Death Takes the Cake Read online

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  Dedication

  Acknowledgements

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Chapter 41

  Chapter 42

  Chapter 43

  Chapter 44

  Recipes

  Teaser chapter

  Praise for Death Takes the Cake

  “Fans are in for another page-turning treat as the heat is turned up yet again in Della Carmichael’s kitchen. Murder is just one dish on the menu as the ever-delightful, sexy super-cook demonstrates that the proof really is in the pudding. Juggling professional rivalries and a romantic suitor with her trademark self-assurance and wit, Della’s sizzling second culinary adventure is a gourmet feast in more ways than one.”—Hannah Dennison, author of Vicky Hill Exclusive!

  Praise for

  Killer Mousse

  “Killer Mousse is a treat, a classic culinary mystery played out against the eccentric backdrop of cable TV. Melinda Wells gets it all right, blending an artful plot with engaging characters in a fast-paced whodunit as satisfying as Della’s ‘Gangster Chicken’ Cacciatore.”—Harley Jane Kozak, Agatha, Anthony, and Macavity award-winning author of Dead Ex

  “Killer Mousse is a scrumptious morsel of mystery and mayhem. Take a pinch of murder, a dash of danger, stir it all together . . . Cooking show maven Della Carmichael is poignant and savvy—an amateur sleuth to savor!”—Linda O. Johnston, author of Double Dog Dare

  “Killer Mousse is that wonderful combination of mystery, romance, redemption, and girl-power. Melinda Wells gives you genuine insight into what’s really going on behind the scenes.”

  —Linda Dano, Emmy Award-winning actress,

  talk show host, designer, and author of

  Looking Great . . . It Doesn’t Have to Hurt

  and Living Great

  “Following cable TV-chef Della Carmichael is like a sweet and spicy trip into the fascinating, and often perilous, world of television cooking shows. An appetizing debut!”

  —Earlene Fowler, author of the Benni Harper Mysteries continued . . .

  “Della Carmichael is forty-seven and proud of it; she can cook up a storm, captivate a cable TV audience, enthrall an arrogant LA reporter and chaser of twentysomething hotties, and catch a murderer. More power to her! Melinda Wells provides an exciting, tightly plotted culinary thriller that will keep you on the edge of your seat.”—Nancy Fairbanks, author of Turkey Flambé

  “With verve (and recipes) Wells cooks up a tasty puzzle with a likable protagonist.”—Richmond (VA) Times-Dispatch

  “How nice to discover a story that breaks that mold.” —San Jose Mercury News

  “It will be a winner for readers who like a well-written book with a deftly plotted mystery . . . Not one to miss. [Wells’s] future as a writer is a bright one.”—Front Street Reviews

  “[A] fine first book for a new series . . . Anyone who loves cooking shows and mysteries will want to read this series . . . Killer Mousse is a delicious read.”—ReviewingTheEvidence.com

  “This is the first installment in what promises to be a highly entertaining series. Della is a fun character. For mystery lovers who are also foodies, there’s a wealth of cooking tips, and a number of included recipes that are easy and use easy-to-find, affordable ingredients. Quite a tasty combination.”—CA Reviews

  “BRAVA! . . . Engaging characters, an intriguing mystery, and suspects galore make this title a winner!” —Huntress Book Reviews

  “Wells is a great new addition to the mystery scene. Her characters are complex and well developed. They can be fun, and the dialogue is amusing. There are surprises enough to keep your interest. This is much better than the average cozy. All this and recipes too.”—Books ’n Bytes

  “Melinda Wells did a great job with book one of this Della Cooks Mystery series. I can’t wait for book two to come out! What will happen next!”—MyShelf.com

  Berkley Prime Crime titles by Melinda Wells

  KILLER MOUSSE

  DEATH TAKES THE CAKE

  THE BERKLEY PUBLISHING GROUP

  Published by the Penguin Group

  Penguin Group (USA) Inc.

  375 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014, USA

  Penguin Group (Canada), 90 Eglinton Avenue East, Suite 700, Toronto, Ontario M4P 2Y3, Canada

  (a division of Pearson Penguin Canada Inc.)

  Penguin Books Ltd., 80 Strand, London WC2R 0RL, England

  Penguin Group Ireland, 25 St. Stephen’s Green, Dublin 2, Ireland (a division of Penguin Books Ltd.)

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  (a division of Pearson Australia Group Pty. Ltd.)

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  (a division of Pearson New Zealand Ltd.)

  Penguin Books (South Africa) (Pty.) Ltd., 24 Sturdee Avenue, Rosebank, Johannesburg 2196,

  South Africa

  Penguin Books Ltd., Registered Offices: 80 Strand, London WC2R 0RL, England

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental. The publisher does not have any control over and does not assume any responsibility for author or third-party websites or their content.

  PUBLISHER’S NOTE: The recipes contained in this book are to be followed exactly as written. The publisher is not responsible for your specific health or allergy needs that may require medical supervision. The publisher is not responsible for any adverse reactions to the recipes contained in this book.

  DEATH TAKES THE CAKE

  A Berkley Prime Crime Book / published by arrangement with the author

  PRINTING HISTORY

  Berkley Prime Crime mass-market edition / February 2009

  Copyright © 2009 by Melinda Wells.

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form

  without permission. Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in

  violation of the author’s rights. Purchase only authorized editions.

  For information, address: The Berkley Publishing Group,

  a division of Penguin Group (USA) Inc.,

  375 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014.

  eISBN : 978-1-440-69837-8

  BERKLEY® PRIME CRIME

  Berkley P
rime Crime Books are published by The Berkley Publishing Group,

  a division of Penguin Group (USA) Inc.,

  375 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014.

  BERKLEY® PRIME CRIME and the PRIME CRIME logo are trademarks of Penguin Group (USA) Inc.

  http://us.penguingroup.com

  To Norman Knight

  Acknowledgments

  I’m grateful to the following:

  Editor Kate Seaver, who inspired this series. Thank you for your reactions, your thoughts, and for giving me such a wonderful creative ride.

  My gladiators, otherwise known as literary agents Rebecca Gradinger and Morton Janklow. Thank you for everything.

  Claire Carmichael, a wonderful writer herself and a brilliant instructor. You’ve made me a better writer than I would have been without you.

  D. Constantine Conte, mentor and treasured friend. I’ve learned so much from you.

  Victor Bardack, Nancy Koppang, Margaret McEldowny, and Ann Talman: Thank you for the recipes you shared with me.

  Jane Wylie Daley: Thank you for coming up with the name “Della’s Dreamsicle Cake.”

  Myra Morehouse: Thank you for your recipe that was adapted and turned into the cake Della created for the contest.

  To the generous people who read the early manuscript and shared their invaluable reactions: Arthur Abelson, Carole

  Moore Adams, Dr. Rachel Oreiel Berg, Christie Burton, Rosanne Kahil Bush, Jane Wylie Daley, Ira Fistell, Nancy Koppang, Judy Tathwell Hahn, Jaclyn Carmichael Palmer, Judy Powell, Ed and Debbie Soloman, Anna Stramese, Corrine Tatoul, and Kim LaDelpha Tocco.

  Wayne Thompson of Colonial Heights, Virginia: You’re a continuing inspiration.

  Berry Gordy: Your place in my heart is, and always has been, unique.

  1

  “I hired you a cake coach,” said my boss, Mickey Jordan.

  Mickey owned the Better Living Channel, the cable TV network where I’ve been hosting a cooking show for the past three months. There’s a flattering caricature of me, Della Carmichael, on the billboard facing traffic just outside the low-tech production facilities in California’s San Fernando Valley. My dark hair is a little longer in real life—to tell the truth, I need a trim—and while my waistline hasn’t spread yet, it isn’t quite so narrow as in the artist’s version of me. Whenever I see that drawing, I suck in my stomach.

  It was ten thirty on a Monday morning in mid-January when Mickey made his pronouncement. We were in the kitchen of my little two-bedroom cottage in Santa Monica. A third person sat with us at the breakfast table: Mickey’s thirty-year-old son, Addison, who had moved from New York to California to work with Mickey.

  Introducing us, Mickey had beamed, displaying Addison like a trophy. “Handsome kid, isn’t he? Lucky for him, he got his looks from his mother.”

  If Mickey hadn’t announced their biological connection, I never would have guessed it. Mickey was sixty, with a muscular torso, and at five foot five, he was two inches shorter than I am. His hair recently had been cut so close to his scalp that it resembled salt-and-pepper fuzz, but with eyes that could reflect amusement or narrow to intimidating lasers in a second, he looked tough enough that I suspected muggers crossed the street to avoid him.

  Addison was six inches taller than his father, with an abundance of light brown hair and aristocratic features. Mickey looked like a fighter; Addison looked like a poet.

  Because I’d been pouring coffee and slicing pieces of my sour cream pecan ring, I wasn’t sure I’d heard Mickey correctly. “You hired a what?”

  “Pay attention. This is big. I hired a cake coach for you. The guy’s a bit of a weirdo, but I checked him out. He’ll do the job.”

  Although I’d known Mickey for several months now, I still wasn’t used to his habit of starting conversations in the middle of a subject, so I had to ask, “What job?”

  “With what I’ve got planned, you’re going to be the Miss America of Cake!”

  I felt a sharp intake of breath. “No. Absolutely not. I won’t wear a bathing suit on television!”

  He eyed me speculatively. “What’s the problem? You still look good.”

  Still . . .

  “If I hadn’t read your TV bio, I wouldn’t have guessed you’re in your forties,” Addison said. “Maybe late thirties—but you should think about doing a little glamorizing.”

  I turned to Mickey. “When you hired me you said it was because I was, in your words, ‘down-to-earth.’ Natural. I don’t even have a regular hair person.”

  “Don’t get ants in your pants,” Mickey said. “I’m not talkin’ about a beauty contest, even though you’re pretty hot to be a cook. This contest is a stunt to publicize the show. I’ll do the hard thinking. All you have to do is come up with the best new cake in the United States.”

  At the news that I was supposed to create—invent—an original cake, I stared at him, incredulous. “That’s all?”

  “What’s so hard?” Mickey shrugged. “It’s not like I’m asking you to cure cancer.”

  “That certainly puts things in perspective.” My tone was wry.

  As though I hadn’t spoken, Mickey said, “You’re one of five contestants and there’s a $25,000 prize.” Mickey grinned at his son. “My kid is pretty smart. This whole project was his idea—the contest, and that we’re gonna tape the match for a TV special.”

  “Tape it?”

  “Yeah, one of those reality shows. I didn’t want to tell you this idea before it was a done deal, but Addison talked the owner of the Reggi-Mixx Cake Company into creating the first national Reggi-Mixx Cake Competition.”

  At the sound of the name Reggi-Mixx, the muscles in my stomach clenched.

  Oblivious to my internal horror, Addison seized the conversational baton and started sprinting his lap. “We plan to shoot personal segments about the contestants. Interviews as you five prepare. I’ve analyzed TV ratings for the last four years and learned the public loves competitions.”

  “The more trouble somebody has in a contest, the better TV it is,” Mickey said.

  “But . . . does it have to be Reggi-Mixx?”

  “They’re already committed,” Addison said. “It took some fancy convincing, but now the woman who owns the company is thrilled. She thinks this competition could grow to be bigger than the Pillsbury Bake-Off.”

  “But why Reggi-Mixx? What about some other cake company?”

  “I considered going after other companies, but this one needs us as much as we need it. Reggi-Mixx sales have been going downward for a couple of years. That’s not good.” Addison shook his head and frowned, like a doctor giving a bad prognosis. “But this exciting promotional gimmick will benefit that company and it will give a boost to your show. This is a win-win.”

  Mickey cocked his head and squinted at me. “The contest an’ the reality show, it’s extra work, but you’ve got the time right now. You can’t teach classes at your cooking school until they finish renovating the building. This project is a big deal, so why are you looking like you just ate a worm?”

  I decided to tell him part of the truth. “That cake mix is vile.”

  Mickey shrugged. “So put stuff in to make it taste better. Problem solved.”

  But it wasn’t solved. It was a lot bigger than the fact that the product tasted like wet cardboard.

  Mickey was shrewd enough to have risen from the self-described “fastest kid numbers-runner in the Bronx” to becoming “almost a billionaire.” He said, “Spill it. What’s the rest?”

  “The owner of the company is Regina—Reggie—Davis. She hates me.”

  “You mean she hates your show?”

  “She hates me. She’s hated me since we were in college together.”

  Mickey laughed. “Wha’dya do, steal her guy? Hell, that musta been—what, twenty-five years ago? Jeez! Who remembers back that far?”

  “She swore she’d never forgive me.” Actually, she’d said something much worse than that.

  “Never forg
ive you—that’s kid stuff.” Mickey waved one hand dismissively. “Forget it.”

  I tried another argument. “You know I’m not a trained chef. I do simple baking on the show, demonstrating things that practically anybody can make if someone shows them how and encourages them to try, but . . .”

  “That’s exactly the beauty of this idea,” Addison said. “It isn’t some elitist quiz show where you have to know who Harry Truman’s vice president was, or the capital of Finland. It’s not a physical endurance test. This will be a show for the millions of regular people out there, for anybody who can open a box of cake mix.”

  Before the discussion could go any further, I heard the front door open, and the sound of four paws and a pair of human footsteps heading in our direction.

  First to arrive at the kitchen door was my seventy-pound male black standard poodle, Tuffy, panting from a vigorous morning run. The moment Addison saw Tuffy, he jumped up and stood behind his chair, gripping the top of it as though ready to use it to defend himself.

  “Hi, Tuff.” Mickey reached out to give Tuffy a friendly scratch beneath one of my poodle’s silken ears. Tuffy allowed it, while watching the stranger in the room.

  “Sit down, Addison. You can’t still be scared of dogs.”

  “I was badly bitten,” Addison said, his tone defensive.

  “You were six years old. Get over it. Anyway, Tuffy’s not just a regular dog. You haven’t seen Della’s tapes yet, but he’s on her show. Viewers love him—he even gets his own fan mail.”

  Tuffy left Mickey, came to me for a greeting nuzzle, and trotted to his water bowl to take a few deep slurps.

  In that moment, Addison lost interest in Tuffy because he was staring at the vision in my kitchen doorway: Eileen O’Hara, my honorary daughter, a twenty-year-old UCLA business major. Even with no makeup, wearing a faded old Bruins T-shirt and loose sweatpants, with her blonde hair spilling from her ponytail in damp tendrils, Eileen was a spectacular beauty.