by M K Scott
“I’ve got to keep things interesting.” Della gestured to the cream-colored walls shorn of their festive tinsel. If she hadn’t kept the fairy lights, there’d be nothing to draw the eye. “Marketing and promotion. You stop either for a minute…” Della snapped her fingers, “Poof! You’re forgotten. It’s all about image. Making people think you’re all that even if you’re not.”
Twin eyebrows arched over the coffee cup Mabel held to her face, expressing her reservations about the blanket statement. After a hearty gulp, she placed the cup on the table. “With Lacey behind bars, I thought you’d be over being the hipster bakery. What about Lawson recommending you to his friends?”
Her first turn at playing sleuth had ended in a plum catering assignment along with some follow-up business. “I’m grateful.” She threaded her hands behind her back and paced the small area before making a right turn. She paced some more and made another right turn, until she executed a perfect square. “I probably got two weddings, one fiftieth anniversary party, and a half dozen birthday cakes from that. I’m not trying to be a hipster bakery. If you try to be hipster, you’re not. Like all those guys carrying a typewriter with them because they saw a social media hipster doing so.”
“Whatever.” An airy wave indicated her mother either didn’t care or failed to listen. After another hefty swallow of coffee followed by an appreciative sigh, her mother held up her index finger. “There’s the truffle contest. How about that?” She angled her head where an oversized trophy dominated a small shelf.
“I should make up boxes of truffles as Valentine’s gifts and Mother’s Day, too.” Della stopped and cocked her head causing her dark hair to tumble to one side. “That’s one idea, but we’ll need more since Valentine’s is only one day a year, which leaves us with 364 days. I could make up some signs about reserving a truffle box now. Since quantities would be limited, it could have the panache of an exclusive gift. We’ll need special boxes. I’ll head over to the Centerville dollar store. Hopefully, they’ll have something our local store doesn’t.”
“Good luck with that. I’m not sure why you think the locals never drive to Centerville and shop. What you need is a special design. Something associated with the bakery. A specially crafted logo by an artist. That would give it some panache.”
Less than two weeks from Valentine’s Day, which meant no time to hire an artist, let alone buy a design, never mind the money. Della’s pacing resumed. It helped her think. Back in high school, pacing became her thing when she’d heard more than her fair share of comments about her increasing weight. Even though she’d agreed with the haters she could drop a few pounds, she’d never give them the satisfaction of seeing her run around the school track or at the town’s only gym, which left her pacing in her room or running the stairs when both parents left. Now, when presented with a problem, she paced.
Normally, her mother never suggested something unless she’d already had an answer or a plan. Della stopped a foot away from her mother. “Tell. What’s up?”
A chuckle escaped from behind Mabel’s hand. “Oh, you’re good. Your detective father would be so proud of you. You know how he prided himself on his observation skills.”
“That, he did,” Della pulled out a chair and joined her mother at the table. “He didn’t much care for eyewitnesses, though.”
“People see what they want.” A derisive snort punctuated the sentence. “He’d have three different witnesses to a crime who would give three vastly different stories, from who drove the getaway car, to the model and color of the vehicle.”
“Ah, yes. Perception. Speaking of that…” Della wouldn’t dare mention her mother’s predictability rather than observational skills deduced that her mother had a plan for the boxes. Loud knocking rattled the glass bakery door. Della froze, uncertain what to do since they were closed on Sundays. Probably a mistake to meet in the café area where everyone could see them. If she ignored her insistent rapper, maybe they’d leave since the CLOSED sign wasn’t working. In her short experience, no one with good news showed up before the sun arrived. Then again, ignoring a potential customer was the kind of thing that’d spread around town like wildfire.
Her mother had no such hesitation. She left her chair and opened the door. “My goodness, Clarice. What’s wrong? You’re never running around this early on your day off.”
The red-faced woman staggered into the room, glanced over one shoulder as if looking for someone before closing the door. Clarice rested against the door as she exhaled. “I need your help! I remember you saying you’d be here this morning.”
“Birthday cake? Unexpected party to cater?” Della queried, alarmed at her mother’s friend’s appearance. It had to be a pressing need for her to show up at seven in the morning. “Do you need a box of pastries?” She pushed to her feet and headed toward the kitchen. There should be enough leftovers to make a box. If not, she could pop a tray of goodies into the oven.
“Oh, no! That’s not it.” She fanned her face with her hand. “Not sure if it’s the aggravation of everything that’s happen or another darn hot flash. I need yours and your mom’s sleuthing skills.”
“What?” Della asked, as she stopped in her tracks and pivoted. The query hadn’t rattled her mother, who guided her friend to a seat, then picked up a paper tablet and a pen from the counter.
“What was the instigating incident?” Mabel flipped open the tablet and the pen hovered above the paper.
Instigating incident? Della slid into a nearby chair and managed not to snort. Who talked like that? Certainly not her father who had spoken to people in a conversational style. She’d commented more than once that he favored the small-town inspectors so popular in the BBC mysteries. Somehow, they managed to convey civility and curiosity when questioning a suspect. Her mother must be quoting someone from a favorite crime drama.
All the same, what could have upset Clarice? Mabel often joked her friend’s thick skin could deflect a sharp knife. The foolhardy attacker would then be left vulnerable to Clarice’s rapier tongue.
Due to cradling her head in her hands, Clarice’s reply sounded more like a sound puzzle with not enough right pieces to form a sentence.
Her mother nudged her friend gently. “We’re going to have a little more than that to go on.”
Clarice lifted her head and said, “Something weird is happening. My life,” she paused and shook her head, “is going south big time.”
Talk about no help at all. Who hadn’t uttered the same words after making a social gaffe, wrecking a car, losing a job, or being served with divorce papers? As the biggest gossip in town, Clarice cared little about appropriate social behavior so that couldn’t be it. As a happy divorcee, the end of a relationship fizzled as a possibility.
“How is your life going south?” Mabel asked as she lightly rubbed circles on her friend’s back. “Last we talked; you had a tropical getaway planned.”
For some reason, back circles calmed a person, or at least it worked on Clarice who sniffed, then cleared her throat. “The signs were there, but I poo-poohed them as a mistake or a clever angle by a salesman.”
Still not making sense, but Della would leave it to her mother to extract information. Even her father had joked they needed her at the station just to sit in the waiting area and casually chit-chat with the suspects to obtain needed details.
“What salesman?” Her mother shot her a look and pushed the tablet toward her. Okay, it must mean she got to scribe. Salesman? Della wrote, adding a question mark.
“The Mercedes salesman. He wanted to know if I had decided on a color for the convertible, then later, I got another call from the BMW dealership. They all went to voicemail and I never returned their calls, but what’s the possibility of getting two calls from two high-end car dealerships in one day? They said my name in the call and acted as I’d been on the lot.”
Mabel shot her friend a questioning look, causing Clarice to straighten up while firming her jaw. She tossed her head, making
her short locks tremble. “You think I don’t remember going to a car dealership? I’d know if I had. Besides, I love my little car. It’s easy on the car mileage, fun to drive, and I can always snag a parking space. Why would I go buying an expensive car? I wouldn’t. I have to save for my retirement since there is only one of me to provide for my golden years.”
“I know.” Mabel lifted her brows in Della’s direction. A signal of sorts, but no one bothered mentioning what it meant. When in doubt, offer food.
“Clarice, would you like a hot cheese danish? How about a cup of coffee?”
The woman patted her stomach and grimaced. “I’m watching my weight.” When Della sat motionlessly, Clarice added, “It’s been a rough day and it’s not even eight. I guess one cheese danish wouldn’t hurt. If you have any chocolate croissants, get me one of those, too.”
Not wanting to miss any of the story, Della vaulted from her chair and rushed into the kitchen to grab the desired goodies and warm them up a tad. Treats on a plate, she approached the table in time to hear Clarice say, “I can’t imagine anyone who would have it out for me.”
Seriously, the woman gathered juicy gossip in her post-surgery nurse job while patients mumbled names other than their spouses or children. Mabel confided a few even mentioned shady business deals while shaking off the effects of the anesthesia. It made her wonder if that weighed on them so much that it was at the forefront of their minds possibly worried, they might die and everything would come out. Even though Clarice bragged no one could trace any gossip back to her, Della suspected a few did. Who knows what damage a few murmured words under anesthesia might cause if the wrong person got wind of it? Della placed the plate in front of Clarice. “I’ll get your coffee, but I’ll need to know everything you told mom while I was in the kitchen.”
A long sigh answered the request, then Clarice managed a weary smile. “Could I have coffee first? I haven’t had any. Went to the gas station and my ATM card didn’t work. Went inside to pay because sometimes cards don’t work at the pump. She ran my card, but told me it was no good.” Clarice pressed her hand against her chest. “She implied I had no money in the bank. Me. No money. Thank goodness, I had my emergency twenty in my wallet. Something’s up.” She gulped hard, then continued. “I have a standing order at Bill’s Donuts.”
Della narrowed her eyes in Clarice’s directions at the mention of one of her competitors. Although, the donut shop located near the highway didn’t offer a sitting area, lattes, or breakfast sandwiches.
“Oh, please! Don’t take that attitude with me. I changed your diaper more than a few times.” She grimaced before continuing. “Not pleasant. Anyhow, you’re not open on Sundays. Because I’m usually in a hurry, I prepaid for my coffee and bran muffin monthly. Only today, I gave a new employee my name and she just gives me this dull stare. She tells me I’ve already been by and got my coffee and muffin.”
“A mistake?” Mabel suggested gently but gave Della the side-eye to make sure she wrote every word down. Caught up in the story, Della picked up the pen and did her best to catch up.
“Not sure. So many slightly-off things have been happening. One is a fluke. Two feels peculiar. Three means something is wrong big time.”
“What’s the third?” Della glanced up from writing to ask.
Clarice sighed heavily and took an aggressive bite out of her cheese danish. A cow out in the field meditatively chewing its cud might be a trifle faster than Clarice. Both Della and Mabel waited while the woman chewed slowly. Finally, she spoke. “My tropical cruise was canceled. Every morning I get up and pull up the website to enjoy the day-to-day countdown, dreaming a little about the warm water and white sand beaches. Today, there was no cruise listed. No customer service either to answer my questions.”
Yeah, it did sound suspicious, but there could be a reasonable explanation for everything. Della waved her pen, ready to explain. “Sometimes, I have trouble at the pump using my credit card. The clerk at the place didn’t know how to run your card. A new clerk at the donut shop, embarrassed she gave away your order, insisted you were there.” She paused to make sure Clarice knew she sacrificed service by frequenting Bill’s. “As you probably know, all older women resemble each other.”
Both Clarice and her mother snorted at her theory. Della, not discouraged, plowed ahead. “Younger people think everyone over thirty looks about the same. As for your trip, it could be a problem with the website. Your cruise may appear when you look at the website later.”
Looking unconvinced, Clarice drummed her fingernails on the table and nodded in Mabel’s direction.
Her mother cleared her throat. “After thinking this over…”
Della knew her mother would pretty much echo her own words and possibly because her friend said it, Clarice would accept it. No reason to write anymore, Della put down the pen and folded her arms wanting to see Clarice’s reaction.
“I’m certain something is up. What I’m unsure of is someone trying to annoy you or is someone trying to hijack your life?”
Author Notes
Cupid Catering Company is my first catering cozy mystery series. I’ve spent a great deal of my life cooking with family and for work. The possibility of a mother and daughter running a catering business appealed. Like all families, there would be some issues on which they didn’t hold the same views. While daughter, Della, may not always agree with her mother, Mabel, she is respectful of her parent. The two genuinely love and look out for each other. For a change, the characters aren’t based on anyone in my family, but the cooking is.
The culinary aspects are courtesy of my grandmother plus my own experiences. My grandmother taught herself to cook and became quite well known for her pies. This talent kept her family fed since she spent her early morning hours at a bakery making bread, cookies, donuts, and pies for the day. I on the other hand worked in dietary at a local nursing home where I sometimes cooked for three hundred plus people. It became a running joke that I couldn’t make anything for less than a hundred folks.
My husband, who is a software engineer, helped with the software or should I say middleware twist. Writing this book resulted in much baking, eating, and possibly five extra pounds.
I love to hear from and meet readers. Due to our recent health crisis, I will not be making any personal appearances at this time. In the meantime, stay in touch via my newsletter. Sign up at www.morgankwyatt.com.
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Reading takes you to your happy place. We need happy moments now more than ever.
MK Scott
www.morgankwyatt.com
Table of Contents
Books by M K Scott
Dedication
Title Page
Copyright Page
Table of Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Truffle Me Not Recipes
Excerpt from Double Chocolate Deception
Author Notes
(Cupid's Catering Company Book 2)