.

Coming from Danielle, that said a lot.

She’s his wife, I grumbled.

Wife? Saul asked, too surprised to ignore our conversation as he usually did when Danielle and I got into it. He glanced over at me. I thought…

It’s a long and miserable story, I said. That was enough for him to know he wanted nothing to do with it. Saul focused on flipping patties and I turned to Danielle. I have no idea why she’s here, but don’t feel like you need to be nice to her on Baxter’s account.

Danielle scoffed. Nothing could convince me to be nice to that woman. She called me a trashy little whore, just for saying hi to Baxter!

Quite the judgment for a woman who’d cheated on her husband and purposely gotten pregnant with another man’s baby…twice.

Baxter asked if you were working and whether or not you had any specials prepared, Danielle said. "I was going to tell him we never have specials here, but I