The Silver Tart – Part One

Gache sat in his office, the sights and smells of the recent crime scene still very fresh in his mind. He had left when the Muffin Squad turned up, flashing their badges and taking authority over the case. Even though he knew the Mayor was right now fighting against the Muffin intrusion, Gache knew he would not get very far. This was not the first time ‘The Slicer’ had committed his unique and ghastly crime sprees, but by Hot Cross Buns Gache swore this would be the last. But he knew that if the Muffin Squad was investigating all the future held was twelve more dead cakes and no answers.

Gache had been on the trail of The Slicer twice before; once as a rookie cop and once as lead. The second time he had almost caught The Slicer, but had had to chose between catching the villain or saving the life of his partner (at the time) Constable Bread. Even now, with another victim on the cold serving tray and twelve more lined up, Gache knew he had made the right decision. He knew his ex-partner did not feel the same.

He was interrupted by a knock on the door, a gentle knock that on any normal day would have gone unnoticed. He rose from his chair, mind wondering who it was and what bad news they had for him. Most likely to him was that it was a Mayoral aide come to tell him he was off the case. Not that that would matter of course, he would work this case on or off the book.

What waited on the other side of the door surprised him; a curvaceous lemon drizzle muffin with sharp green eyes and a muffin case that oozed pure class. That they had never met before was clear to Gache, for there was no way he would forget a little muffin like that.

“Inspector Gash?”

Her voice was smooth, just that right mix of butter and sugar with a little vanilla thrown in add a little mystery. Even so, the fact she pronounced his name wrong scratched like fingernails across a chalkboard. For a brief moment he thought of letting it slide for her, then realised how stupid that would be.

“Gache, actually.”

“Gauche?”

“Gache – pronounced like Gosh.”

“Oh, but for that wouldn’t you need one of those A’s with the thing above it, you know the little hat?”

“The circumflex? Well yes but I don’t how to type one of those easily. And you are?”

“Oh, of course, my apologies. My name is Lemon Muffin and I am with the Muffin Squad.”

As she spoke she stretched out her hand in greeting, it was a hand Gache was only too happy to take; smooth, soft, springy, she really was a well cooked muffin. Even so, she was part of the Muffin Squad, so with a force of will Gache forced his thoughts to once again come from his brain and not his dough balls.

“So they send a pretty face to tell me to fuck off, is that it?”

Gache knew he had said the wrong thing, even a blind detective could see the anger that swelled up in Lemon Muffins’ face (and even he knew not to comment that he found it kind of appealing).

“The prettiness or not of my face has nothing to do with this Gache, and I honestly hoped that you of all people would understand that! Point of fact I volunteered to act as liaison between the Muffin Squad and yourself so we can once and for all catch The Slicer. But if you are going to be just as sexist as the rest of them you can fucking forget it.”

“You’re right, I’m sorry. But you should know I don’t work well to others rules, and I won’t tolerate any spying.”

“I am not a spy, I am here to help. Yes I will need to report back but you can read any or all of my reports before I send them should you wish. Point of fact I am here to learn from who I am told is the best Inspector in the whole city. I am here to provide information from the Muffin Squad and follow your lead. I hope you can accept that and that we can work together.”

Gache stood, thinking. Having an in with the Muffin Sqaud and a route to their information would be beneficial, and in the less than five minutes Lemon Muffin had been here she had proved to have spunk. That she had a brain worth training was still up for debate, but he wouldn’t know unless he allowed her to show him. This was not a door to close right away, but it was definitely one to keep a hand on the handle ready to slam shut should the need arise.

“Fine, welcome. I will get a desk dragged up for you in the morning. You work from here and only go to the Muffin Sqaud with my express permission, at least for now, agreed?”

“Agreed. But why can’t I use the spare desk over there?”

“Because for us to work on this case at all, that desk needs to be reunited with it’s owner.”

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