(Carla)
Carla leaned sideways to set the e-reader on the coffee table. The sudden movement woke the baby. Her beach-ball-sized stomach shifted as the baby stretched. A hand, or foot, rose up like a bubble near her belly button then receded. Another appendage jabbed her bladder. The kid was going to be born with a karate black belt.
She lay back on the memory foam pillow and stared out the patio door. Frozen, dead grass and a weathered privacy fence made up the postage-stamp-sized backyard. While she escaped to exotic worlds in the e-books, her real life felt just as foreign. In less than a year, she had gone from a single woman living in an industrial-chic loft to Mrs. Bruce Shepler, the pregnant wife of a homicide detective, residing in a townhouse in suburbia. They had decided to rent in the complex because of the abundance of families but soon found out that sharing a wall with a family of tiny soccer players wasn't so great. Her life had taken several routes she never thought she would travel. Equal parts exhilarating and terrifying. Going into premature labor twelve weeks before her due date had been the scariest and most unexpected leg of the journey, so far. That unexpected curve had taken her from living and working mostly normally, except for a few bouts of intense morning sickness, and turned her into a couch potato baby incubator.
So she was literally nesting in a sea of pillows on the living room couch. Trips to the bathroom and kitchen were her only respites from the horizontal lifestyle. Bruce had bought her the e-reader, and then Amy told her about borrowing e-books from the library—something she had no idea was possible. But her friend had helped organize a fundraiser so the library could purchase more e-books. Every few days Amy stopped by the townhouse to deliver new book recommendations and meals. Always accompanied by a big platter of the one food Carla craved, brownies.
While the fudgy, plain version had always been her favorite sweet treat, Carla had no idea there were so many variations of the dessert. Amy had taken the request for brownies and turned it into a culinary odyssey by using different kinds of chocolate then adding in spices, fruits, and nuts. She looked forward to Amy's newest brownie creation almost as much as visiting with her.
The ding dong of the doorbell pulled Carla out of her foodie fantasy. The deadbolt snapped open. Amy had her own key so Carla wouldn't have to get up any more than necessary. After spending years working on her feet in a busy emergency room where patients could have anything from a highly contagious virus to knives hidden in their socks, she never thought standing up to answer the door could be so risky. She sat up and peeked over the back of the tan, faux-suede couch. The upholstery matched the wall and carpet color of the rented home. It felt as though she was living in Vanilla Land.
A gust of cold air accompanied Amy through the front door. As usual, she was dragging a cooler strapped to a luggage cart behind her. "How's my bun doing?" she called as she turned left into the kitchen.
"Still in the oven."
There was thumping and muted banging as Amy transferred microwaveable meals into the refrigerator. Carla was just starting to get comfortable in the kitchen for the first time in her life when she was unexpectedly relegated to bed rest. So Amy took on the task of making single-portion meals for Carla to warm up while she was home alone. Several times a week, she also stopped by to play personal chef and whip up a freshly cooked dinner for her and Bruce to share. Would the newly acquired culinary skills Carla had developed after the wedding still be intact when she could finally move again?
Amy suddenly appeared at the end of the couch. She plopped down by Carla's feet and said, "I'm so sorry I couldn't come yesterday. After having fun until 3:00 a.m. on Sunday, my little two-hour fill-in shift at the market wiped me out. So what kind of takeout did Shepler bring home?"
Amy had always referred to Bruce by his last name. Just another one of the idiosyncrasies that made her best friend unique. Luckily, creating delicious brownies was another one of her unique qualities. Amy had competed in so many culinary competitions, inventing new recipes was as easy for her as ordering takeout was for Carla.
"Thai." Carla used her elbows to push herself up a little higher on the pillow resting against the sofa's arm. "It was good until the heartburn kicked in. Felt like I had eaten flaming charcoal with a side of hot sauce instead of green curry chicken."
"I'm sorry. That sounds horrible." She patted the crest of Carla's baby belly mountain. "I went easy on the spices and acid in this round of dinners. Nothing with lemon, tomato, or pepper of any variety—vegetable or spice."
Carla blinked. It took her a few seconds to figure out what Amy meant. There were bell peppers, chile peppers, and black peppercorns. Lying around all day and night sometimes left her brain as sluggish as her body. "Thank you. I could barely sleep last night with the volcano bubbling away in my stomach. So what kind of brownies did you bring?"
That thing about pregnant women getting unquenchable cravings had sounded like a myth—before the undying need for brownies invaded her life. Besides seeing her hubby, eating the sweet dessert was the best part of her day. Actually parts. Almost every bathroom trip ended with a side trip to the nearby kitchen to grab a square or two of chocolate heaven. Bruce just shook his head at the pile of dirty plates in the sink when he arrived home. Apparently the entire top rack of the dishwasher was often dedicated to cleaning the small dessert plates and nothing else.
"They have orange zest and an orange marmalade glaze. I know you like fudgy brownies, but to change it up a bit, I made these fluffier, more like a cake." A few minutes later, Amy returned to the living room and presented a plate to Carla. "I tried to make them taste like those fun chocolate oranges that you can break into segments, just like the real ones."
Carla sniffed the newest best-brownie-ever contender while Amy settled into the easy chair near the foot of the couch. She could definitely smell the orange. Carla pried off a corner of the thick square with her fork and popped it into her mouth. The flavors were intense, but the bittersweet chocolate and orange definitely complemented each other. Completely different from the chocolate and salted caramel version from the weekend but absolutely delicious. "I love them!"
Before she could gush any more, the door leading to the garage swung open. Bruce walked in with a gray suit jacket slung over his arm. Amy had been bundled in a wool coat, gloves, and a scarf, but Carla's hubby braved the cold in a long-sleeve dress shirt. The toughness went well with his killer-pursuing side. There was nothing like a hulking, macho homicide detective digging up clues to put fear into the hearts of cold-blooded killers. Amy often said he looked like a superhero, and in many ways he was. He put Kellerton's real-life evil villains behind bars.
"Yay, more brownies," he said as he bent over the back of the couch and kissed Carla's forehead. "Just what I didn't want."
Amy giggled. "If I ever find a brownie competition, I think I'll do pretty well in it! I may even be considered an expert at this point. But don't worry. There are lemon bars in the cupboard for you."
"Thank you," he called as he disappeared into the kitchen. He returned with a plate stacked with two powdered sugar-topped bars. "So did Alex make it down to Tennessee okay?"
"Yes," Amy answered. "He called when I was driving here. Said they arrived at the resort about an hour ago and had already seen a bear. I guess they were going to take some kayaks around the lake then relax for the rest of the evening. Something about hitting bike trails with gorge crossings tomorrow. I don't know... I try not to listen too closely so I don't freak out about what he's doing."
Amy's husband was taking some much needed time off from his high-pressure job to go on an extreme sports retreat with his friends. Bruce deserved the same thing, but impending fatherhood was his most urgent priority. Whenever Carla read a book on taking care of babies, she passed it on to him. They were both prepared with as much knowledge as possible, but they knew real life was far more complicated than the steps and procedures laid out in writing.
"Sounds like he'll have a good time. I'm sure they have bear spray, so no need to worry about that little creature."
Amy's eyebrows shot up. "Little creature? Only you would call a bear little."
Bruce's mischievous grin contrasted with his buzz-cut hair and Greek god body that looked and felt as if it was chiseled from granite. His physique could be intimidating to criminals, but underneath there was a giant teddy bear that only close friends got to see. He sunk into the recliner near the patio door. His expression turned back to serious. "I appreciate all of the help you've given us while Carla has been laid up. I know you're busy with working at the market and everything, but do you think you might be able to help get me started in the right direction with my new case?"
Carla shoveled more of the citrusy brownie in her mouth to keep from growling. A murder case had almost ruined their wedding, and now a new case had apparently been assigned to him just weeks before the baby was due. She knew what he and his profession were like when she began the relationship with him, but it didn't make it any easier to stomach when his work interfered with their lives. Luckily, Amy and her mind, which generated creative ideas on demand, had helped solve quite a few of Bruce's murder cases.
Amy's baby-blue eyes bugged out a bit as she nodded. "Absolutely. What do you want to know?"
"If you have any idea who killed Esther Mae Bates. The coroner did some routine blood tests. She had been in treatment for dangerously high blood pressure for years, but the reports showed high levels of medication used to treat low blood pressure, Midodrine, which gave her a fatal heart attack. The tablets don't look similar, and beyond that, her husband doesn't take the low blood pressure medication, so it's highly unlikely she would've taken the wrong drug by mistake. At this point, it looks like murder."
Carla knew he was right. She had seen medications for both problems many times while she worked in the hospital. They weren't easily mixed up. "So how did the drugs get in her system?"
He leaned forward and set the plate, now only with a few crust crumbs scattered over it, on the coffee table. "They're analyzing her stomach contents, but it appears that she took the correct high blood pressure medicine right before she died since the tablet hadn't dissolved completely. At this point, I don't know what happened. Have to wait for the tests before I can officially declare a murder."
"So do you have any suspects?" Amy asked as she wrapped a strand of her golden hair around her index finger. "If it does turn out to be murder."
Bruce sucked in a deep breath. "Right now, I'd say since she spent the weekend at the conference at the K Hotel, my guess would be someone who was also at the conference. Maybe her roommate."
"Rori can't be a suspect. She's a vegan yoga instructor for goodness sake."
He blinked at Amy's reasoning or Amy Logic, which is what he called her ideas that were on the crazier side. While Bruce based his investigations on facts, she trusted her intuition to point her in the right direction. "And how do her diet and exercise routines automatically make her not guilty of committing murder?" he asked.
The neighbors probably heard Amy's exasperated sigh. "Rori's whole life revolves around being kind and compassionate. Every week she goes to the women's shelter and teaches yoga for free. She even chases bugs out of the yoga studio with a dustpan instead of swatting them. There's no way she could've killed Esther Mae."
"Okay." He held up his hands as though Amy was pointing a gun at him. A gun loaded with rounds of Amy logic. "I just heard the two women weren't fond of each other but had to share a room which would give Rori motivation and opportunity."
"No way." Amy crossed her arms over her stomach. "Her classes are the only exercise classes I have ever enjoyed. You aren't going to put my yoga teacher in jail for a murder she didn't commit."
"She won't go to jail if she's innocent. If this turns into a murder case, which I think it will, I'll still need to find out who did it and why."
Amy sat up straighter. "I can help with that."