Let it go, Hollis. This is what having a partner is all about. Fifty-fifty, remember?
“Adorable,” I said. “Let’s keep it.” I took a deep breath, cleared my throat again, and leaned in. “Welcome to the Knock ’em Dead podcast.”
“Where murder and muffins meet!”
“I’m Hollis.”
“And I’m Daisy.”
“And we’re passionate about true crime.” If she could have her muffins in the tagline, I could have my fancy romancey passion. “Today marks the first episode in our first series, so I want to make sure we start off with a bang.”
“Ooh, bombs?” Daisy asked.
“Poisonings.”
“Poison bombs?”
“No, not a literal bang. Although I suppose I can hear that mistake now.” Mary Jean admonished me in my head: Read aloud, dear. “I just meant, you know, a metaphorical bang. Something that will make the listener feel…” I made an explosion sound and fanned my hands out by my temples. “Mind-blown by our amazing reporting. Like the history of murder by poisonings. According to an FBI Supplemental Homicide Report, women are more likely to kill by poisoning than men. So I thought it would be exciting to talk about women who have poisoned—and who have been poisoned—throughout history.”
“Well, I’ve got something exciting,” Daisy said. Again she held the pan toward the computer screen. “Lemon bars. They are to die for.” She cracked up, snorting right into the microphone. “Did you hear what I did there? To die for?” She reached down and produced a knife and two paper plates from her enormous purse slash diaper bag then began expertly cutting squares. “Now there are a couple secrets to making a good lemon curd,” she said. “First of all, you should always add your eggs one at a time. Add, beat, add, beat, and so on. Make sure you strain the curd after it’s done cooking so you can get all that lumpy zest out. And here’s my little secret, Hollis. I add just the tiniest bit of orange juice to make it sweeter. Give it a try.”
“I can’t eat while—” She shoved a lemon bar into my hand. “Okay, sure, I’ll take one. Should we start by diving right into the history of poisonings, or should we start with news—like the coach case?”
“Coach case? Oh, the guy who got hit after the homecoming game.” She’d already heard the Hibiscus version of what had happened, of course. Daisy was as plugged into Parkwood gossip as Esther. Seemed the key to everyone’s secrets—er, heart—in this town was food. She gestured at the lemon bar that was dusting my lap with powdered sugar. “Eat that.”
“I’m sort of in the middle of—oh, fine.” I took the tiniest bite and let out a groan. “That is so good, Daisy. You’ve outdone yourself.”
“It’s the orange juice,” she said. “Secret ingredient not so secret anymore. Oh, wait, maybe that’s not a good idea. I forget I have a business now. Can you just edit everything out and we can start over from Welcome?”
My eyes bugged out. “No way!”
“But my secret ingredient—”
“Is secret no more. Moving on. Yes, I’m talking about the hit-and-run at last night’s football game. I happened to be on the scene. There were clues. I just have to get them.”
She waved her hand at me. “I have faith in you. The River Fork team is going to be lost without their head coach. His assistant sure has big, winning shoes to fill. He’s either going to be a hero or a town punching bag. Now, let me tell you about how you add the butter into this curd…”
She kept going, but I had tuned her out completely. His assistant sure has big, winning shoes to fill.
Daisy was right. Coach Farley was a winning coach, and someone taking his spot could be in a lot of game trouble without him.
Or that someone could be a hero for stepping in and keeping the winning streak going, despite the blow to the team.
Would an assistant be willing to kill a guy just to get that chance?
I wasn’t sure about this case, and it had been quite a while since I last investigated a murder, but I knew one thing.
I had to get out to River Fork and talk to the assistant football coach.
I also needed another lemon bar. Curse her and her orange juice.
Chapter 6
We weren’t done recording yet, but Mike arrived, looking panicked. He was covered with suds and carrying a towel-wrapped Willow. Bath time in the Mueller house was not a job for one person, and especially if that person was a guy wearing an aluminum foil crown.
“I kept my fort up the longest, so I won the kingdom,” he said in all seriousness, pointing at the crown with a sudsy finger. “But Spencer’s a sore loser, so I expect an assassination attempt within the week.”
“As one would,” I said. My stomach hurt. I’d eaten four lemon bars while Daisy went on about how to get the perfect crisp-yet-gooey shortbread crust. Still, I felt good. Like maybe this was exactly what I had needed to finally put everything behind me and start over anew.
“So we get into the poisonings tomorrow?” I asked as Daisy hefted Willow onto her hip. The little girl struggled to get down, but Daisy had an amazing grip when it came to those kids. “And then I’ll try to figure out how to edit and post.”
“I just don’t know how poisonings reflect on my lemon bars,” she said. “But I suppose we’ll make it work.”
“It’s a true crime podcast,” I reminded her for the hundredth time. “Arsenic is going to become your jam. Get it? Jam? Because you’re a baker?” I nudged her until she smiled and slapped at my shoulder
