Evening Bags and Executions(82)

Maybe I should have hired security for that event, too.

I exited the freeway and drove to the Lacy Cakes bakery. The CLOSED sign still hung on the front door, so I walked around back. Their delivery van was parked near the rear entrance.

Belinda popped into my head. The image of her in that Janis Joplin costume had been floating around in my brain nonstop. I still couldn’t figure out how she’d gotten involved with the Beatles bobbleheads kidnapping.

A lot of people knew about the charity auction and the memorabilia, but how many of them knew the collectibles were inside Sheridan’s house, in that particular room?

I also couldn’t figure out why the bobbleheads, of all things, had been taken. There were many other items, most worth at least as much as the bobbleheads, maybe more. And a lot of those things were smaller, much easier to conceal.

Someone must have known their significance, their link to British royalty Muriel had told me about. I doubted that fact was common knowledge. Sheridan would have wanted to make that announcement herself at the party.

All I could figure was that Jack had been right. Someone else—a partner—had been involved in the theft and the ransom demand. Belinda didn’t seem like the criminal type to me, so I wondered if she’d gotten caught up in the scheme by the partner—but who could that have been?

The rear door to Lacy Cakes was propped open, and the delicious scent of baked goods floated out. I stepped inside and saw that same guy at the oven and Paige at the worktable. In front of her was the Yellow Submarine cake for tonight’s event.

If I was going to pretend I didn’t know Belinda had been involved in stealing the bobbleheads, as Jack had insisted, how could I go into Lacy Cakes to place orders for L.A. Affairs? How could I let Paige go into business with Belinda knowing what I know?

And how was I going to live with myself?

“Hey, girl,” Paige called. “Come on in. Take a look. What do you think?”

I walked over. The cake was about six feet long and three feet high, covered in bright yellow fondant, surrounded by what I guessed was some kind of blue sugar work to represent the sea.

“It looks fantastic,” I said, and mentally heaved a sigh of relief.

“I’ll take it to the party in a while,” Paige said. “The finishing touches will go on after I get there.”

I nodded toward the parking lot out back and said, “I see you have the delivery van.”

“Yeah, Darren dropped it off this morning,” Paige said. “He went back home.”

I figured that could mean only one thing.

“So he sold the bakery?” I asked.

“Yeah,” Paige said, smiling broadly. “To Belinda and me. She called me last night with the news.”

So Belinda had put the ransom money to good use, apparently.

The robbery at the bakery flashed in my mind. It had come on the heels of Darren saying he was selling the place and keeping everything for himself—and that Belinda was getting nothing from Lacy in her will.

Oh my God—could Belinda have robbed the bakery? I didn’t see why not since she’d been involved with the Beatles bobbleheads theft and ransom.

Okay, hang on a second.

Darren had returned the Lacy Cakes delivery van this morning, then left town—or so he’d claimed. But was he really involved in the bobbleheads theft?

Had he used the delivery van to gain access to the Adams estate and somehow stolen the Beatles bobbleheads, then drawn Belinda into the ransom scheme with him? Had he broken into the bakery and faked the robbery to throw suspicion on her? Was all of this some plan of his to make Belinda look guilty so she wouldn’t challenge Lacy’s will?

Or was something else going on with them?

Paige yammered on about plans for the bakery, but all I could think about was Belinda and Darren. I still didn’t see how either of them could have pulled off the theft of the bobbleheads from inside Sheridan’s estate. I was missing something. But what?

And did any of this connect to Lacy’s murder?





When I got to Holt’s, the place was in chaos—but that was okay with me. Having caused a great deal of chaos in my life, I was okay working in it.

Show prep had taken over the stock room. A large section of it had been curtained off for the models—all fifteen of them—to change into our so-called fashions. Since none of them had “super” in front of their job title, mirrors, tables, and chairs from Holt’s inventory had been set up for them to put on their own makeup.

Their hair was something else entirely.

Bella had taken over one of the stations and was styling the models’ hair herself.

In keeping with the fall fashion show theme, she’d created a stunning array of autumn icons atop each models head—pumpkins, cornstalks, a harvest moon—and had embellished them with sunflowers to complete each look.