Cupcake Overload (Cupcakes 2)

Eric’s surprise was apparent, but shouldn’t have been. He’d told me a few months ago that their relationship was headed in this direction. Maybe he was worried that I held some residual feelings for him, and finding out he was getting remarried would hurt me, or something.

All I felt was relief. It was like a giant, bulletproof, steel door had just been shut on that chapter in my life.

“If that’s all, I need to talk to one of your employee’s … Carl?”

Eric looked confused for a moment, then he asked, “You mean, Carlton? The man whose ex-girlfriend was just killed?”

“Yes,” I replied happily. Maybe this case is going to be easier than I first thought. “Can you point me in his direction?”

“I could, but he’s taken a leave of absence. I can’t say I blame him, he’s devastated over Samantha’s murder.”

“Do you know where he lives?”

“Are you sure you should be working a murder investigation? Is it safe? After what happened last time…”

“Eric,” I replied evenly, trying to keep my calm. “This is my job, and honestly, I don’t want to have this discussion with you. It’s none of your business what I do with my life. As long as the twins are safe, you don’t have a say.”

“I know that, Lila, I just want you to be careful. I know I screwed up, and we aren’t married anymore, shoot, we aren’t even friends. But, you’re still the mother of my children, and I don’t want anything else to happen to you.”

“I appreciate it,” I replied, even though I really didn’t. “I’m gonna go. Good luck next week.”

“Thanks,” Eric said, then walked me to the door of his office and gave me a small wave before shutting the door.

I was out the door and thinking I deserved a stop at Amy May’s after the day I’d had, when I ran into Mary. She was clutching a takeout bag in her hands, and her face turned from peaceful to wary when she realized it was me.

“Oh, uh, hey, Delilah,” Mary stuttered. “How are you?”

I’d known Mary for years. She’d attended all of the parties we’d held in our home when Eric and I were married. She was a very nice woman. About five years older than me, with a matronly feel to her. She was the kind of woman that seemed destined to be a grandmother. Imagine my shock and confusion when Eric had told me that Mary was the woman he was seriously dating after cheating on me with Slutty Shirley Finkle. I’d figure he’d go through a mid-life crisis and date someone ten years younger or something.

Although they’d moved in together, and she spent time with the kids, we hadn’t spoken since she started dating Eric.

All in all, it was a pretty awkward moment.

“I’m good, Mary. You?”

“Um, pretty good. Just grabbing some lunch,” she replied, then we both stood there just staring at each other.

“Well,” she started, and was about to go inside, when I had an idea.

It may seem in bad taste to use the fact that she probably felt weird around me, and maybe a little guilty, to get information that I needed for a case. But, in all honestly, I didn’t feel bad about it at all.

“Hey, Mary, would you happen to know where Carlton lives?” I asked, keeping my voice sweet and innocent. “I heard about Samantha, and came by to give my condolences, but he isn’t in. I want to stop in and check on him, make sure he’s holding up okay.”

“Oh, that’s very sweet.” Mary looked toward the building, as if she were asking Eric telepathically if it was all right for her to give out private information. She must have come to the conclusion that the fact that since I was the ex-wife of the Branch Manager, I still had some sort of need to know, because she turned back to me and said, “He has a condo over on Twenty-Fifth, in that new complex. It’s one of the first places on the street. Number five, I think.”

“Awesome, thanks so much,” I said as I started walking backwards down the street toward my van. “I’ll let him know you guys are thinking of him in this terrible time.”

“Thanks, Delilah,” Mary managed, then rushed into the bank.

I parked on Twenty-Fifth, then sauntered down to condo number five, surveying the area as I walked.

It was a nice, new neighborhood with a basketball court, a clubhouse, and pool. It didn’t seem like the kind of place that would house a murderer, but you never could tell just by an address. Lovers, spouses, and exes were usually prime suspects in a murder investigation for a reason, so I needed to be on my toes with this guy.

I knocked and waited, then after a few seconds of silence, rang the doorbell.

I was about to go peer in the window when I heard a shuffle behind the door, and then it opened and a pair of eyes peered out.

“Who are you?” a male voice asked suspiciously.