Nothing Bundt Trouble

by Ellie Alexander

  “Great. So great. Andy is hilarious. He’s a really good skier too. I had no idea.” Her skin blotched as she spoke. “I mean, I got a ton of fun outdoor shots that we can use on social.”

  “Of course. That’s great.”

  Her cheeks turned a deep shade of maroon, so I changed the subject. “Did Sterling talk to you and Steph about an eighties dinner?”

  She clapped. “Yes! Yes, and we love it. We have so many ideas. The three of us were brainstorming yesterday afternoon. I know we’re doing the Irish feast this week, which is actually good because it gives us more time to plan and get the word out.” Her words ran together as she spoke. “Let me run upstairs and bring down some of the ideas we mapped out.”

  When she was out of earshot, Mom winked. “Young love.”

  I smiled and returned to baking. By a little after six, the kitchen was buzzing with activity and energy. Things were back to normal, and I’d never felt more grateful.

  “Hey, Sterling,” I called. “I brought something for you.”

  He tied an apron around his waist and walked over to me. “What’s that?”

  “Some gems of inspiration for the Sunday Supper.” I showed him some of the old photos I’d found of Torte along with the copies Amanda had given me.

  “Check out the mustache on the Professor,” Andy joked.

  “I keep telling him he should bring the stash back,” Mom bantered.

  “Maybe he will for our flashback dinner.” I slid a tray of cookies into the oven. “It can be a party to celebrate our roots.”

  “These are so great,” Sterling said, gathering the photos and newspaper clippings. “This might be our most popular Sunday Supper yet.”

  “Totally,” Andy agreed. “I’ll come up with some, like, totally gnarly eighties drinks to serve.”

  “And we’ll have to put together an eighties playlist,” I suggested. “Wham!, Madonna, you know, the classics.”

  “Don’t forget about the desserts,” Bethany chimed in. “Steph and I have a list of desserts from the 1980s, but what else was popular back then, Mrs. Capshaw?”

  Mom shared some of her favorite retro recipes with the team. Everyone was excited about the event and eager to lend their input. The Professor had been right. I was my father’s daughter, but I was my mother’s daughter too. Torte was my legacy. They had created the bakeshop as a place of comfort, where delicious food was served with love. It was my job to carry on that tradition, and I was ready for the task.

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  For the next few weeks, I savored the pages of my father’s journal every night before bed. He had puzzled over Chuck’s killer. I could tell that it had been hard for him to let it go. Each passage in the weathered journal solidified how much he had cared for Mom and me. We were his priority. I wondered if he might have continued helping Doug with the Pastry Case if it wasn’t for us. There were more entries after where the Professor and I left off. The paragraphs slowly changed from his obsessions with the hit-and-run to more news and musings about Torte and me.

  Juliet landed the part today. Helen and I are bursting with pride. I hope it’s not too much pressure for my little sweet pea. She has her first fitting tomorrow, and Janet called to let us know that A Rose by Any Other Name is going to be designing a true flower crown for the show. I can’t wait to see Juliet’s face when she learns that she’s going to be a real princess. I’m excited because we’ll get a season pass to the Festival. Prices are steep these days. Eighteen dollars for good seats. Juliet will also receive a stipend, which Helen and I agreed will go directly into her college fund.

  Our espressos are starting to gain traction. Today, we actually had a line of customers waiting for lattes and cappuccinos. Helen told me I needed to be patient and give it some time. The other exciting news in the bakeshop is that we’ve been invited to cater the Feast of Will. The renaissance feast in Lithia Park is one of my favorite traditions of the year. I never imagined that we would have the honor of baking for the feast. I’m scouring Elizabethan recipes for inspiration.

  Reading small snippets of my parents’ life brought me more closure. On the night before our 1980s flashback Sunday Supper, I turned the yellowed pages in the journal to realize that there were only three pages left. I didn’t want this journey to end. And, yet, I knew that it had to. My time with Dad’s journal had made him whole again. Examining my past had given me new insight into my future. It was soon going to be time to move on. To close the leather-bound journal, return it to a secure shelf in the basement, and carry my dad’s memories with me in my heart.

  Read on, Jules, I told myself.

  All capital letters on the next page caught my eye.

  BREAKING NEWS IN THE PASTRY CASE!

  Doug and I are still at a loss as to who ran Chuck down, but I believe that I have solved one piece of the puzzle. I bumped into Richard Lord this afternoon. It was a classic Richard interaction. He puffed out his chest like a peacock and started spouting off about his record-breaking numbers with his dance parties. I half listened. I was in a hurry to go meet Helen and Juliet at the Black Swan for her first costume fitting. Not to mention that everything Richard says must be taken with a grain of salt. Or maybe a full shaker of salt.

  Why he needs to try and impress me is a mystery.

  Here’s the interesting part. The man is paranoid. Completely paranoid. I realized that he’s the guy who’s been following me around at night. He had to be the one who followed me up to my van on my way home from the Mark Antony and who was behind me on the plaza. That’s why he was sweating profusely at the dance party. He hadn’t been dancing. He’d been stalking me.

  His whole story about me and Doug playing detective had no merit. He’s been convinced that I’m trying to steal his business plan. Yeah right!

  I can’t wait to tell Helen about our conversation today. She’ll get a good laugh out of the idea that we would ever try to intentionally copy anything that Richard Lord is doing at the Merry Windsor.

  He actually accused me of spying on him and trying to pilfer his business ideas!

  Of course! I flipped the journal shut. I could picture Richard sneaking around the plaza in the dark trying to figure out what my dad was up to. Classic. I placed the journal on my nightstand and clicked off the light. Tomorrow was our 1980s party. It felt like things had come full circle. Throwing a flashback feast was fitting, just the sendoff I needed to put the past behind me. There was one last page for me to read in the journal, and I would save it for tomorrow night.

  The next morning, I woke up with renewed energy. I tugged on a pair of jeans, a Torte T-shirt, and my tennis shoes. Then I packed a bag with my costume for the party. The mood at the bakeshop was alive and frenetic. Everyone had a long list of tasks to complete before we opened the doors to our dinner guests at six.

  Bethany and Steph were in charge of our dessert course. They whipped marshmallow cream filling for our Ding Dongs and baked extra pans of pineapple upside-down cake. Sterling and Marty had prepared a menu straight out of the 1980s. We would be greeting guests with sparkling wine coolers and platters of jalapeño poppers, jelly-glazed meatballs, and spinach dip. The main course would consist of a Caesar salad, baked potatoes with all the fixings, and blackened chicken and salmon. Our pièce de résistance for the evening was the retro dessert cart, for which Bethany had repurposed an old delivery cart. We would drape it with white tablecloths and wheel it through the dining room with our beautifully plated desserts.

  Andy blasted Debbie Gibson after we closed the bakeshop for the day. Rosa and I pushed tables together and covered them with black butcher paper. Andy and Sequoia hung posters of 1980s rock stars on the walls and festooned the bakeshop with fluorescent glow-stick bouquets. I had ordered an assortment of retro candy—like giant jawbreakers—that we scattered on the long tables. Sterling helped me rig a black light and disco ball from the ceiling. Rosa taped the front windows with more of the black butcher paper in order to block any light from com
ing in.

  “This is awesome, Jules.” Sterling flicked off the lights and turned on the disco ball.

  The bakeshop was transformed into a scene straight out of the 1980s. Rosa’s white T-shirt glowed under the black light, and the colorful neon glow sticks lit up the room.

  “It’s pretty cool,” I agreed. Then I called everyone upstairs. “Great work today, team. Guests will be arriving in thirty minutes, so go change. Tease up your hair and pull on your legwarmers.”

  When it was my turn in the bathroom, I left my jeans on, but swapped my tennis shoes for a pair of rainbow Chuck Taylors that I had scored in the vintage store along with the scoop-neck pink T-shirt that draped over my left shoulder. I pulled my hair into a side ponytail and applied a generous amount of bright blue eye shadow. I stood back and appraised myself in the mirror.

  Not bad.

  My already blue eyes looked almost fake beneath the layers of eye shadow. The side ponytail showed off my jawline. I felt like a teenager as I joined my team in the dining room.

  From Bethany’s neon green legwarmers to Andy’s red tracksuit, everyone had outdone themselves. We danced to the beat of the Beastie Boys under the flashing disco lights.

  Lance was the first guest to arrive. He was dressed like Don Johnson from Miami Vice in a baby blue suit with a tight white T-shirt and pair of black sunglasses. “This is, like, totally rad, darling.” He tipped his wine cooler to me in a toast.

  The Professor and Mom even got in the spirit. He arrived sporting a fake mustache and a Hawaiian shirt. Mom opted for an ode to Joan Collins with her yellow jacket and its massive shoulder pads and form-fitting white miniskirt.

  “Oh, honey, this is hilarious.” She squeezed the Professor’s hand. “It takes us back, doesn’t it, Doug?”

  He pressed the fake Tom Selleck mustache to his upper lip. “So much so that I’m considering bringing the stash back. What do you say, Juliet?”

  I winced. “I think that trend died a while ago.”

  “Thank you.” Mom leaned in to kiss my cheek.

  “Oh dear lady, wait. I thought you wanted me to bring the stash back.” The Professor pretended to be injured. He stabbed himself in the chest with his fist. “Say it isn’t so.”

  Mom wrinkled her brow and bit her bottom lip. “Let’s just say that I may have been teasing.”

  She got whisked away by Wendy and Janet. The Professor watched her bop to the music with her friends.

  “Any update on Shelly?” I offered him a wine cooler. “Have you been able to determine whether she was working with Chuck or masterminded the entire plan herself?”

  He took one of the chilled fluted glasses. “At this point, it’s unclear. Her story continues to change. My guess is that she had some involvement in Chuck’s schemes, but that’s for the DA to determine. The good news is that we have a solid case now. Her attempt to take your life as well as threatening police officers will ensure that she will serve time.”

  “That’s good.” I reached for a Ring Pop on the table and placed it on an index finger.

  “And, my dear, given all that has transpired, how are things with you?” His kind eyes were full of concern.

  “I’m doing well. Really well. It’s been hard to drag up painful memories of loss, but honestly, I think I needed this time in my dad’s head more than I could have ever known.”

  He folded his hands together and closed his eyes for one brief minute. “Yes, I understand.”

  Lance swept over to us. “Darling, fabulous party.” He bit into a jalapeño popper. “Everyone is absolutely raving about the eighties theme. You’ve outdone yourself.”

  The Professor excused himself.

  “Thanks,” I said to Lance. “Credit my staff. It was their idea.”

  “Well color me impressed. They are brilliant.” He lowered his voice. “Do tell though, what are we going to do now that we’ve cracked another case?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I mean it’s another win for Rousseau and Capshaw. What’s next? You know me, I yearn for adventure.”

  “Right, but don’t you have a new season at OSF and your work at the Cabaret to concentrate on?”

  Marty circulated with a tray of jelly-glazed meatballs on tiny toothpicks. Lance helped himself to two. “Pshaw, that’s work. I mean adventure. I feel something new brimming. Don’t you feel it too?”

  “No.” If anything I felt more grounded to Ashland than ever.

  Lance wasn’t having it. “Mark my words, Juliet, there’s a difference in the air. I do believe that surprises are in store. Keep your chin up and your eyes on alert.”

  “Okay.” I agreed mainly to get him to stop and because I spotted Amanda and her husband at the front door. Amanda wore her hair in two ponytails and was dressed like Punky Brewster. Jed had gone with more of a Beastie Boys approach with parachute pants, a backward baseball cap, and three silver chains around his neck.

  “Thanks so much for inviting us,” Amanda said when I greeted them. “This is amazing. I feel like I’ve stepped back into our childhood.”

  “Let’s just say that my staff got very into the theme.”

  “I don’t think you two have officially met, but I’ve been talking about you nonstop to Jed, so I’m pretty sure he feels like he already knows you, right, hon?” She looked up at Jed, who was taller than her by at least six inches.

  He shook my hand. “All I’ve heard about since you two bumped into each other is Juliet Capshaw. I’m so happy to finally get to meet you and that you and Amanda have rekindled your friendship. It’s even more validation for our move. Not that we needed any. Ashland has rolled out the welcome mat for us.”

  “Except for Shelly.” Amanda shuddered. “I can’t believe she was arrested. To think that we were convinced she was controlling and didn’t want to hand over the reins for the Cabaret when in reality she had been trying to cover up an old murder. It gives me the creeps every time I think about it.” She shivered again. Jed reached out his arm to console her.

  “According to what the police told us, she’s behind bars now and we have nothing to worry about.” He took a neon green cocktail from a tray that Rosa was passing around the dining room. “The police mentioned that you were involved in her arrest. I hope it wasn’t too stressful.”

  “No,” I lied, taking a cocktail from Rosa. “It wasn’t too bad.” I didn’t want to ruin the retro vibe of the evening with the memory of Shelly pointing a gun at my chest. We chatted for a few minutes more about their plans for the Cabaret and made a date to meet at Uva for a more leisurely catch-up over a bottle of wine.

  Mom waved from the opposite side of the room, giving me the cue that dinner was ready. I showed Amanda and Jed to their seats, then I clinked my fork to an empty glass. “Thanks so much for joining us for this throwback bash. We’re excited to transport you and your taste buds to the 1980s, so please take your seats.”

  Everyone applauded as Marty, Rosa, Andy, Sequoia, and Sterling arrived in unison with trays of Caesar salads, baked potatoes, and blacked chicken and salmon. Dinner was a lively affair with plenty of music, eighties trivia, and flowing bottles of wine.

  When it was time for the dessert course, our guests whooped and hollered with delight at the sight of the dessert cart and the delectable assortment of retro sweets. There wasn’t a crumb or morsel left at the end of the evening, which I took as a favorable sign. Everyone lingered late into the night. We pushed aside the tables and cranked the music louder. Watching friends, family, and my staff move to the pulse of the music made me grin. I disagreed with Lance. I didn’t need new adventures. I had them right in front of me.

  Epilogue

  Later, once we had run the dishwasher and taken down the eighties décor, I tucked into my bed with a mug of hot tea. The last page of my father’s journal awaited. Before I read it, I took a deep breath and sent out gratitude for the gift of his words. His death had changed me. I had spent years living in the wake of grief, wishing that he were aliv
e for so many milestones and average rainy Tuesday afternoons alike. I had held tight to regret, to craving his presence, his calming voice, his comforting arms. I had lived under the shadow of loss.

  In the pages of his faded journal, I had realized something monumental. Something that I knew would alter me for the better. And that was that he had been with me this entire time.

  Armed with this new understanding, I opened the journal.

  To my loves,

  According to my bank account I’m far from a rich man, but one look of love from Helen’s eyes and the sight of Juliet’s wide smile tells me that I’m the wealthiest man alive. I might not be able to give you diamonds or pearls. I might not be able to show you the world, but I can give you this.

  A work in progress for Helen and Juliet:

  I dreamed of distant lands last night,

  Of stars, of moons, of skies, and seas,

  I dreamed of places never traveled

  Of shores left unexplored,

  I steered my vessel toward adventure

  Seeking danger, a rambling stranger,

  It turned,

  and led me straight to home,

  I found you waiting,

  A sturdy stance, a welcoming glance,

  A knowing smile, a sweet caress,

  For you, my loves, know me best,

  My heart is full,

  With dreams of you,

  I need not venture far from here,

  Because with you I’m whole, my dears.

  These were my father’s last words, at least in the form of his journal. No sentiment could be more fitting. The fact that his poem reflected his thoughts on the sea resonated deeply with me. I had fulfilled his need for wanderlust and found my way home.

  I didn’t shed a single tear as I closed the journal. Instead, I drifted off to sleep with dreams of Ashland, of my life here on solid ground, and of the many adventures that awaited me.

  Recipes

  Ding Dong Cake

  Ingredients: