Free Murder Takes the Cake Text by Gayle Trent

dish Mrs. Dobbs had asked me to give to Annabelle. I’d drop it off on my way. Maybe that’d give Officer Hayden time to get back to the station.
     
    *
     
    I saw the blue lights as soon as I turned onto Mrs. Watson’s street. No red lights—which was good because that would indicate an ambulance or fire truck—but there were two sets of flashing blue lights. I parked my car one house down, retrieved my purse and the casserole and walked to Mrs. Watson’s house.
    It suddenly occurred to me that if the police thought I killed Mrs. Watson with a cake, they might think I’d brought the casserole to do in Annabelle. Oh, well; I was here now. Besides, this might be the perfect opportunity to clear my name.
    There was a police officer standing outside the front door, but it wasn’t Bill Hayden. It was a woman, and she was talking into her radio. She quit talking as I approached.
    “Hello,” I said. “I’m here to see Annabelle. Is everything okay?”
    Stupid question, I know. Seldom are the police congregated at your house when everything is okay.
    “I mean, is she all right?” I asked.
    “She’s fine. Your name?”
    “Daphne Martin.”
    She radioed someone and announced my arrival.
    Annabelle came to the door. “Daphne, hi.”
    “Mrs. Dobbs had given me a casserole to give you when I was here yesterday. I forgot to give it to your earlier.”
    “Thanks.” She took the casserole. “Can you come in?”
    “Sure. What’s wrong?”
    “There’s been a break-in. The glass was knocked out of the kitchen door. That’s how they got in.”
    I gasped when I stepped inside the living room. The once immaculate room was now a mess. The curio cabinet had been knocked over, and broken porcelain was everywhere. Especially poignant were the faces staring up at me from the carpet.
    “Watch your step,” Annabelle said.
    “I am so sorry,” I whispered, my voice not willing to rise to the occasion. “Was anything taken?” I followed Annabelle through the living room and into the kitchen.
    “I don’t think so. But I would like for you to take a look around and make sure the house didn’t look like this when you were here yesterday.”
    Officer Hayden was standing in the kitchen. “Wait a minute. She was here yesterday?”
    “Yes,” Annabelle said, setting the casserole dish onto the table. “I asked her to get something for me.”
    “Are you sure she didn’t do this?”
    “You may address me directly, Officer Hayden. And I can assure you I did not do this. I had no need to break in as Annabelle trusted me with access to a key.” I lifted my chin. “Put that in your pipeline and spread it.”
    He put his hands on his hips and took a step closer to me. “What do you mean by that?”
    “I mean there’s an awful lot of confidential information about me—much of it inaccurate—floating around town, thanks to you and your wife.”
    “I don’t like your tone.” He swallowed, his Adam’s apple jerking spastically.
    “I don’t like your veiled accusations.”
    Annabelle stepped between us. “Please. Can we not argue right now? I’d like to get this wrapped up.”
    “Of course.” I took my first real look around the kitchen. Cabinet doors were flung open, and the counter tops were piled with pans, canned food, cereal boxes and cookbooks. I shook my head. “This kitchen was spotless when I was here yesterday. Is the entire house torn apart like this room and the living room?”
    “Afraid so.”
    The police woman joined us. “Johnson and McAfee are back from talking to the neighbors. Nobody is claiming to have seen anything.”
    Officer Hayden shot me a sharp look. “Figures.”
    I ignored him. “Annabelle, can I help you clean all this up?”
    “I appreciate the offer, Daphne; I really do. But I’m so tired. The police have offered to board up the kitchen door for me, and after they leave I’m going to straighten up the guest room and leave the rest until morning.”
    “Aren’t you worried about