This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

Cherry Chocolate Murder: Killer Cupcakes Book Two ©2016 Abby Byne. Revised edition ©2020 Celia Kinsey writing as Abby Byne

Chapter One

“How did your date with Nick go last night?” Bitsie’s sister-in-law asked her.

“Shh!” Bitsie protested. She looked furtively around the bakery kitchen. She and Liz were alone for the moment, but the man in question could decide to leave his post by the counter out front and walk through the kitchen door at any moment.

“What?” said Liz, trying to look innocent and not nearly succeeding. “Did I say something wrong?”

“It wasn’t a date!” Bitsie insisted.

“I thought you went out to dinner and saw a movie afterward,” said Liz, refusing to be cowed by Bitsie’s pleas for silence, but at least she lowered her voice.

“We did,” said Bitsie, “but it wasn’t a date.”

“Dinner and a movie sure sound a lot like a date,” Liz insisted.

“Well, it wasn’t!” said Bitsie firmly. “Nick and I are just friends.”

“Oh, so you’ve friend-zoned him?”

“Certainly not,” Bitsie said. In fact, if anyone was in a position to do any friend-zoning, it was Nick. Even aside from being far too young for her, Nick was clearly out of her league. “I don’t think it ever entered his mind that I’d consider that a date,” she said firmly.

Liz just raised one eyebrow and went back to pouring cherry chocolate batter into a cupcake pan. Normally, Liz didn’t come to the bakery to help, but Bitsie’s two regular bakers were out. Hector had a family funeral to go to, and Anabel had called in sick, although Bitsie didn’t quite believe her story about having the flu. It might be flu season, but it was the third time Anabel had taken sick leave in the last three months. Three months was, coincidentally, the same length of time Anabel had been seeing her new boyfriend, James.

“Did Anabel call in sick a lot back when you were running the bakery?” Bitsie asked Liz.

“No, hardly ever. I hired Anabel six years ago, and she’s called in sick maybe half a dozen times.”

“So once a year would be normal? That’s not been my experience since I took over. Does it seem strange to you that she’s been sick three times in the last three months?”

“Maybe she caught a nasty bug that she just can’t shake,” Liz suggested.

Bitsie suspected that Anabel had caught a nasty bug that she just couldn’t shake, and that nasty bug’s name was James, but Bitsie didn’t like to gossip, so she kept her suspicion to herself. The thing was, Anabel kept claiming to have the flu, but she never did show any lingering symptoms when she returned to work, although one time she had come back sporting a nasty bruise on one cheek. Anabel claimed to have gotten bruised when she ran into a tree limb while raking leaves in her yard, but it looked to Bitsie a lot more like she’d been punched. Another time, Bitsie had walked into the tiny staff bathroom when Anabel was washing her hands, and Anabel had hurriedly rolled her sleeves down, but not before Bitsie had caught a glimpse of what looked very much like greenish-purple marks on her arm where someone had grabbed her far too roughly.

Nick stuck his head into the kitchen and gave Bitsie a dazzling smile, which Bitsie tried to return with casual friendliness. Yes, she and Nick were definitely in the friend zone, not because she’d decided to put him there, but because that’s where the two of them belonged.

“I’m taking off in a few minutes after I close up,” said Nick. “Will those cherry chocolate cupcakes be cool enough to box up? We sold out of them today.”

“Going to see your granddad?” Liz asked.

“Every Tuesday,” Nick replied. “I’m not allowed to show up empty-handed, either. Cherry chocolate is his new favorite flavor.”

“I thought your grandfather didn’t care for chocolate,” said Bitsie.

“Ah, he doesn’t, but apparently his new lady-love is crazy for it,” said Nick.

“They do live down there at Shady Grove. Who knew that assisted living was such a hotbed of romance?” Liz laughed.

“They’re senior citizens, not dead citizens,” said Bitsie, a bit too defensively. She refused to believe there was an expiration date on love.

“Assisted living isn’t slowing Granddad down any in that department,” said Nick. “He’s managed to fall in love with three different women in the same space of time it’s taken me to try and get over one.”

Bitsie wanted to ask Nick to elaborate on that one woman he’d taken so long to get over—he must be talking about his ex-wife—but she stifled the impulse.

“Unfortunately,” Nick continued, “the lady Granddad’s enamored with can’t seem to make up her mind about him.”

“Why can’t she?” said Bitsie. “Roscoe is a lovely man.”

Bitsie had gone with Nick to visit his grandfather too many times to count in the six months she’d been back in Little Creek. Nick’s grandfather Roscoe was a kind, handsome, and quite a mischievous gentleman of eighty-seven. He was exactly what Nick would be in forty-seven years: the same sparkling green eyes, the same wavy hair, although, hopefully, Nick would keep more of his—Bitsie cut off her musing. Was it a bad sign that she’d moved on from admiring Nick’s biceps—that was harmless enough—to imagining what he’d be like at eighty? Yes, it was a bad sign, she decided. It was only one small step away from imagining what it would be like to grow old with him, and that was truly dangerous ground.

“I guess Granddad has a sort of love triangle going on,” said Nick. “There’s another man who’s crazy about the same woman. He’s some guy Granddad’s never really liked, but what can he do? Says the guy’s a real jerk, but I wouldn’t be surprised if that’s who the lady ends up going for. Women go for those overbearing types sometimes—“ Nick trailed off, his mind elsewhere. Bitsie wondered if he was thinking about his ex-wife again. Had she left him for a jerk?

“So, your grandpa is plying her with cherry chocolate cupcakes in the hopes of winning her over?”  Liz asked.

“Yes, although cupcakes don’t seem to have gotten him very far with her yet,” Nick said. “You want to come with me, Bitsie? Granddad loves you. He’s always threatening to steal you away—“ Nick broke off suddenly.

When Bitsie and Nick had first met six months before, Nick had constantly been flirting with her in a desultory way, as if it amused him to make her uncomfortable, but he never said flirtatious things to her anymore. Was he suddenly flirting with her again, or was it just his way of warning her that his grandfather thought that she and Nick were an item? Surely, the old man wouldn’t think that.

“I’d love to see Roscoe,” said Bitsie. “But I’ll need a few minutes after closing to finish up some paperwork.”

“No problem,” said Nick. “After we stop by to see Granddad, you want to grab a bite to eat?”

Bitsie tried to ignore the smirk that Liz was telegraphing in her direction. Thank goodness that Liz was standing behind Nick, where he couldn’t get a look at the smug expression on Liz’s face.

It was nearly seven in the evening before they arrived at Shady Grove Assisted Living. Shady Grove was the only facility for seniors in the tiny town of Little Creek, Arkansas. Despite its name, there was no grove; there were hardly any trees. The sprawling brick building sat in the middle of an expanse of weedy grass, asphalt, and a few poorly-tended flowerbeds still containing the frosted remains of last summer’s bedraggled petunias.

They found Roscoe in the common room playing cards with a man Bitsie recognized but had never met.

“How are you feeling, Granddad?” Nick asked as they sat down at the table.

“Not too bad.”

“Not too bad?” Nick questioned him. “Mom called this morning and said they had to take you to the clinic yesterday.”

“I’m fine,” Roscoe insisted.

“Then why’d they take you in? Is your heart acting up again?”

Roscoe ignored his grandson and turned his attention to Bitsie.

“Bitsie,” said Roscoe. “I don’t believe you’ve met Malcolm. Bitsie, meet Malcolm Smith. Malcolm, meet Bitsie George, my grandson’s—“ Roscoe broke off, and Bitsie looked over at Nick, who was giving his grandfather a warning look. Apparently, Nick wasn’t confident about how his grandfather would end that sentence.

“Friend!” Roscoe finished with a wink in Bitsie’s direction. Bitsie tried not to look embarrassed and failed completely, but Malcolm Smith, who’d barely acknowledged their presence when Nick and Bitsie sat down, merely grunted. Bitsie extended her hand, which Malcolm took after hesitating a moment. He shook it roughly and then stood up and grunted again before stalking away from the table.

“Cheerful chap, isn’t he?” said Nick to Bitsie.

“Terrible card player,” said Roscoe, “but useful. He likes to play for money, and he always loses.”

“They play for pennies,” said Nick. “Malcolm’s biggest losing streak amounted to three dollars and seventy-four cents, or something like that.”

Roscoe was laughing.

“Why do you persist in torturing the poor guy?” Nick asked. “You know how much he hates losing. Why don’t you just let him win once in a while?”

“It’s too much fun to watch him lose. Besides, he’s such a weasel; he doesn’t deserve to win.” Roscoe’s face darkened. “I don’t know what Lavinia sees in him.”

“Miss Lavinia Fay still stringing you two gents along?” Nick asked.

“Like a couple of suckers,” Roscoe replied. “You got the goods?” he asked, pointing to the box of cupcakes Bitsie held on her lap.

Bitsie handed over the cupcakes.

“Who is this Miss Fay?” she asked Roscoe as she looked around the room. Miss Fay must be quite the woman. Usually, in places like Shady Grove, the ratio of women to men was two to one, and if there was anyone getting fought over, it was generally a man.

“Used to be a famous operatic soprano, or so I’m told,” said Nick.

“Oh?”

“Used to be quite a beauty, too, in her day,” Nick added.

“What are you talking about, ‘in her day’? What an idiotic expression!” Roscoe interjected indignantly. “Lavinia is still a very beautiful woman. The problem with you young men is it that you don’t know how to appreciate a mature—“

Bitsie interrupted and asked if there was any chance she might get to meet this famous Miss Fay in person.

“She’ll be in later on,” said Roscoe. “She always sits over there by the window.”

He pointed at a seating area under some windows and next to a bookcase filled with old paperbacks and dog-eared board games, which Bitsie bet hardly anybody ever played.

Bitsie and Nick stayed for another half hour, but Miss Lavinia Fay did not make an appearance, and Roscoe kept the lid firmly closed on the cupcakes. Several other residents wandered by the table and looked longingly at the closed box.

Ruby Sheers, another friend of Roscoe’s, came by and chatted away about nothing in an animated but distracted manner. She was friendly enough, but she came off as a bit daft, and it was obvious that she was more interested in the whereabouts of Malcolm than she was in the people sitting at the table.

“I just don’t know what women see in him.” Roscoe sighed as they watched Ruby totter her way across the common area in the direction of Malcolm’s room.

Probably the same thing that Anabel saw in her no-good boyfriend James, Bitsie thought, whatever that was. Why did some women go for men they already knew were colossal jerks?

“Hungry?” asked Nick, looking at his watch. “We’d better go soon. It’s almost eight, and they roll up the sidewalks around here in another half hour.”

It was true; half the restaurants in town would already be closed.

“Bub’s diner or Pietro’s Pizza?” Nick asked. “Unless you want to drive all the way to Fayetteville—“

Bitsie didn’t. Her feet hurt, and her cat Max was probably waiting impatiently at home for his dinner of diet kibble. Poor Max, he was always ready to eat, and it showed.

“Bub’s diner,” she said. “I love their honey-roasted ribs.” Her mouth watered. She closed her eyes and imagined biting into one of those ribs.

She opened her eyes to see Nick smiling at her. When she stared back at him, he didn’t break his gaze.

“What?” Bitsie demanded.

“Nothing,” Nick said, laughing.

“If it’s nothing, then why do you look so amused?”

“It’s just this look you get on your face when you think about food. I’ve never seen anyone who enjoyed eating so much.”

Bitsie looked down at her waistline and frowned. She and Max had a lot in common. She did enjoy eating; that was obvious by just looking at her figure. It wasn’t that she was fat, exactly. In fact, in the last six months, she’d even managed to shed a few pounds, but she was hardly what could be described as streamlined.

“I’m not making fun of you,” said Nick, looking genuinely concerned that he’d hurt her feelings.

“I know.”

“I really like that you enjoy your food,” he insisted. “After spending a decade married to a woman who counted every calorie—“

“She did, she really did. That woman was a calorie-counting fiend,” Roscoe broke in. “Couldn’t take her to a restaurant—“

“Granddad—“

“She’d order a salad without dressing, toast without butter, pizza without cheese—“

“Granddad!”

“Doggone nearly wasted away to noth—“

“We’d better go,” said Bitsie hastily. Nick never talked about his ex, and she’d never pressed him to. The only thing Bitsie knew about her was that her name was Tracy, and when she and Nick had broken up, Tracy had moved away to Nebraska.

Some things in the past were better left in the past, Bitsie thought. She certainly had memories of her marriage to Robert that she’d rather not talk about.

Bitsie was just taking that first heavenly bite of honey-roasted ribs at Bub’s diner when Nick’s phone rang.

“Hi, Granddad. How were the—“

There was a lot of talking on Roscoe’s end, which Bitsie couldn’t hear. When Nick finally hung up, his face was ashen.

“What is it?” Bitsie asked.

“It’s bad.”

“What’s bad?”

“It’s really bad.”

“You’re going to have to say a bit more than that.”

“You remember Malcolm?”

“The cranky guy Roscoe plays cards with?”

“Yeah, he just collapsed and nearly died.”

“Is he going to be OK?”

“Granddad thinks so.”

It was sad, of course, but she didn’t understand why Nick seemed so shaken. It wasn’t as if he was fond of Malcolm. He must know that old people collapse all the time. She’d once lived across from a nursing home, and it seemed like every time she’d looked out her living room window, there’d been an ambulance taking someone away.

“There’s more,” Nick continued.

“Oh?”

“He collapsed right after eating one of those cupcakes we brought over.”

“I don’t see—“

“It looks like it was the cupcake that nearly did him in. One of the staff nurses was there when he collapsed, and she noticed that the cupcake he’d been eating had been tampered with.”

“Tampered with? You mean someone put something in his cupcake?”

“There was some yellow powder in it. Roscoe saw the whole thing. He took a look at that cupcake, too, before the paramedics told the nurse to bag it up. He says it looked like someone took a cupcake, hollowed out the middle, and put some yellow powder inside. Then they must have glued the whole thing back together with frosting.”

Chapter Two

“They sent the cupcake in for analysis,” said Roscoe. He looked pale, shaken, and suddenly older.

“You mean the police?” asked Bitsie. She wondered if she should call her brother Stan. He might have retired seven months ago from the local police force, but he still had reserve status, so he might know something.

No, Bitsie admonished herself. It wasn’t her place to get involved in another crime, and it certainly wasn’t Stan’s. Besides, it wasn’t at all clear that a crime had been committed. There was also her sister-in-law, Liz, to think about. After Stan’s involvement in solving the mystery of the death of the electrician in Bitsie’s bakery kitchen, Liz had put her foot down. Liz had pointed out that the main reason Bitsie had taken over the bakery in the first place was so she and Stan could retire together. She hadn’t taken early retirement to spend it alone while her husband continued to play police detective, Liz had insisted, and Bitsie couldn’t really blame her sister-in-law for feeling the way she did.

“The police came around this morning,” said Roscoe. “Asked everyone a lot of questions. Searched our rooms, too, at least some of us. I volunteered to let them search mine. I certainly don’t have anything to hide.”

“Do you think they found anything?” Nick asked.

”Don’t know. They didn’t take anything from my room except my trash. Can’t imagine why they’d want that.”

“What kinds of questions did they ask?” Bitsie asked. She just couldn’t help herself.

“They wanted to know if Malcolm had any enemies,” Roscoe replied. “Had he recently argued with anyone? That sort of thing.”

“Had he?” Nick asked.

“Yes. He’s had so many conflicts with people around here; it’s hard to know where to start with whose bad side he’s gotten on.”

“Oh? For example:”

“Well, he and I don’t get along too well for a start, and I suspect most people think I’m the best friend he’s got. I certainly spend more time with him than anyone else does.”

“I know you argue at cards,” said Bitsie, “but is there more to it than that?”

“The arguing over cards is all part of the fun, at least as far as I’m concerned,” Roscoe replied, “but Malcolm and I did have a serious bust-up a few days ago over Lavinia.”

“What happened?” asked Nick.

“Well, I basically told him to back off or else!”

“Or else what?” Nick demanded.

“I don’t know. I was so mad that I told him that I’d do whatever it took to keep him away from Lavinia,” said Roscoe defiantly. “I didn’t have a plan; it’s just one of those things a person says when they get so steamed up, they aren’t thinking straight.”

“Well, let’s hope that Malcolm didn’t take what you said as a serious threat,” said Nick. “If that cupcake turns out to have been poisoned, saying something like that could make you a prime suspect.”

“I know,” said Roscoe, deflating. “But I really didn’t mean anything by it. I may not be overly fond of the fellow, but I’d never do anything to hurt him.”

“Who else did Malcolm argue with recently?” asked Bitsie.

“Everyone from the serving ladies in the dining room to the cleaning staff, and that’s not counting the residents,” Roscoe answered. “Nobody likes the cranky old coot.”

“Anyone in particular stand out?” asked Bitsie.

Roscoe hesitated for a moment before motioning to Nick to close the door to his room.

“There is,” he said in a low voice after the door was shut. “There’s a male CNA that Malcolm’s taken a particular dislike to.”

“Why?” asked Bitsie.

“Well, this guy isn’t anybody’s favorite,” said Roscoe. “He’s rough and impatient, and I personally wouldn’t trust him any farther than I could throw him, but—“

“But what?” Bitsie prodded.

“Well, Malcolm filed a formal complaint against this guy a couple of weeks ago. Don’t know if it was merited or not. I wouldn’t be surprised either way. James could have done what Malcolm claimed he’d done, or Malcolm might have made it up just to get back at James.”

“This CNA’s name is James?”

“Yeah. James Johnson. Anyway, Malcolm’s made numerous verbal complaints about James, but I guess the last straw was when James threatened to smother him with a pillow in his sleep if Malcolm didn’t stop bad-mouthing him.”

“Wow!” said Bitsie. “You think that really happened?”

“I have no way of knowing if Malcolm is telling the truth. The staff doesn’t seem to have taken his complaint very seriously. James denied making any threat against Malcolm, and the powers-that-be seem to have taken his word for it. I guess it’s a case of crying wolf once too often. Malcolm is the sort of guy who constantly complains about everything and thinks everyone is out to get him.”

“What’s your gut tell you?” Bitsie asked Roscoe.

“My gut is silent on this one.”

“Did anyone hear James threatening Malcolm?” Bitsie asked.

“Malcolm claims Clarence Crake, who lives across the hall from him, heard it all, but Clarence swears that he didn’t hear a thing.”

“What’s Clarence like?” Nick asked.

“Clarence is hard to read,” said Roscoe. “He keeps to himself. He’s been a lot friendlier lately, though. I guess he’s taken a liking to me. He’s started coming in to see me every morning right after breakfast. He doesn’t stay long. Just shoots the breeze for a few minutes and then goes back to his room and doesn’t come out until the next meal. After supper, he likes to go to the common room, but he doesn’t really talk to anybody. He likes to play chess. He sets up the board and plays against himself. Always plays one game after supper and then goes to his room again.”

“Is there anyone else in particular who might have had a grudge against Malcolm?” Nick asked.

“The only other person that I can think of is this woman who’s had a tremendous crush on Malcolm ever since the day she moved in. Ruby Sheers. You met her yesterday.”

“She seemed so sweet, though,” said Bitsie. She had a hard time believing that such a cute bubbly little gray-haired lady would be capable of poisoning anyone.

“She did seem sweet to you, didn’t she?” said Roscoe. “But don’t be taken in by her. Some days she’s like that, other days, well—“

“Is she not all right in the head or something?” asked Nick.

“You could say that,” Roscoe answered. “You never know which version of Ruby you’re going to get. My theory is that she’s always been like that, and now, on top of whatever has always been off-kilter upstairs, she’s going senile.”

“What makes you think that?”

“Well, she’s taken to stealing things. I talked to her daughter about it when she came to visit last week, and it’s something that’s started quite recently. The daughter thinks that Ruby just picks stuff up and sticks it in her pockets, and half the time, she doesn’t even realize that she’s taking things that don’t belong to her.”

“But what makes you think Ruby might have tried to harm Malcolm?” Bitsie asked.

“Ah, something happened last week. She bugged Malcolm one too many times. Malcolm’s head-over-heels for Lavinia, so Ruby never had a chance with him anyway. But I guess Malcolm finally came right out and told Ruby to leave him alone. Told her he didn’t want to ever speak to her again. He followed that up by saying that he didn’t care to see her ugly face again in this world or the next. All that made Ruby really mad, of course. There was a lot of yelling and screaming and flinging stuff around. A couple of the nurses came to sedate her, but before they managed to subdue her enough to stick a needle in her, Ruby threatened Malcolm.”

“What did she say to him?”

“’If I can’t have you, no one can,’” said Roscoe, “or something to that effect. I wasn’t there. I just heard about it from Lavinia.”

“What do you think?” Bitsie asked Nick as they pulled out of the parking lot of Shady Grove.

“Well, I’m sure Granddad didn’t do it,” said Nick. “Other than that—“

“We don’t even know for sure that Malcolm was poisoned,” Bitsie pointed out. “By the way, did you ever find out why Roscoe had to go to the clinic the other day?”

“Yeah. He was having trouble with his heart. His blood pressure was sky-high. The doctor seems to think Granddad hasn’t been taking his medication regularly, but Granddad swears up and down he hasn’t missed a single dose.”

“You don’t think he’s getting forgetful, do you?”

“Granddad? No way. It’s not like him to lie about something like that, either. He’ll refuse to divulge information if he thinks somebody is too nosey, but he’s never been one to outright lie.”

“Strange.”

“I thought so, too.”

“Think we should go visit Malcolm?”

“Guess it wouldn’t hurt anything.”

Bitsie and Nick did not get around to visiting Malcolm until two days later, and by that time, he’d been released from the hospital and was back at Shady Grove.

Malcolm did not seem happy to see them. He was still in his pajamas and sitting up in bed, which was an odd choice for the middle of the afternoon. Since the hospital had seen fit to release him the day after they admitted him, Bitsie couldn’t help wondering if Malcolm was milking his near-death experience for all it was worth by playing the invalid.

“Came to see if he finished me off yet, eh?” said Malcolm as they walked into the room.

Bitsie and Nick both wisely ignored the comment.

“How are you feeling?” Nick asked.

“Well, I’m not dead, although I guess that’ll make some people unhappy.”

“Certainly not,” Bitsie insisted, knowing it was a lie. Apparently, there was no shortage of people who’d consider Malcolm Smith’s death a considerable improvement to their quality of life.

“We brought you some crossword puzzle books,” said Bitsie. “Roscoe said you liked those.”

“Did he?” Malcolm threw her a surly look and refused to extend his hand to accept the proffered puzzle books. Bitsie ignored his rudeness and placed the books on the table beside his bed.

“Are you happy to be back home?” asked Nick.

“Home?”

“Back at Shady Grove.”

“Shady Cess Pool is more like it,” said Malcolm. “Terrible place. I don’t know where they find the no-good losers they call nurses.”

“Oh, I don’t know about that,” Nick protested. “Granddad says—“

“He would, wouldn’t he?” spat out Malcolm. “Got those nurses wrapped around his little finger. I can’t get so much as clean sheets, but they’re up in his room at all hours—“

Bitsie suspected that there was some truth to Malcolm’s complaint. Of course, the staff ignored him whenever they could; he was just so unpleasant to be around. She didn’t doubt that Roscoe got a lot more attention from the staff.

“Roscoe sent you, didn’t he?” Malcolm demanded.

“No, he didn’t,” said Bitsie. “He doesn’t even know we’re here.”

“We just wanted to stop by and see how you’re doing,” Nick added.

“He tried to kill me, you know,” said Malcolm.

“Who tried to kill you?” Bitsie asked. She knew she shouldn’t encourage Malcolm’s ravings, but she was curious to know just who he held responsible for his collapse.

“Your grandfather!” said Malcolm, pointing an accusing finger at Nick.

“I’m sure he didn’t!” said Nick.

“Well, somebody did!” Malcolm retorted.

“That’s what we wanted to talk to you about,” said Bitsie.

“Who tried to kill me?”

“Well, I wouldn’t put it quite like that,” said Bitsie. “Until the results come back from the lab, no one knows for sure if you collapsed because there was something in that cupcake.”

“What happened when you collapsed?” Nick asked.

“Well, I was just sitting there, eating my cupcake, when I started feeling all woozy and short of breath. Then I got these weird muscle cramps in both my legs,” said Malcolm. “It wasn’t long after that when I felt like I might pass out, so I told Roscoe to go get a nurse. That nurse is so lazy—they’re all lazy—it took her forever to get there. Not long after that blasted nurse finally showed up, I fainted. Didn’t wake up again until I was at the hospital.”

“Are you sure it was the cupcake that made you faint?” Bitsie asked.

“Of course, it was the cupcake! I’m not like that wuss Clarence who’s always falling down and foaming at the mouth ‘cause he’s had some diabetic fit.”

“I wasn’t aware that diabetics foamed at the mouth.” Bitsie couldn’t help herself.

“Ok. Maybe he doesn’t foam at the mouth, but it seems like he’s passing out every time I turn around.”

“Because of his diabetes?”

“I guess. He says it’s his diabetes, but I think he does it for attention. He’s such a—“

Bitsie decided there was nothing to be gained by allowing Malcolm to carry on insulting his fellow resident, so she asked, “Did you notice right away there was something wrong with the cupcake?”

“I tasted the poison,” Malcolm insisted. “When I took the second bite, it tasted bitter.”

“Did you spit it out?” Bitsie asked.

“No,” Malcolm looked embarrassed. “I couldn’t. There was a lady present.”

Of course, thought Bitsie. Miss Lavinia Fay had been sitting there, possibly right beside Malcolm, and he’d been too embarrassed to spit out the tainted cupcake. Normally, she suspected, Malcolm would have spit the whole thing out and made a terrible fuss about it, but love has a powerful influence over even the most uncouth.

“Did you see it?” asked Bitsie. “Could you see what the bitter stuff was inside the cupcake?”

“After that second bite, I didn’t eat any more of it. There were little bits of yellow,” said Malcolm. He turned to point a finger at Nick again. “Lots of little bits of yellow, just like crushed-up pills. There was more yellow powder in that bite than there was cupcake, and they were exactly the same color as your grandfather’s heart pills.”

“Do you think it’s really possible it was Roscoe’s heart pills that got into that cupcake,” Bitsie asked Nick as they stood in the parking lot of the hospital.

“I don’t see how they could have been,” said Nick. “And even if it turns out to be what was in that cupcake, I refuse to believe Granddad would have been the one who put them there.”

“It’s really bothering me, though.”

“What is?”

“It’s really bothering me what the doctor said about Roscoe not having been taking his medication regularly.”