Free Dying for a Cupcake by Denise Swanson Page A

perked up. “Spill.”
    “Unfortunately, I didn’t hear much, but we were getting ready to leave for the Golden Dragon and Kizzy suddenly laid into Fallon for something—I didn’t catch what her transgression had been—and when Lee steppedin, Kizzy started yelling at her, too.” Ronni pursed her lips. “About that time Kizzy noticed that I was standing there, pulled them all into the parlor, and closed the doors.”
    “Crap!” I thought about the incident for a few seconds, then asked, “Could you tell if the argument was about the business or the competition or . . . ?”
    “I can’t remember why, but it struck me as something more personal.” Ronni worried the skin around her thumbnail. “I could swear I heard the word
betrayal
. And it was only after this fight happened that Lee decided to stay behind with Fallon to wait for the delivery. Before that, only Fallon was going to wait here for it.”
    “Interesting.” I stared at the ceiling. “If Kizzy had died, I’d wonder if Lee had poisoned her. I noticed at the restaurant that the cupcake queen seemed to treat Lee more like a servant than a business partner.”
    “I noticed that around here, too,” Ronni agreed. “But Kizzy orders everyone around and Lee doesn’t seem to mind.”
    “True.” I was silent for a minute and then asked, “Did the police process Fallon’s car?”
    “I don’t think so.” Ronni pursed her lips. “They probably didn’t realize that she’d driven here on her own, and maybe Kizzy didn’t think to mention it. I sure didn’t.”
    “Too bad we don’t have the key or we could search it.”
    “Actually”—Ronni walked over to a rack made up of pink metal roses by the back door and selected a key from one of its many hooks—“we do. I asked for her spare in case I needed to move her car out of my way. With so many guests I figured we’d probably have to let people in and out of the parking area.”
    “Great.” I stood. “Let’s go take a look.”
    “Wait.” Ronni moved over to the sink and reached into the cupboard underneath it. When she straightened, she was pulling on a pair of rubber gloves.
    “Seriously?” I raised an eyebrow at the bright purple gloves.
    “Here.” She handed me a second pair. “If the cops decide Fallon’s death was foul play and end up dusting her car for prints, we don’t want them to find ours all over the interior.”
    “You have a point.” I pulled on the neon orange gloves and followed Ronni outside.
    Fallon drove a Fiat 500. It was a cute little vehicle with shiny white paint and hubcaps with an interlocking GG in the center. I had read about the Gucci edition of this car but never seen one before. The trademark red-and-green Gucci strip ran along the side, and if that weren’t enough to identify the design edition, the logo and name were everywhere.
    As Ronni unlocked the driver’s-side door and slid inside, she said, “Fallon was so proud of this car. She said she’d just bought it and it was the first new one she’d ever possessed.”
    “That’s so sad.” I got into the tiny backseat.
    “Fallon said she’d been saving up for the Fiat ever since she went to work for Kizzy five years ago,” Ronni commented as she went through the glove box. “She told me that she grew up in foster homes and everything she’d ever owned was secondhand.”
    “How awful that she finally got the car of her dreams and didn’t have time to enjoy it.” My heart hurt for the poor girl. “Someone her age, dying so young, is always sad, but Fallon’s death seems even more so for some reason. Maybe because she had turned her life around and was finally on a good path.”
    “You’re right,” Ronni agreed. “I feel that way, too.”
    I felt between the cushions and along the floor. There was nothing. The car still looked as if it had just driven out of the showroom. “Anything?” I asked Ronni.
    “Not even a gum wrapper,” she answered.
    After checking the trunk, which