half an hour later, Amy had mentally wrapped her ego in a bulletproof vest. Before ringing the doorbell, she reminded herself that she was there to uncover more information about the murder, not worry about inadequate baked goods. When Preston opened the door, she completely forgot about the cupcakes. His resemblance to Jack Nicholson in the iconic scene from The Shining was dead on. As in he looked like he wanted her dead.
"What do you want?"
To run away and hope I never see you and your crazy eyes again. "I'm here to see your mom. I wanted to chat with her about a new recipe I'm working on."
"Whatever." He swung the door open. "She's in the kitchen."
Amy stepped into the living room. It was gloomy outside from the low ceiling of gray snow clouds clogging the sky. The inside of the house took dark and depressing to a scary, hermit-cave level. Light-blocking curtains covered all of the windows. Preston had receded to a shadow-filled corner of the room, leaving her to shut the door. He sat on the black leather sofa, the screen of his phone casting a ghoulish glow on his face. Amy caught a glimpse of a refrigerator in the room to the left.
The difference between the two rooms was literally like night and day. Everything in the kitchen was white, from the cabinet doors to the stove and floor. Little touches of pastel colors, like a baby-pink Kitchen Aid stand mixer, gave the kitchen a shabby-chic vibe. Holly stood in front of the mixer, wiggling and swaying to music from the headphones positioned over her ears. Her gorgeously gray hair was twisted into a messy knot on the back of her head.
"Hello?"
Holly spun around. She placed one hand over her heart and pulled the headphones off with the other. "I'm sorry. I didn't hear the doorbell. Lost in my little baking world, I guess."
"That's a great place to be." Amy set the square bakery box on the worn wood table in the middle of the room. "I really appreciate your help with these cupcakes. They just aren't right, but I'm not sure what to do to fix them up."
"Let's see what you've got going on." Holly wiped her hands on the front of her plain white apron. She flipped open the lid of the box and plucked out one of the cupcakes. "They look nice and smell…interesting. Coffee and some kind of fruit?"
Let the analysis begin. Holly was spot on just from the scent of the cupcakes, and she didn't sound convinced that the flavors went together. "Cherry pie latte with a bit of rum. I had the beverage version last year when I was on vacation and thought the flavors might translate well into a cupcake," Amy said.
Holly nodded. She opened her mouth to take a bite but snapped it shut as Preston stalked into the kitchen. Amy took a few steps backward until her back was pressed up against the wall to make sure she wasn't in his way. He yanked open the refrigerator door and grunted as he bent to study the shelves. After a few seconds of deliberation, he grabbed a can of beer and a carton of French onion dip. Glass bottles in the refrigerator clanked when he slammed the door shut. He leveled another hostile sneer at Amy as he snatched a bag of potato chips off the counter and left the room. Holly exhaled audibly as she crossed the kitchen and quietly slid a pocket door shut behind him. "I'm sorry. He's in a bit of a snit today after that detective showed up to question both of us again."
Pitts was actually doing his job, continuing to question people about the murder. If he had used his signature I know you're guilty, just give me a confession interrogation technique, then no wonder Preston was in a grumpy mood. Good that Pitts was doing his job. Bad that she arrived to do her own investigating right after him.
"Oh gosh. No wonder you're doing some baking therapy. Pitts has the personality of a sledgehammer."
Holly chuckled. "Yes, he does. Somebody needs to tell him harassing someone into a false confession is a bad idea. Unfortunately for him, I'm a tough old bat with a fierce maternal
"What do you want?"
To run away and hope I never see you and your crazy eyes again. "I'm here to see your mom. I wanted to chat with her about a new recipe I'm working on."
"Whatever." He swung the door open. "She's in the kitchen."
Amy stepped into the living room. It was gloomy outside from the low ceiling of gray snow clouds clogging the sky. The inside of the house took dark and depressing to a scary, hermit-cave level. Light-blocking curtains covered all of the windows. Preston had receded to a shadow-filled corner of the room, leaving her to shut the door. He sat on the black leather sofa, the screen of his phone casting a ghoulish glow on his face. Amy caught a glimpse of a refrigerator in the room to the left.
The difference between the two rooms was literally like night and day. Everything in the kitchen was white, from the cabinet doors to the stove and floor. Little touches of pastel colors, like a baby-pink Kitchen Aid stand mixer, gave the kitchen a shabby-chic vibe. Holly stood in front of the mixer, wiggling and swaying to music from the headphones positioned over her ears. Her gorgeously gray hair was twisted into a messy knot on the back of her head.
"Hello?"
Holly spun around. She placed one hand over her heart and pulled the headphones off with the other. "I'm sorry. I didn't hear the doorbell. Lost in my little baking world, I guess."
"That's a great place to be." Amy set the square bakery box on the worn wood table in the middle of the room. "I really appreciate your help with these cupcakes. They just aren't right, but I'm not sure what to do to fix them up."
"Let's see what you've got going on." Holly wiped her hands on the front of her plain white apron. She flipped open the lid of the box and plucked out one of the cupcakes. "They look nice and smell…interesting. Coffee and some kind of fruit?"
Let the analysis begin. Holly was spot on just from the scent of the cupcakes, and she didn't sound convinced that the flavors went together. "Cherry pie latte with a bit of rum. I had the beverage version last year when I was on vacation and thought the flavors might translate well into a cupcake," Amy said.
Holly nodded. She opened her mouth to take a bite but snapped it shut as Preston stalked into the kitchen. Amy took a few steps backward until her back was pressed up against the wall to make sure she wasn't in his way. He yanked open the refrigerator door and grunted as he bent to study the shelves. After a few seconds of deliberation, he grabbed a can of beer and a carton of French onion dip. Glass bottles in the refrigerator clanked when he slammed the door shut. He leveled another hostile sneer at Amy as he snatched a bag of potato chips off the counter and left the room. Holly exhaled audibly as she crossed the kitchen and quietly slid a pocket door shut behind him. "I'm sorry. He's in a bit of a snit today after that detective showed up to question both of us again."
Pitts was actually doing his job, continuing to question people about the murder. If he had used his signature I know you're guilty, just give me a confession interrogation technique, then no wonder Preston was in a grumpy mood. Good that Pitts was doing his job. Bad that she arrived to do her own investigating right after him.
"Oh gosh. No wonder you're doing some baking therapy. Pitts has the personality of a sledgehammer."
Holly chuckled. "Yes, he does. Somebody needs to tell him harassing someone into a false confession is a bad idea. Unfortunately for him, I'm a tough old bat with a fierce maternal
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