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

by M K Scott

  “Della,” Guy called her name to break into her brooding. “You can share my table. In fact, you can have my table. I have trays. Zac and I will circle like servers at a cocktail party, plying the guests with mini burgers.”

  “That’s sweet.”

  “Hurry up, you imbeciles!” The sound of Lacey’s voice slashed through any coherent thought Della might have had. Even her feet froze to the ground as if an invisible wall blocked her. The wall happened to be Lacey Dankworth and the privilege her family name and money bought. Why was she here?

  Lacey, attired in her sable coat, tossed back her thick mane of hair, and then stomped one high-heeled boot. “Chop! Chop! I need to dazzle the crowd.”

  The sound of footsteps and grunting announced the unfortunates who’d earned Lacey’s ire, although it never took much to do that. A tall man and a smaller male came into view, carrying a table. Even Lacey knew to bring a table.

  Unbelievable! Della wasn’t sure if she was more upset over Lacey’s bringing a table or her being here. Surely, she couldn’t have entered the contest. Wouldn’t Mary have told her? Her lips pressed together as she considered the matter.

  Guy stood beside her and watched the scene unfold. “Same folks who put those signs up I called you about.”

  Uh-oh, he mentioned the phone call. It was hard to pretend something didn’t happen when the person you’re pretending with mentions it. Instead, she stared at the men as one of them dropped his end of the table. During the verbal tirade that resulted, it gave Della time to examine the men.

  “They remind me of someone.” She held up one finger. “Lennie and…”

  “Squiggy,” Guy offered in an amused tone. “I kinda see it.”

  Recognizing the reference to an old show about brewery workers, she groaned. “No. I was thinking of Lennie and George. My mother called them that because they resembled some characters from the Mice and Men novel. Anyhow, they’ve been lurking around my mother’s house when strange things happen.”

  “Are you sure it’s them?”

  “Not at all. My mother might be though, and she’s inside.”

  The shorter man picked up his end of the table and they continued, only to be followed by Lacey’s official sidekick, who struggled with an oversized and obviously heavy box. They allowed the troop to get ahead of them. “Whatever door they’re using, I’d prefer another.”

  “I’m no psychic, but I’m feeling something’s off.”

  Della cut her eyes to Guy. “Long story. Movie of the week type of thing where local mean girl makes everyone’s life miserable. Besides, I thought the whole reason you called me was to let me know she decided to set up shop in your neighborhood.”

  “Not the whole reason.” He chose not to elaborate and veered off into another direction. “Dad’s a member of the club. I know the back entrance. Follow me.”

  A young girl broke away from her mother’s restraining hand and twirled in the snow. “Santa might be here!”

  Well, that would explain the news truck. They squeezed through the back entrance and worked their way into the general area where vendors had set up tables between the corporate decorated Christmas trees. A dais sat at the far end with an elaborate throne and a long line of children leading up to it. Maybe Santa would visit.

  Her gaze traveled over the various tables, including the empty one with Zac and the one with Lacey presiding. “Look at that! She has her table set up already. She couldn’t have been more than five minutes in front of us.”

  “Looks like her helpers are more efficient than she realizes. Let’s work on getting set up and giving her some competition. I wonder what her sign means.”

  She hadn’t even noticed it. A smart pivot allowed her to see what Guy meant. In humongous font it read: Sweet Treasures: Owens’ Award-Winning Bakery. It meant some folks had no issues with lying.

  “Her bakery isn’t even open. How could it have won any awards?”

  Guy made an odd, snorty cough that may have been an answer or a legitimate cough. “I forgot to tell you. The mall manager tore down those signs. Said he hadn’t been paid yet. No money. No signs.”

  A little bit ahead of her, she spotted a Santa hat not attached to the man, but to the familiar, rounded figure of her mother. “Mom!”

  Mabel turned, as did an older man standing beside her. For a woman who had no interest in dating, her mother served as a magnet for the sixty and over set. It could be her not-interested attitude functioned better than any perfume.

  Age had softened Barney’s chin line and stolen most of his hair, but Della still recognized him. “Barney! It’s great to see you.”

  As she drew closer to her mother, she hissed, “Look over at Lacey Dankworth’s table. Is that your George and Lennie?”

  Her mother’s indrawn gasp answered the question. She immediately grabbed Barney’s arm, motioned for him to lean closer, and whispered into his ear. While Della couldn’t hear what her mother said, Barney could.

  “You can’t arrest people for what you think they might have done,” he told her. “They have to be caught in the act.”

  That legality made life easier for most everyone, but it didn’t satisfy her mother, who lifted her chin with determination as she spoke through gritted teeth. “Then, the crow flies at midnight.”

  Della didn’t want to know. Most of the time, she thought their personalities got swapped in a wacky Freaky Friday movie. It could be she was supposed to be the flirty, outgoing one as opposed to her mother. “Ah, Mom. The crow flies at midnight? I didn’t think birds flew at night, except for owls.”

  “Later,” her mother hissed, stopping to give her escort a narrow-eyed glare. “We need to put our plan into motion.”

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  THE NOISE LEVEL in the crowded Optimist Hall made talking problematic with all the adult conversations, plus children darting through the decorated Christmas trees and shrieking with delight. Della suspected the kids at least would be on their best behavior with Santa in the vicinity. Then again, it could be their best behavior. Underneath the roar, a few notes of Burl Ives singing “Holly Jolly Christmas” slipped through when the hubbub lessened in volume.

  With so much chaos, Della wondered how she’d attract people to their table. Once the coffee and cookies were set up, one young mother, clutching the hand of her daughter in a fancy seasonal dress, approached.

  The woman’s lips moved, but Della couldn’t hear her, causing her to guess at the question. “Everything at this table is free, courtesy of Cupid’s Catering Company and Bakery.”

  This resulted in the woman picking up a napkin and two cookies, while Della poured her a cup of coffee and offered it. The young mother handed a cookie to her daughter, who skipped off in the direction of the Santa line. Her mother murmured something Della assumed was thanks as she took the coffee.

  Zac loaded up his tray with sliders for a turn around the room when people started making their way to the table.

  A middle-aged man, with his hair standing up in tufts, showed up first with an anxious expression. “I heard you have free coffee?”

  “This is true,” Della replied and poured him a cup, wondering if he could be a case of too much coffee or not having any at all.

  He cradled the cup with reverence, so it must have been the latter. “All the other vendors are charging for coffee.” He took a sip and sighed. “Five dollars a cup. Outrageous.”

  Another thing she hadn’t considered—just like a table. If she gave away stuff, it would make her very popular with the visitors, but not so much with the other vendors. People crowded around the table. Small hands reached through the throng of folks and snatched cookies out of the box. Della pulled the box back, trying not to be too obvious. The cookies would be gone in no time with this mob. No one stopped to pick up her cards or even gave her the opportunity to say the cookies were courtesy of Cupid’s Catering Company and Bakery.

  Zac hoisted his tray above his head, calling out, “Try a free slider!
Best buns in town.”

  The promise of more free food pulled part of the thong from her table, more interested in burgers than sweets. One grandmotherly type, when she reached the table, asked for hot chocolate in a sweet, gentle voice. With limited thermoses, and this whole thing being spur of the moment, Della hadn’t thought of hot chocolate. “No, ma’am, all we have is coffee.”

  The woman’s chin went up and a gleam showed in her faded blue eyes. “Coffee purists. I’m so tired of them. Trying to convert the world to drinking coffee. Everywhere you go there’s coffee—good, bad, or mediocre, free to the public—but no hot chocolate.”

  Della never thought of trying to convert anyone to coffee. In her rush to set up, she hadn’t paid much attention to the other vendors, but there must be someone selling hot chocolate. “I’m sure other vendors have hot chocolate.”

  The woman sniffed. “They charge for it.”

  Not knowing how to reply to that, Della smiled and offered a napkin-wrapped cookie, which the outraged grandmother took before drifting away. The other customers picked up the coffee and accepted the offered cookie. One elderly man refused a cookie because he wanted there to be more for others. How nice.

  A silver-haired man sporting a navy Owens Optimist sweatshirt stepped up on the small stage and cradled his hands around a microphone. “Testing! Testing. One. Two. Three.”

  Someone from the crowd yelled, “It’s working, Charlie!”

  “Welcome friends, old and new. I imagine a few of you are here for Santa and another dozen or so for the Good Deeds Raffle.”

  The Good Deeds Raffle served as a seasonal staple in Owens. All through the year, people could earn entries for doing good deeds. Of course, the person had to submit their ticket to a merchant who had a good deeds box in their store. Della made a mental note to get one since it did bring people into a business. Of course, the Optimists also solicited prizes for the raffle from local merchants.

  Guy returned to the table with an empty tray. “Wow! Hungry crowd.”

  Someone shushed him as Charlie announced the winner of a Lollipop Tree from Candy World. After the admonishment to be quiet, Guy moved closer to Della and lowered his voice. “This year I heard Toys for Boys donated an ATV, which probably explains the crowd.”

  They hadn’t come for the truffle contest. As for the news truck, they probably hoped to get some footage of a gap-toothed youngster on Santa’s lap or the excited winner of the ATV. To Charlie’s credit, he ran the raffle efficiently. There was no downtime building up to a prize. He announced the prize, the donor, and then the winner. Mainly middle-aged men and a few women comprised the Optimist membership. Instead of glamorous models handing out gifts, it was usually the members dressed in Santa hats handing them out. One balding senior member even sported reindeer horns and a red nose as he rolled out a BMX bike.

  The crowd around her table thinned out considerably after that, possibly due to many parents hoping to snag the bike leaving.

  Her mother and Barney made their way to the table along with her mother’s gossipy friend, Clarice. While Clarice knew everything that went on in town, Della hoped not to provide her with new gossip and took a sliding step away from Guy. It wouldn’t do for them to be too close with Clarice around. She’d have them picking out china patterns in her version of the story.

  A few folks not invested in the raffle came by for coffee. The dwindling coffee required extra effort to pump out. No coffee and four lone cookies remained with one of them being a broken gingerbread man. Della picked up the pieces of the broken gingerbread man, offering half to Guy while she bit into the other half. Mom, Clarice, and Barney helped themselves to the other three.

  As they chewed, Barney commented, “You know, your father was never a fan of the Good Deeds Raffle.”

  Every year her father would say, “Is it a good deed if you did it hoping for a reward?”

  Despite the fact her father phrased it like a question, Della knew the answer was no. “He thought if we paid the citizens of Owens to be decent human beings, it became a slippery slope. Eventually, folks would stop doing things only because it was the right thing.”

  Clarice bobbed her stylish coiffed head in agreement. “Your father knew people. This year most of the raffle tickets were sold as opposed to given out. Optimists made a great deal more money, and it beat waiting around for a public good deed to occur.”

  “Oh, it’s not that bad,” her mother assured with an easy smile. “There’s plenty of great folks in Owens.” She glanced back at Barney, and her smile grew a little wider.

  A pair of adults detached themselves from the crowd and headed in their direction. Della judged the man and woman to be close to thirty or older. Barney waved enthusiastically. “There’s my kids. Let’s go meet them.”

  As Mabel and Barney moved off to intercept the younger couple, Clarice groaned. “The children just happen to be here. He stinks of desperation.”

  While people accepted that Clarice gossiped, she knew things most people didn’t. It might be because she worked in the hospital and folks tended to ramble on when sedated. Della’s father used to joke that Clarice would have made a crackerjack cop because of her observational skills.

  Della slid closer and asked, “What do you mean?”

  “Oh, you know,” she shrugged her shoulders. “Men.”

  “Not helpful.”

  A bark of laughter escaped Clarice. “I like that about you. Despite your age, I keep forgetting your lack of experience with the opposite sex.”

  Way to go, Clarice, tell the world. Della cut her eyes to Guy standing nearby, whose attention remained on the stage. It was good that he didn’t hear or possibly had the good manners to pretend he hadn’t.

  “Desperation?” she prompted.

  “Barney’s wife died a few years back. I’m not saying she did everything for him, but she did a lot. As you well know, being a cop’s wife is like being a single parent at times. Anyhow, she died after a prolonged battle with cancer. Now the man is anchorless, especially since he’d retired early to take care of his wife. The children are all grown up and out of the house. He’s in the market for a wife.”

  “He’s nice.” She’d always liked him and couldn’t understand Clarice’s objections. The mention of early retirement struck her, though. It was not exactly the police help with the missing cat case and jewels that they’d expected.

  “Needy. I know for a fact he’s chased off three decent women by proposing on the third date. I’m surprised it took him so long to get around to your mother. Probably had some reservations about dating Kenneth’s widow. You should talk to your mother about him.”

  Not too far from them, Mabel, engaged in conversation with Barney’s children, glowed. Still, Della cocked her head to one side. Was her mother happy because of Barney? Cheerful operated as her mother’s go-to mood. Clarice wanted her to play the villain by mentioning all might not be as it seemed with the retired cop.

  “You’re her friend. Why don’t you say something?”

  “It needs to be you. Besides, I have delicious gossip on the Dankworths to relate.”

  Did she say Dankworths? Della cleared her throat. “Dankworths?”

  “Oh yes,” Clarice’s crimson lips turned up in a smirk. “Lost their fortune on a Ponzi scheme. That’s what you get for being greedy and stupid. I’m surprised they didn’t show, especially with their daughter hawking mail order goodies, trying to pass them off as bakery goods. Oh, how the mighty have fallen.”

  An uproar erupted as the double doors opened bringing in chill, snow, and a volunteer driving a green ATV bedecked with a bow. Excited chatter drowned out even Charlie with the microphone, but the right person must have heard because an excited squeal broke through the chatter. Hot chocolate granny darted to the ATV and tried to shove the volunteer off. Charlie shouted instructions from the stage.

  “No, no! The volunteer has to drive it out of the building for liability purposes. You might want to get a trailer to haul
it home.”

  The ATV left the building, taking with it most of the people. A few of the vendors packed up, and even Santa gave a wave as he left with two of his female helpers dressed in outfits more suited to the beach than a Midwest winter. Hopefully, the two brought coats. The few dozen people left wandered about slowly as if surprised at the sudden exodus.

  Mary scrambled up on the stage and fussed with the microphone. “Greetings! Welcome to Owens First Truffle Contest. I’d like to introduce this year’s judges.”

  The mayor trotted out with an amiable expression, not too surprising since re-election would be next year. A few other local notables, including the owner of Bob-links, the local golf course, joined him: Jeffrey Lawson from Lawson Industries, the town’s biggest employer, and surprise, her mentor from Baby Cake Bakery, along with three other folks she didn’t know, plus her mother’s friends. Della shifted her weight nervously, doubting the ability of the judges to even know what a good truffle was.

  Would they know that oiliness would indicate waxes or a stabilizer in the finished product? Too sweet meant the candy maker relied on sugar as opposed to chocolate and cream for the bulk of the product. Della closed her eyes, reminding herself that the judging had already happened, and they’d simply announce the results. All in all, it would be a quick thing. Mary must have thought so, too. She had various judges speak about their experience.

  The mayor predictably said all the entries were wonderful, just like all the citizens. Another judge complained about spiciness in a truffle and how it didn’t belong. Thank goodness Mary’s comments had warned her off using the cayenne one.

  Finally, her mentor stood and gave the group a censorious glance as she spoke. “Twelve contestants were disqualified for their use of commercial truffles. Another entrant we disqualified because she entered petit fours, not truffles. They were also a popular mail-order brand.” She gave an aggravated sigh. “People, don’t waste the judges’ time or your money by buying commercially produced candies. There’s no monetary prize with the award. I feel like I’m dealing with junior high students. Let your work be your own work.”