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did see, though I wondered why she couldn’t just have told us all that, rather than making us watch it on TV.
    “Poor Babette,” I said, shaking my head. “But I just don’t believe she did it.”
    "How do they know the poison was in the cake? And not in some of the other food at the shower?” Nana asked Patsy.
    “The police ran tests that confirmed that the cake was poisoned right here, at the Bundt Baby shop. The poison was definitely not added at the party or out in the van. A fact I’ll be revealing more about in my four o’clock broadcast.”
    “The poison was added in here?” I asked. I looked around at the once charming little shop which had now taken on some seriously creepy undertones.
    “Yes,” Patsy said darkly. “Apparently, Babette’s friend had brought two bottles of bitter almond oil back from New Zealand, as a gift for Babette. It’s illegal here in America, because, in its raw form it can cause cyanide poisoning. The police found one of these bottles in the Bundt Baby kitchen. And traces of the oil were found on the spatula, in the mixing bowl, on the pastry bag…”
    At that point I noticed Mr. Evil looking down at his box of lumpy Bundts .
    “Don’t worry,” I said. “The police took all that stuff away. Those are all made with brand new ingredients. By my own unlethal hands.”
    “Her lovely, soft, unlethal hands,” Nana said, lifting my left hand as if to show Casey its soft, unlethal, ring-free state. I frowned at her, and pulled my hand back, trying to get her to chill out, but she didn’t notice. She was too busy arranging my marriage to Casey.
    “So, any comment?” Patsy asked. The camera was back on and filming, and Patsy’s mic was in my face.
    Everyone looked at me, as if I was now the official spokesperson for Bundt Baby . Perhaps they were waiting for me to mount some impassioned defense of my boss…but I couldn’t.
    Not just because it wasn’t my place to say anything. But because I didn’t know what to say. Or think. It didn’t seem possible that Babette really had killed Dahlia on purpose, but then again, if what Patsy had said was true, who else could have done it? After all, the oil belonged to Babette. Plus, she and Doug and I were the only ones who had a key to the shop, and Babette had told me she was alone working here all that night.
    I was about to say no comment, when we all heard a loud voice call out, “I have a comment!”
    It was accompanied by the wild ringing of the front door chimes.
    Doug.
    He was stumbling drunkenly into the store, looking worse than I’d ever seen him. He was still dressed in full-on prep, with a pink golf shirt and khaki pants, but his eyes were rimmed with red and his normally clean shaven face was all stubbly. His blonde hair which was usually neatly combed, was now a spiky mess. 
    “You can quote me on this,” Doug said to Patsy, blinking several times as he tried to focus his bleary eyes on her. “My wife killed Dahlia. And I can prove it!”
    Patsy’s eyes lit up as she motioned to her cameraman to start filming . Then she hurried over to Doug and shoved her mic in his face. “What kind of proof do you have about the murder, Mr. Berwick?”
    “I…” Doug said, swaying woozily. “I…” he said again and reached for the mic to steady himself. But he missed and fell to the floor, passing out.
    Patsy motioned to her cameraman to ‘cut’, then she frowned at Doug’s inert form. “Tell him to call me when he sobers up,” she said. Then she smiled at Casey, handed him her card and walked off.
    I couldn’t help but notice that Casey’s eyes followed her as she went.
     

 
     
     
     
     
     
    CHAPTER NINE
     
     
    As Nana and Birdie fed mugs of hot coffee to the now slightly- conscious Doug, they milked not only his coffee but Doug himself, trying to get any information they could out of him. He slowly came back to awareness at which point, as if by magic, Patsy ap peared with her cameraman.
    Doug, now