Truffle Me Not: Baker by Day ,Sleuth on the Side (Cupid's Catering Company Book 2)

by M K Scott

  A small shriek erupted as Della moved away from the counter with her laden tray. Lacey threw a fit worthy of a two-year-old. “Did you see that? She just got the cookies you said you didn’t have!”

  Mabel cupped her ear with her hand. “What? I don’t hear so well being an old woman. Did you say you were looking for traffic court?” She gestured to the right. “It’s about a block in that direction in the County Court Building.”

  A low growl sounded as Lacey stomped her foot. “Let’s blow this dump! My bakery will be so much better.”

  Rue sucked in her bottom lip as she glanced from Lacey to Mabel. “I was waiting on my gingerbread latte.”

  The door to the kitchen swung open as Stephanie strode out bearing a fragrant to-go cup. “Here you are.” She handed it to Rue, who was in the process of pawing through her purse for her wallet.

  “No worries,” Della called out. “It’s on the house for you.” She emphasized the last word. ‘You deserve something nice.” Even though she didn’t say for all you endure under Lacey’s lash, she might as well have.

  “Oh!” Her face brightened. “Thank you,” she rushed out and then hurried after her dragon queen after being pierced with a dark look from the still-seething diva.

  “That poor thing.” Jaime murmured the words as the woman left.

  Lori sniffed. “She made her choice. We all do.” She turned to Della and raised one eyebrow. “I smell a story. Tell.”

  “Not much to tell. High school mean girl matures into mean woman. I thought making my life unbearable in high school would be enough but turns out she wants to open a bakery to compete with mine.”

  Why she would be a target puzzled Della. In no way, shape, or form would she ever be competition. Maybe Lacey ran out of people to harass.

  “Explains your mother’s attitude,” Lori remarked and bobbed her head at Mabel, who had already helped herself to coffee and moved around the counter toward their table.

  “What? These old ears can’t hear so well,” she joked.

  They all chuckled. Lori beckoned her closer. “Come sit with us. We want details.”

  Her mother pulled out a chair while Della scanned the area for her sole employee.

  “Where’s Stephanie?” Della didn’t want to exclude her employee.

  “Guy trouble, I think.” Mabel raised her eyebrows as she continued. “Some guy texted her. Not sure if it’s the good type or will you just leave me alone type texts. Not going to interfere until she asks for my advice.”

  “Good plan.” Patience might be a virtue, but one her mother never claimed to possess. “I bet it’s killing you.”

  Her mother smirked over the top of her coffee cup. “Nope. I need to concentrate on you, sweetie. Did you tell your friends about Guy? Maybe get their take on him?”

  Typical. If in an uncomfortable spot, change the subject. When Della spotted her friends coming in, relating her adventure had been her plan, but now not so much. Much felt wrong about the story, even without rehashing. Sure, there were nice people who changed other people’s tires in the rain—not too many, but there had to be a few. It didn’t matter in the long run. She didn’t even know his last name. Apparently, the man had no desire to connect. He hadn’t offered his number or asked for hers. It would be best not to read too much into the situation.

  “Who’s Guy?” Both Lori and Jaime asked in unison with avid expressions.

  Not wanting to go into the whole story, Della shrugged and pursed her lips. “No one, really. Some guy that changed my tire the other night when I got a flat by the abandoned industrial park.”

  As far as responses go, she didn’t know what to expect, but Jaime’s full-body shiver wasn’t it. The petite brunette tacked on, “That place gives me the creeps. The guy doesn’t know where you live? Your last name or anything?”

  Good question. Instead of being charmed by someone changing her tire in the rain, her friend immediately went to stalker. Had she said her last name? She couldn’t remember, but she did have on her Cupid’s Catering outfit. A sense of unease about the chance encounter tapped on her shoulder. It annoyed the heck out of her. Seriously, couldn’t anyone accept that a person could be nice for no reason at all? What happened to doing the decent thing?

  Chapter Eleven

  AN INSTRUMENTAL SCORE from a children’s movie filled the bakery as Della bussed the table her friends had recently vacated. She found herself whistling as she mentally tried out ways of asking her mother about the oddly heavy, broken cat collar. When it came to Vanessa, her mother could be prickly, no matter what.

  Before she could decide on the right ploy, the entry door jingled. Good heavens. She glanced at the cat clock. It was not even eleven—much too early for the lunch crowd. Della forced her lips into a smile as she slowly turned to see what type of visitor she might have. Most would assume a bakery would only attract someone who wanted baked goods. They’d be wrong. Occasionally, citizens unused to the rabbit warren of county offices popped in for help, asking directions to the city planners or the appraiser. Others wanted traffic court, while still others hoped they had a public bathroom, which they didn’t. A few overserved folks had even approached the counter demanding a cocktail.

  A woman attired in a green velvet cape edged in white fur sashayed into the place with a smart click of her high-heeled boots. The hood shadowed her face, giving her the appearance of either a lost fairy tale character or someone who had a strong need for attention. Cold air swirled around her and into the bakery due to the door being left ajar.

  Della gave the figure a nod before she scooted around her to secure the door.

  If she’d hoped to make an entrance, the woman had picked the wrong time. Della turned in time to watch the woman lower her hood. The blonde hair made no impression, but as she circled the woman, the superior tilt of the nose and pinched lips rang a bell.

  “I’m here for my catering appointment,” the woman announced and pressed her hand against her chest. “We’ve no time to waste.” Her carmine red lips pulled up into a baring of teeth, which should have been a smile but wasn’t.

  Ah, she knew who it was: Tifiani with three I’s, Kyle’s boomerang girlfriend, who returned when the man received a promotion with an accompanying raise. Wait a minute. Della had scheduled the appointment for tomorrow, but the bride had showed today. There were no real issues about the date confusion since Della had the time. Already, she’d discovered some people wanted to get a feel for how much things would cost. That was to be expected. “Let me get you the catering book, and I’ll get my checklist. Have a seat.”

  Early on, Della had taken to photographing her creations. Her mother jokingly called it food porn, which might be true. What she did know was people had an easier time making decisions when they could see the item. It helped her, too, because trying to figure out a description of a desired item as one of those rolled-up things could be hard since the person could be asking for cannelloni or sausages wrapped in a blanket. It made a big difference.

  She moved into the kitchen to retrieve the needed materials and encountered her mother and Stephanie. Her mother angled her head toward the interior door. “I see Little Red Riding Hood made an appearance. Or should I say her cousin, Little Green?”

  “Wedding catering estimate.” Della opened the cabinet and removed the oversized album, along with a notepad. “Might as well get it done.”

  “Remind her about the deposit,” her mother offered.

  “Always. In fact, I’ll lead with it. Most brides seem to have no concept of what food costs.”

  She wrinkled her nose. Sometimes, once she gave a basic estimate, a few swore they could find someone cheaper, unaware that currently Cupid’s Catering Company was as cheap as they came, unless they expected their grandmother or mother to cook for two hundred.

  “I doubt it will be a long interview since no one came with her. Truthfully, I suspect there won’t be a Christmas Eve wedding due to the limited time. Maybe she’d be satisfied with a Va
lentine’s Day, which would be even more romantic.”

  “Dream on, sweetie,” her mother said with an arched brow. “I can go over the estimates with you. We can be like a tag team. When something outrageous is suggested, I’ll bring up an anecdotal horror story to discourage that line of thinking.”

  It sounded tempting, but Della’s end game was for her parent to leave the catering business—not because she wasn’t helpful. She was. Owning a bakery and catering business was Della’s dream. She could never thank her mother enough for making it a reality, but she deserved to enjoy her own dreams. Mabel needed to hang with her friends and do whatever middle-aged women did, such as spa days, day trips, or whatever.

  “I’ll be okay. Got the feeling it won’t be a long visit. You could put together some club sandwiches and make a couple of boxed lunches to get ready for the lunch swarm.” The thought of the midday rush pleased her, giving her an optimistic outlook.

  “Morning, Tifiani!” She basically sang the words and also proved she remembered her name. She almost tacked on with three I’s, but stopped herself just in time. “Before we start, I need to know a few things. You said on the phone your date was December 24th.”

  “That’s right.” Tifiani’s demeanor brightened as she pressed her fingers together and sighed. “It’s going to be so romantic.”

  It wouldn’t be for all the people who didn’t want to work on Christmas Eve and definitely not for the guests who had small children. Then again, it could be a day wedding with a very small menu. “Is it an afternoon wedding?”

  Tifiani blinked and her mouth gaped as if something truly atrocious had been uttered. Finally, she inhaled audibly, sounding like a fish being pulled out of the water. “Why would I have a day wedding? So tacky.”

  It really wasn’t, especially if the happy couple had plans to fly away to somewhere exotic. Not many planes departed from the nearby Centerville airport late at night, especially on Christmas Eve. A day wedding also allowed everyone involved to get home before midnight.

  “Night wedding.”

  She said the words, and Della penciled a bubble containing the letters PM on the checklist. “Time?”

  Instead of answering, the client’s eyes rolled up as if trying to remember the agreed-upon time. A smile exploded across her face, and her breath caught. It was not a good sign in Della’s opinion, but she needed to know.

  “Time?”

  “Eleven-thirty at night.” Tifiani pressed both hands over her heart as she elaborated. “Just think about it. By the time my seven bridesmaids have taken their place, and the three solos have been sung, Kyle and I will exchange vows on the stroke of midnight. What a perfect Christmas present, being married on the moment Christmas Eve becomes Christmas Day. It will be something everyone will remember forever.”

  Everyone, including the children stuck at the wedding or with a babysitter, desperate because they’d be certain Santa would penalize them for not being asleep and snug in their beds. People would definitely remember it. In the six weddings Della had catered, there were requests for the guests to bring no children, one bride insisted everyone wear black and white, and then there was the renaissance theme one where men were supposed to grow beards and the women needed to get hair extensions if their hair wasn’t already long. The last she thought was totally outrageous, but everyone enthusiastically followed the instructions due to being part of a role-playing group. Married on the exact moment Christmas Eve becomes Christmas morning had to be pushing it. A good caterer gently guides her client into better choices.

  “I assume you have some friends with young children?”

  The ecstatic expression slipped as Tifiani narrowed her eyes and unhooked her cloak, revealing a dark blue mini dress covered in snowflakes. If nothing else, the woman had winter themes covered. “Yes. What about it? I’ll tell them not to bring their children. We don’t need anything to mess up our live feed.”

  Live feed? It made her wonder who would be watching. Still, there could be grandparents who couldn’t travel who would enjoy being there digitally. “I understand about the live feed, but most parents prefer to be at home on Christmas Eve to get everything ready for their children. There are rituals such as leaving out milk and cookies for Santa or reindeer food for Rudolph and friends.”

  While Della gently explained, the pages of the catering book smacked each other as the bride-to-be ruffled through the book. When Tifiani assumed the talk was done, she glanced up. “All those people who want to stay home and babysit their kids, that’s their loss. It’s selfish, too. Kyle and I don’t need them.” She crossed her arms, and her lips pulled down into a frown. “Oh my!” She pointed to the catering album. “You don’t have anything Christmassy in there.”

  “I’ve never had a Christmas wedding before. I suppose we could jazz it up with seasonal touches.” Even as she said the words, Della wasn’t sure how. Besides, it might end up like a third of her catering interviews with a non-booking, which translated to no wedding and no money. “Ah, how about Christmas cookies? Everyone loves those.”

  Tifiani’s face scrunched up at the suggestion. If Mabel were out here, she’d rattle off half a dozen suggestions like that. “We could have tiny Christmas trees at each table.” Della was rather proud of the workable suggestion she pulled out of the air.

  “That’s a florist thing.”

  Della wasn’t sure what a florist thing meant. What said Christmas? “We could have a cocoa bar. With different flavors of hot chocolate, whipped cream, sprinkles, and candy canes.”

  “That has potential. Anything else?” Tifiani cocked her head to one side in a considering fashion.

  As far as ideas went, that was all she had and she just started making stuff up. “We could dye all the food red and green, except for the stuff we brush with culinary gold. Using extracts, I can make potatoes taste like peppermint. Just like Christmas.” Della threw her arms wide and wiggled her fingers as if sprinkling magical, pixie dust. Her mind scampered for even more outrageous ideas, wanting to discourage the entire wedding.

  Sure, Kyle had a passing interest in Della after Tifiani initially dumped him. Thank goodness Kyle had the smarts not to mention it, or the woman wouldn’t be seated at her bakery. Which on second thought might not be such a good thing. Kyle could take care of himself and the high-maintenance woman who expected everyone to wait on her. Shelving her doubts about the union, Della reached for more seasonal ideas. “We can have an elf on the shelf sitting on every buffet pan. We can put up signs saying the food was created by elves. We can use giant crab legs to spell out Merry Christmas.”

  “Yes!” Tifiani rose a minuscule amount from her chair and clapped her hands together, almost tangling her long curving acrylic nails. “I love it.”

  How could she love it? A disgusting campy display that should not be associated with Cupid’s Catering Company. Somehow, she needed to backpedal. Deposits often served that purpose. First, she needed more details. “How many guests?”

  “Three hundred or there about.” Tifiani took her seat and squirmed like a first grader needing a bathroom break. Weird, but Della pushed on. They might want to pare down the guest list. Often parents were the ones responsible for inflating the guest list. They used it as a way to pay back other weddings they’d attended. “Buffet and some plated meals run fifty dollars per person.”

  Despite being a stellar student, all Della could come up with as a total was a huge amount of money, which she didn’t say. Let the bride work out the math, but she would need half as a deposit. Eight thousand should cover it, unless she pared down the list, which they would. She almost forgot the most important thing.

  “Your venue?” She hurried to tack on, “The place the wedding is happening,” since the term had confused Tifiani over the phone.

  “I know what a venue is.” Her bottom lip came out in a pout, she tapped her foot, and inhaled deeply. “Can’t you do that?”

  Did she hear her right? Most brides and often mothers of brides
immersed themselves into wedding planning. A few had the perfect wedding outlined to the smallest detail and were waiting on the husband-to-be. As for Della planning it, this was not a part of the catering services. Never mind that she had a bakery to run, a Victorian tea to host, a business lunch buffet for two hundred, and a Bat Mitzvah for Rebecca Abrams. Thankfully, the parents were willing to hire a non-Jewish caterer, not that there were any Jewish caterers in Owens. “No.”

  “Who does that then?” Tifiani fluttered her false eyelashes.

  This may have been an effective ploy to get her way with a male, but no dice with Della. She checked her watch and sucked in her lips. She was running late and had plenty to do. “Call a wedding planner. They do that type of stuff. Might even have an in with some of the venues.”

  “Oh!” Tifiani scooted out of her chair and stood. “I’ll do that. Do you have the number of any wedding planners?”

  “I am sure they are easy enough to find online.” On the plus side, she didn’t ask Della to call one for her. As a matter of etiquette, Della stood as her visitor prepared to leave. At least she could get back to work.

  Once the coast was clear, her mother bustled into the café area with a tray of boxed lunches. “How did it go?”

  “It didn’t.” Della rubbed one hand over her face. “Just as well. She wants to say I do at the stroke of midnight and have Merry Christmas spelled out in crab legs.”

  “Not sure if that is possible, especially the small e,” Mabel commented as she carefully moved the boxes so the content name faced the back for the employee to see what it was. A placard on the counter indicated that they had ham salad, chicken salad, and veggie sandwich boxes.

  “Probably not. Besides, she doesn’t even have a venue.” Della picked up her pen and checklist while mentally marking off the Christmas Eve wedding as one of her jobs. “She took my photo book!”

  Her mother raised her eyebrows in a familiar I told you so expression. “Guess that means she’s still interested.”