“It’s probably the honey,” she said. “I was going to make my chocolate raspberry roll, but this was my grandmother’s recipe and I thought it might bring me good luck.”
“Just based on how delicious this smells, I don’t think you need any luck,” I said. My stomach growled loudly.
Rebecca laughed. “Thank you for that vote of confidence,” she said. “Sometimes I want to pinch myself. I can’t believe I made it this far. I can’t believe I made it on the show at all.”
I closed the lid of the cookie can before I was any more tempted to eat both slices of cake here and now. “What makes you say that?” I asked, setting the container on the bench. “You finished in the top three in the regional qualifier.”
Rebecca sat back down and started to tie her shoe. “That was far from a sure thing. In fact, if Dorrie Park hadn’t dropped out, there’s a very good chance that I wouldn’t be on the show right now.”
“She’s the one who left the contest right before the semifinals.”
Rebecca nodded. “Some kind of family emergency. She was a talented baker and extremely creative. She would have placed ahead of me for certain.” She held up a hand before I could object. “That’s not false modesty on my part, Kathleen. I know my own strengths and weaknesses. Ray, Kate and I were the top three bakers but I have no idea in which order we were ranked. If Dorrie had stayed, who knows how things might have worked out?”
I stepped out of my tai chi shoes and stuffed them in my bag. “Well, they worked out well for you and I hope they worked out for her as well.”
“As far I know, they did,” Rebecca said. “One of the crew said Dorrie just got back from Paris.” She glanced at her watch. “Heavens! I need to get going. Everett is waiting.”
“Thank you for the cake,” I said.
She got to her feet again and reached for her own bag. “You’re welcome. Enjoy.”
When I got home Hercules was nowhere to be seen. Owen was in the kitchen sitting at the table. I glared at him and pointed at the floor. “Get down,” I said firmly. This was getting to be a habit. I took a step toward him. He made more grumbling sounds than were strictly necessary but he jumped to the floor and went to have a drink.
I hung up my tai chi bag and picked up the things I’d dumped on the table earlier. After I’d washed my hands and splashed water on my face I got myself a bowl of soup and warmed it in the microwave. I was at the table crumbling crackers into my dish when Marcus called.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “I’m in the middle of . . . something. I’m not going to make it.”
I knew “something” could be a new case, a current case or even an older one that was working it’s way through the system.
“It’s okay,” I said. “One question, though. Does Ray Nightingale have an alibi for the night Kassie was killed?”
He hesitated. “Yes.”
“He was with Caroline Peters.”
“One of them told you,” Marcus said.
I was nodding even though he couldn’t see me. “Ray did.” I hesitated. “And you need to ask more questions about the lorazepam.”
“No, I don’t.”
“Trust me, you do,” I said.
“No, Kathleen, I really don’t.”
I got it that time. He knew about Stacey. I didn’t know whether she’d told him herself, or Russell had, or he’d found out some other way.
He knew. Why was I surprised? Marcus was good at his job.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “I really have to go.”
“Stay safe,” I said. “I love you.”
I set the phone on the table and went and got one slice of the Swiss roll from Rebecca’s flowered tin. It tasted even better than it smelled. The cake, with hints of spices, honey and vanilla, was wrapped around a creamy orange-flavored filling with just a hint of nutmeg. I had a feeling Rebecca was going to be the next episode’s Hot Shot of the week as well.
As I licked orange filling from the back of my fork I thought about what Rebecca had told me. How could she not have made it on the show? She had described the young woman who had dropped out of the qualifier as being talented and creative. But so was Rebecca.
Curiosity got the better of me. I got up and got my computer. When I got back to the table, Owen was in my chair.
“That’s my seat,” I said.
“Mrrr,” he replied, blinking his golden eyes at me. I suspected that was his way of saying “finders keepers.”
I set the laptop on the table, scooped up Owen and set him on my lap once I’d reclaimed my place. It didn’t take us long to find an article in the Chronicle about the regional baking contest. I scanned the photo that accompanied the piece. Dorrie—short for Dorian—Park was in the front row between Kate and Rebecca. She looked to be nineteen, maybe twenty. She had black hair twisted into two buns, one on each side of her head, and choppy bangs. The left side of her nose and her left eyebrow were pierced. She wore a black T-shirt under a red-and-black-plaid shirt and black Doc Martens. She was looking directly at the camera and while she wasn’t smiling it seemed to me there was just a tiny hint of something—arrogance maybe—in her dark eyes.
I leaned against the back of my chair and began to stroke Owen’s fur. He laid his head against my chest and looked up at me.
“Rebecca said that if Dorrie hadn’t dropped out she might not have made it onto the show.”
Owen wrinkled his nose.
“I know, that does sound wrong.”
“Mrrr,” he agreed.
“It occurs to me that it’s also possible that if Dorrie Park hadn’t left the contest, Ray wouldn’t have made it onto the show.” Was I too judgmental where Ray was concerned? Too suspicious?
Owen’s whiskers twitched. He looked from me to the computer.
Maybe not.
It wasn’t hard to find Dorrie Park’s social media accounts. They were full of photos from her recent Paris trip. I checked the date of the first photo that had been posted. She’d arrived in Paris less than a week after she’d dropped out of the qualifier.
“Whatever that family emergency was, everything was all right pretty quickly,” I said to Owen.
I took a quick look at some of Dorrie’s other photos. She was a student at the University of Minnesota Duluth, living in a basement apartment with three other young women. She didn’t have a car and she could get pretty creative with ramen. In other words, she seemed like a typical broke student.
“So how did she afford a trip to Paris?” I said.
Owen cocked his head to one side, considering my question, at least from my perspective.
“What if someone gave her the money?”
“Mrrr,” Owen said. That made sense. At least to him.
“What if Ray gave her the money?”
I didn’t trust him. He was an opportunist. I was convinced he had used his past connection with Kassie to help him make it onto the show. So why wouldn’t he get rid of the competition? And while it seemed that Ray had an alibi for Kassie’s murder, I couldn’t help thinking it was possible he’d manipulated that somehow, too.
I decided to send Dorrie Park a message via social media. It was a long shot but I couldn’t think of any other way to find out if my suspicions about Ray were correct.
I explained I was a researcher with the show and I had a few questions for her. I added my phone number and crossed my fingers I’d hear back from her.
Owen had gotten bored at some point in the process and jumped off my lap. He was lying on the floor now, fishing under the refrigerator with one paw.
“What are you doing?” I asked.
He didn’t answer. He just continued his efforts to reach something under the fridge.
“Did you lose that frog Marcus got you under there?”
“Mrrr,” he said. I didn’t know if that was a yes or a no. Mostly it just sounded like aggravation.
The small space under the refrigerator seemed like a tight fit for Ferdinand the Funky Frog, but nonetheless I got one of my extra-long cooking chopsticks, crouched down next to Owen and poked around underneath. I didn’t find a catnip frog or even a dusty stinky cracker but I did realize there was a piece of paper under there. After some finessing and a lot of cat commentary I managed to slide the paper out onto the kitchen floor.