A Sheetcake Named Desire Read Online Free PDF Page A

scowling police detective was talking to me. He was a large man. Fit, not fat. His light brown hair was buzzed short, making him look like someone who meant business. He leaned forward, a pair of muscular forearms resting on the polished tabletop, watching me intently as he waited for my answer.
    “It’s Ms. Lucero,” I said, trying to shake off the mental fog that had settled in as soon as I had finished repairing the paddle-wheel cake. I’d had to cut out the whole midsection of the cake, stack and carve a replacement section. While the staff worked on creating new detail work out of fondant and gum paste, I’d given the new stack a quick crumb coat, then iced it with buttercream and covered it all with fondant. A few well-placed gum-paste windows and pillars had hidden the patch job, but the work had taken a toll.
    “Rita,” I clarified as I blinked away exhaustion. “I kept my name when we got married for professional reasons. And don’t try to make anything out of that. Women do it every day.”
    “Duly noted,” the detective acknowledged with a thin smile. “So Rita, what happened this morning?”
    The question irritated me, mostly because he already knew the answer. I played along anyway. “My ex-husband was murdered, and one of his employees was injured in the attack.”
    The detective—Sullivan, if I remembered right—looked at me through a pair of eyes so brilliantly blue they were a little disconcerting. “I’m tryin’ to piece together the details,” he drawled. “Start from the moment you arrived.” He sat back in his chair, and I realized that he’d been blocking one of the windows. With his shoulders out of the way, afternoon sunlight poured into the room, hitting me squarely in the face.
    I squinted, holding a hand over my eyes to cut the glare. “Do we have to do this now? I’m so tired I can barely think.”
    Those blue eyes turned to ice in a heartbeat. “If you don’t mind, ma’am, I’d like to catch the person who did this.”
    Heat crept into my cheeks, and a flash of resentment found its way through the sadness. “Me, too. But I don’t know anything.”
    “Why don’t you let me be the judge of that?”
    “Fine.” I shifted in my chair to escape the sun. Exhaustion made every muscle in my body ache, and a yawn snuck up on me without warning. I tried to stifle it, but Detective Sullivan kept his eyes locked on me, so I was sure he’d noticed. I rubbed my face with both hands, trying to wake up. Keep it simple , I told myself. Answer his questions so you can get out of here .
    “I told that other officer everything I know already,” I said, hoping Sullivan would trot off to get my statement from the other cop.
    He didn’t move.
    “I don’t remember his name,” I said helpfully, “but he was one of the guys who responded to my 911 call.”
    “I’m real glad to hear the firsts did their job. Now how about answerin’ my question?”
    I’d had a rough day. I could have used a friendly smile and a little compassion. Apparently, I wasn’t going to get either from this guy. “Fine. I’ll try.”
    Reluctantly, I walked the detective through my arrival at Zydeco that morning and my discovery of Philippe’s body.
    “And then after calling 911, you decided to spend the time . . . decorating a cake?” He sounded incredulous.
    “If we hadn’t fixed that cake and gotten it out the door, there was a real chance that this whole business would collapse,” I replied defensively. “I couldn’t do that to Philippe.” I didn’t mention that I hadn’t even wanted to get involved, but Edie, of all people, had insisted I take the lead on salvaging the damaged cake.
    It had been a while since I’d taken the lead on a decorating job, and I don’t mind admitting that it felt good. Creative muscles I hadn’t used since moving back to Albuquerque two years earlier had stretched as I worked, and I’d remembered why I’d gone to pastry school in the first place.
    “But now