Evening Bags and Executions(40)

August smiled. “I certainly have. Please, let’s sit down.”

He pulled out a chair for me at one of the tiny white tables near the front window, and I could see he was anxious to please. L.A. Affairs could bring him lots of business, and he knew that.

Yeah, okay, I could have felt bad about dangling the maybe-you’ll-get-some-big-buck-clients-through-me carrot in front of him, but I didn’t because I really was impressed with his business, so far, and would need a first-rate bakery I could rely on.

Wow, I sound like a real event planner, huh?

August jumped right in with a history of the Fairy Land Bake Shoppe, how he’d started it, when he’d started it, something about his mother, the old country, blah, blah, blah. I’d already read all of that stuff on their Web site, but I gave the impression that I was listening intently even though I was thinking about checking Nordstrom after work for that Enchantress evening bag—a skill I’d perfected in many a Holt’s training session.

When I realized there was a lull in August’s presentation, I instantaneously snapped back to the present—another Holt’s skill I’d learned.

“I’m very impressed with your bakery,” I said, glancing around. “But, August, I’m afraid I have some reservations about doing business with you.”

His totally average eyebrows shot up. “Well, please, tell me what they are.”

“I understand there was some bad blood between you and Lacy Cakes,” I said.

August’s eyes narrowed and his lips pinched together in what I took for his I’m-angry-now expression. He sat that way for a few seconds, then shook it off and said, “That is upsetting to hear.”

Not exactly the hothead I’d hoped for, spewing incriminating info or confessing to Lacy’s murder.

“Weren’t you mad at Lacy for hiring away one of your best employees?” I asked.

“Who?” August asked, and gave the impression that he was totally lost.

“Paige Davis,” I said.

Now he looked even more lost. “She didn’t quit—I fired her.”

Okay, this was something I hadn’t expected.

August lowered his voice. “I don’t usually discuss employee issues, but that girl was a problem from the day I hired her. She had all kinds of grand ideas of how I should change my shop. Make bigger cakes, charge more money, increase production.”

August was definitely a slow-and-steady kind of guy, so I could see why this hadn’t gone over well with him.

“Paige overstepped her authority one too many times,” August said. “We were inundated with orders that she went out and got all on her own. I had to pay my staff overtime to get them done. It caused quite a commotion.”

Apparently, August and I had differing visions of commotion .

“But she’s an exceptionally talented cake designer. She’s aggressive and ambitious,” August told me, and gave me a rueful smile. “Can’t say I’m anxious to compete with her for business when she opens her own shop.”

“Do you think she’ll do that?” I asked.

“Oh yes,” August said. “That was her plan all along. She told me specifically when I hired her that she was here for the training and intended to move up in the world, though frankly I don’t know how she could do that. Opening a bakery and running it requires quite a bit of cash.”

Unless you could take over one after you murdered the owner, I thought.

Darren and Belinda had both told me that Paige seemed very anxious to keep Lacy Cakes open. They’d thought it suspicious.

I’d figured that whoever murdered Lacy had known her and that there had been a major cold factor in the way she was killed. Paige seemed to fit both of those criteria.

“Any other concerns about Fairy Land?” August asked.

“No, that’s about it,” I said, and rose from my chair.

He walked with me to the door and opened it for me, then passed me one of his business cards.

“If we can be of service, please let me know,” August said, and gave me an average, but sincere, smile.

“Thank you. I will,” I said, and headed for my car.

“Miss Randolph?” he called.

I turned back.

“Paige was right about Lacy Hobbs hiring away talent from other bakeries. She was a ruthless businesswoman,” he said. “She would call on clients of other bakeries and steal them away. She would say vicious things about her competition—all lies. If anyone dared to complain about her cakes, she would start ugly rumors about them. Frankly, I’m not surprised she was murdered.”

After hearing those things, I wasn’t surprised, either.





CHAPTER 13