In the end, curiosity won out. He just could not resist the need to know what had happened with his shop all day. Slipping into some soft, snuggly shoes, he slipped quietly out of the apartment and headed downstairs.
Everything was quiet and neat as a pin. Whoever had run the shop for him, they'd cleaned it better than even Oakley could usually manage. Michi? There was no way he'd have been able to do everything himself. Did Michi even know how to bake?
In the office, the shop books lay in the center of his desk, along with type-written papers that, when he sat and pulled them close, proved to be a report. From somebody named Merriweather. Where did he know that name?
The Bingo Club, that was it, duh. Clearly he was not as awake as he'd thought. She was head of the Bingo Club that ran out of the Methodist church over on Pine Street. He'd only met her a couple of times in passing, because she was a fabulous baker in her own right and so tended to make her own treats. He'd heard about her any number of times, though, often because several people loved to tell him whether a particular cupcake was better or worse than one Merriweather had made.
How in the world had Michi gotten the Bingo Club to come help him out? Because where Merriweather went, so went the rest of her crew. They ran that section of the town with a gentle but iron fist, a gaggle of geese and swan shifters who brooked no mischief from their neighborhood and would defend it to the death.
Sitting down, Oakley went through the day's accounting. All the orders that had needed to go out had, with only one of them running a bit late. That was awesome. There'd been no trouble with the muffins, either, mostly because the snow was keeping a lot of people inside. The orders for the next day were written out exactly as he always did it, with all the information he liked to have, and there was also a write-up of the money she'd paid herself and the three additional women who'd helped out from the petty cash.
Oakley could not have done better himself. He'd have to remember to show Arden later; he'd be amused and impressed.
Setting the report aside, he looked over the cupcake orders he needed to work on. Fewer than usual, but that wasn't really surprising with the weather. On the other hand, the few that were there were all church orders and one for the community center. Simple orders, a mix of basic flavors that everyone was likely to enjoy. So probably they were all hoping to have treats on hand should people have to seek shelter if the storm got really bad.
Excited at the idea, always eager to help with such things, Oakley started making notes to himself and planning out a schedule for the baking, since the orders were few but large. Delivering them once they were done might be a problem, but he'd cross that bridge when he came to it. For now, he had enough on his plate with actually making the cupcakes.
There was also the dual problem upstairs, waiting to be sorted out, but he was more than happy to focus on the cupcakes. Putting all his attention on that would also keep him from thinking about the murders.
Tucking everything away, making a note to himself to send all the women thank you gifts once the snow had cleared enough, he took his to do list and headed back into the kitchen.
There were five orders in total, four with a request for two kinds of cupcakes, the community center a request for three. The first three places had all requested the same two: Can't Go Wrong with Chocolate, a gluten and dairy free cupcake, and Cloud 9, which was a rainbow-themed vanilla cupcake. The remaining church wanted Carrot Garden and Wicked Forest. The community center wanted Cloud 9, Queen of Hearts, which was a cherry cupcake, and Root Beer Float. An unusual mix, but all popular, especially with kids, which was probably the point.
He got started on the Cloud 9 first, which used sprinkles he made himself. The beginning of every month, he made enormous batches of sprinkles—and despite how many he made, he still had to double the amount over the holidays.
Once those were going, he got to work on the carrot cupcakes, and prepped the cherries for Wicked Forest and Queen of Hearts.
When all his ovens were full and timers set, he went out to the front to make a pot of coffee and see how the weather was doing.
Instead, as he stepped through the swinging doors, he was greeted by the sight of red and blue flashing lights reflecting off the glass and filling his shop. What were the police doing now? Please not another murder. Heart sinking, Oakley got a pot of coffee going and then headed to the front door, shrugging into the jacket hanging on a nearby hook before unlocking it and stepping out.
The cops were about a block down, in front of the laundromat. Not unusual to see them there, but usually it was a single patrol, maybe two on a bad night, to break up some drunken brawl over a girl or a stolen t-shirt.
Right now, there was at least six cars, an ambulance, and dozens of people crowding around. Oakley hesitated, then zipped up his jacket and headed down the street to see what was going on, hoping and praying it was just a stupid fight that had gotten out of hand.
"Hey, Oakley," someone greeted as he reached them. Dorian, a vulture shifter who ran the antique shop across the street. Like so many that owned businesses on that street, he lived above his own shop.
A few others murmured greetings as well, but absently, their attention wholly on the chaos on the other side of the police tape.
"What's going on?" Oakley asked. "Did TJ finally lose it for real this time? Is everyone okay?"
"Murder," Dorian replied, expression grim. "Another stabbing. Some say it's the third one."
Oakley's stomach roiled. "It is. Bill was the first one, and someone in the park was killed, and now this. Who is it?"
"TJ," Dorian said. He was the drunk who usually hung around the laundromat, mostly because it was close to the liquor store and always open. He'd been a perpetual, but largely harmless, problem for years. Oakley gave him free food and coffee from time to time, but mostly TJ preferred a bottle and to be left the hell alone. "What the fuck is going on, man?"
"I have no idea, but I really wish it would stop." Oakley watched, numb and nauseous, as medics wheeled out a draped body on a stretcher and loaded it into the ambulance to take to the county coroner.
He left after a couple more minutes, disliking watching the whole mess like it was some sort of spectator sport. There were cupcakes and coffee waiting, anyway, and once he finished the cupcakes and had them chilling in the walk-in, he needed to start on muffins for the morning, and god knew what else would come up in the meantime.
At least he'd been able to get some rest. All thanks to Michi, which considering the way Oakley had stormed off to sulk earlier, and just how shitty Michi's night had been, was above and beyond.
Back in the shop, he poured a cup of coffee, added cream and a dash of cinnamon, and got back to work.
He'd just started making the root beer cake batter when he heard a distinctive loud knock on the door. Only cops knocked like that. Sighing, he turned off the machine, doublechecked the time left on the cupcakes in the oven, and went to answer the door.
Right as he reached the front area, Michi appeared, half-naked and clearly still more asleep than awake. But he supposed no cop was going to sleep through one of his own coming to the door. "What's wrong?"
"Another murder. TJ, just down the block."
"Damn it." Michi reached the door first, unlocked it, and stepped back to let the officer in. "Hey, Lena."
"Michi. What are you doing here?"
"Helping out. Long night, long story. What did you need?"
Lena shifted her attention to Oakley. "Just canvasing the neighborhood, wanted to know if anyone saw or heard anything. Since Oakley keeps weird hours, I was hoping he might have something for us."
"Unfortunately not," Oakley replied. "I was asleep until just a couple of hours ago, and then I came down here to get to work on tomorrow's cupcakes. I've been in the kitchen the whole time. Didn't even know anything was up until I came out here to make coffee and saw the lights. Dorian told me it was TJ who was dead, but that's literally all I know."
"Damn. Oh, well. Guess it wasn't suddenly going to start being easy. Haven't seen anything else strange the past couple of days?"
Oakley started to say no, but then remembered the weird dude in the alleyway. "Maybe? There's a guy I've seen a couple of times, never seen him before. Saw him in the alleyway when I was back there yesterday, early in the day and then later in the evening. Brown skin, had a hoodie hiding his face. Don't remember more than that. Didn't say or do anything weird, he was just walking around."
"Huh. Okay." Lena jotted some stuff in her little notepad, then closed it and tucked it away. "I'm guessing you didn't notice or hear anything either, Michi?"
"Nope. Went to bed like two hours ago, and once you leave I'm going right back. Arden is upstairs too, but he's been asleep for hours."
That got them a brief, pensive look, but Lena only nodded again. "Thanks. If you think of anything, just call in and let us know. When you coming back to work?"
"When the boss says so," Michi replied. "If anyone needs me, I'll be at my house or here."
Lena acknowledged the words with a playful salute and let herself out, Michi going to lock the door behind her.
"What the hell is going on?" Oakley asked. "We barely get one murder a year, and now three in twenty-four hours?"
Michi shook his head. "I don't know, but I'm going to see if I can find out what else they've learned, if anything. Be back soon." He started to step forward, then froze, face going bright red before he bolted off back upstairs.
What in the world had that been about?
Shaking his head, Oakley poured a fresh cup of coffee and then got back to work.
He finished up the root beer batter and got those in the oven, got the rainbow cupcakes in the walk-in, and started on the chocolate cupcakes. He'd developed the recipe after quite a bit of trial and error, settling on oat flour for the base, coconut oil and sugar, and non-Dutch processed cocoa, which helped with rise. The only truly hard part of the recipe was that the frosting took a few hours to make, though most of it was resting time.
They were well worth it, though, and one of his biggest sellers. He had a vanilla version, but it wasn't nearly as popular. Nothing could beat out Cloud 9 for first place.
When those were in the oven, he paused in the cupcake extravaganza to whip up a batch of Harvest Dream muffins for Michi and Just Like Pancakes for Arden, the latter of which really drove home that the difference between muffins and cupcakes was minute at best.
He'd just popped them both in the remaining oven when the door swung open, admitting a stressed-looking Michi. "What's wrong?"
"Nothing I can really do anything about," Michi said with a sigh, pulling up a stool and sipping at the coffee he'd grabbed on his way into the kitchen. "I made a fresh pot," he said when he noticed Oakley's gaze.
Oakley lifted his hands. "Dude, I don't care. So what did you learn?"
"Just like the first two: multiple stab wounds, no defensive wounds, and if the killer left behind their own blood, it's damn near impossible to tell."
"Their own blood? Even though there was no defensive wounds? Did they get injured on something else? At every crime scene?"
Michi gave a sour smile. "No. With stabbings like this, it's pretty typical for the killer's hand to slide down the blade, slice open their own hand, cut their fingers. That didn't happen here, near as we can tell. So either they were wearing good gloves, or they managed to be the one killer in all the world who stabbed three people to death without a single injury to themselves. It's wild."
"Definitely a knife, not a shifter who could have used claws or something? I guess that'd be pretty different from a stabbing, though."
"Yeah." Michi started to say more, but the words were overtaken by a yawn that looked like it should hurt. "If you don't mind, I'm going back to bed."
"Not like there's anything interesting happening down here." Oakley smiled. "When you wake up, there'll be a whole batch of Harvest Dream just for you."
Michi's face lit up. "Really? You didn't have to do that!"
"You didn't have to wheedle the Bingo Club into coming out in this weather to run my shop for me. I owe you big time."
"Hardly. Anyway, we were accidentally jerks to you. Seemed the least I could do."
Oakley shrugged. "Go back to bed, Officer. We can talk when you two wake up." He really didn't feel like having the whole debacle dragged back to the forefront of his mind, so hopefully by the time they woke up he'd have another reason to postpone the inevitable.
Michi lifted his hand in farewell, and with a 'happy baking,' vanished as quietly as he'd come.
Refreshing his coffee and putting on some music, Oakley set to work on the final two cupcakes, both of which were laborious. Wicked Forest was a spin on a black forest cake, and Queen of Hearts was more or less a vanilla version of the same. But adults tended to favor the former, with its dark chocolate and sour cherries, while kids loved the latter because of the sweet maraschino cherries he used and the gooey, sticky red mess that resulted when the cupcake was bitten into. It was a good cupcake to use for Halloween orders, swapping out hearts and sparkles for brains and zombies.
He got both batters going in their respective mixers and lined the tins while he waited, humming along with the music, listening to the wind as it whistled through the alleyway.
By the time he had those in the oven, he was ready for a nap. Instead, he drank still more coffee, took a bathroom break, and then set to work cleaning his poor kitchen, which had not fared well during the cupcake extravaganza. Not that it ever did, but after all the work the Bingo Club had done, he felt a little bad about ruining it. Still, kitchens weren't meant for staying clean.
He finished the cleaning, including mopping, by the time the timer went off. Storing the last of the cupcakes with the rest, he arranged the muffins in a basket to take upstairs and went to take the trash out.
It was snowing like crazy again as he hustled to the dumpster, and he was shivering and covered in white by the time he got back inside. Brushing it all off and getting towels to soak up the mess, he fetched the basket and finally headed off through the shop and back up to the apartment.
He moved quietly, slowly, so he wouldn't wake anybody up. Reaching the door, he turned the handle slowly and nudged the door open until he had just enough space to slip inside with the basket—
And almost dropped it as he took in the sight of Michi and Arden kissing like their lives depended on it. Oakley had never seen anything so beautiful and awful in his entire life. They were so into it, he probably could have brought a marching band upstairs and they wouldn't have noticed.
Swallowing the sudden boulder in his throat, regretting the fifty cups of coffee rapidly eating holes in his stomach now, Oakley carefully set the basket down on the floor and shut the door as quietly as he'd opened it.
He crept back downstairs and made it to the kitchen before tears got the better of him.
Well, what had he expected? He was the one who'd pointed out they were into each other and too stupid to realize it. What had he really thought would happen after that? For one of them to still choose him? A plain, fat, boring raccoon? Next to a beautiful crane and a charming platypus? He may as well expect both of them to choose him and have a merry threesome!
Oakley laughed at such a stupid thought, but it quickly turned into sobbing. When was he ever going to learn?
Sniffling, he got up and fetched some tissues, then washed his face at the sink. The cherries were all prepped, so he could go ahead and make the fillings for—
A knock at the back door made him jump, and his poor heart nearly exploded when he then heard Arden and Michi shouting his name, their steps pounding so loudly down the stairs he could hear it from the kitchen.
The knocking came again, and Oakley wanted to scream. Who the heck would be knocking on his back door? But he'd rather face the town's new murderer right then than the heartache about to come through the swinging doors.