Disclaimer: The Characters of the Stephanie Plum Series belong to Janet Evanovich and are used here without permission. No copyright infringement is intended.
Challenge: 100_Prompts challenge –prompt 090. Marzipan
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Let Them Eat Cake
By TT

I stood at the side of Connie’s desk, my arm around Lula’s shoulders. There was little I could do at the moment other than blink and try to come up with comforting words.

When the box first arrived, everyone had been surprised that it was for Lula rather than me.

Of course, it didn’t take long to realize that neither Joe nor Range would be likely to send me anything in the easily identifiable white, cardboard cake box. So, setting it on Connie’s desk, we all waited for Lula to open it.

She was positive it was from Tank and we all wanted to see what he had gotten her.

When she opened it up, there was a note scrawled in red food coloring on the lid and the cake, well, despite the fact it smelled heavenly, the scene on top of the cake was enough to put me off cake forever. OK, put me off cake for a year. Well, a month… week… day..

I had never seen a black woman turn white until Lula read the threat on the top of the box.

She started to hyperventilate until I assured her that she would be fine and getting a stalker meant that she was doing something right with her bounty hunting.

You see, a few months ago, Lula had decided she was ready to start taking some skips. We had both been tricked into getting more training (we still haven’t forgiven Tank and Ranger for that) and I was now able to take slightly higher level skips while Lula felt comfortable going after the lower-bonds.

The good news is that we knew who the stalker was. Milton Forsythe was a top-notch cake decorator in the area. He was widely proclaimed as the best.

A few weeks ago, he went onto one of those cake-decorating competitions they have on television and lost.

Then he lost it.

With three older sisters, he’d grown up being forced to watch most of the cartoons they liked which included “Strawberry Shortcake”.

After returning to Trenton, he declared himself the Purple Pie Man and went on a rampage of terror.

Hey, it’s scary for a bride when her wedding cake is suddenly doused in black food coloring or the marzipan treats are replaced by less than savory images.

He was eventually arrested and released on bond. Lula ended up with it and was having trouble finding the guy.

Now, apparently, he had decided Lula was responsible for all of his failures.

“I called Ranger and Tank,” I assured my friend, her color beginning to return, both of our eyes still locked on the travesty of the cake.

“It’s just wrong to do that to a cake,” she muttered.

Connie and I just nodded.

“What do you think he made the figures out of?” Connie asked.

“Marzipan,” I stated with authority. What? I know my cake. The frosting underneath is probably royal, though I’d prefer buttercream.

“Nothing beats a good buttercream,” Lula inserted.

“Too bad we can’t eat this,” Connie sighed. “I could really use some cake.”

“Yeah,” I agreed.

Just then the door opened and, somehow, we were all able to draw our eyes away from the cake.

The sight that met us was every bit as delicious, but for a completely different reason.

“Lula. Baby,” Tank greeted, taking two strides before wrapping her in his arms.

Ranger was by my side in just as short a time. “Babe,” he said, looking down at the threatening box and cake.

“It’s not me,” I was quick to say. “It’s Lula.”

Ranger just grinned and slipped his arm around my waist. “We’re going to take her back to the Rangeman building,” he informed. I was about to say something when my eyes locked with his, “I think you should come too.”

Somewhere in my mind I knew it was a bad idea, but I found myself utterly entranced by Ranger. I wonder if he was a snake charmer in another life. “Just until Lula’s settled,” I managed to deflect.

The agreement earned me a grin.

I have no idea how much time passed before the cops showed up, but it was pretty quick.

By the time they were there, Ranger had sample of the frosting, cake and figurines as well as pictures of the threat. He would bring that back to the office and then we’d settle in and come up with a plan to get Milton.

Three hours later, Tank, Ranger, Ram, Woody, Lula and I were all in a conference room reviewing what information we had and trying to figure out how we were going to take down the Purple Pie Man. I mean, Milton Forsythe.

Cal knocked on the door and entered when he was called. He had brought in a report from the Rangeman lab.

Ranger took it and skimmed it over, his face blank.

“What?” Lula demanded getting nervous. She was leaning further against Tank, who didn’t hesitate to comfort her.

Ranger’s eyes flicked to me. “You know how I keep telling you that stuff will kill you?” he asked me.

I nodded and found myself unable to stop the eye roll that followed.

He handed me the paper. “This time it was true.”

My eyes grew huge and I quickly looked at the papers. Most of it meant nothing to me, until I got to the summary at the bottom. The marzipan had cyanide in it.

I looked up at Ranger for confirmation and could see the grim determination in his eye.

Ram took the papers from my hand and scanned them. “Makes sense,” he grunted. When he saw me looking at him, he blinked and replied, “Cyanide smells kind of like bitter almonds. Bitter almonds are a common flavoring for marzipan.”

I just swallowed and looked across the table. Her eyes were as wide as mine felt. I watched as the expression in them went from scared to angry.

“Oh, no he did not!” Lula exclaimed. “That little sleaze bag did not poison cake. That’s just … just… sacrilegious! No one messes with cake. Uh-uh. No sir. This pie man is going down.”

I could only nod in agreement as I attempted to ignore the amusement in the gazes of the men around the table.

No one messes with cake.

Later that night, Lula and I were sitting in her apartment enjoying cake – birthday cake, graduation cake, ice cream cake, pineapple upside down cake, coffee cake… well, you get the idea.

Ranger and Tank were sitting across from us staring at us in horrified fascination as we were discussing the relative merits of different kinds of cake and frosting.

Once we tracked down Milton, it took no time to take him down. If he accidentally tripped or banged his head a few times while getting in and out of the SUV, well, what could you expect from an insane cake decorator?

When we got to the police station, Lula didn’t even hesitate. Apparently anger is a counter-agent for her cop allergies.

Now, she was $100 richer and was feeling like she’d finally arrived.

Not only that, but I was certain that the burg grapevine had already spread the word – no one messes with cake on our watch. No one.

End.

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