by Jennifer Joy
Unless the person who stole the ledger and the art thief were one and the same. Angry Art Man was looking guiltier by the second. He was the only person I’d seen snooping around Miss Patty’s art gallery. And he still had his painting. He’s probably have mine, too, if it hadn’t been at the framers when he broke into my apartment.
Mammy hung up the phone, all smiles, so I said my goodbyes to Miss Patty. My determination to find out why Angel Flores was so interested in Eduardo’s paintings was renewed, and I made a mental note to ask Gus about him.
“What a nice couple!” Mammy said, plunking down on the stool beside me and stirring her spoon in her coffee. “A man answered the phone, but he had such a horrible cold, I could hardly understand him. He handed me over to his wife and we had the loveliest chat. She has family in Chicago.”
I vaguely remembered that Uncle Eddie had worked in Chicago after returning from Greenpeace. He’d been an accountant.
“Did they have Dad’s size?” I asked.
Mammy smacked her forehead. “I enjoyed our conversation so much, I forgot to tell her his size.” She straightened. “Then again, she didn’t ask either. She would have asked if she needed it, wouldn’t she?”
Sylvia suggested, “Maybe the straw the hats are made of is forgiving. I don’t know much about them, but Panama hats are special for a reason.”
Mammy shrugged. “They’re going to email an invoice so I can pay with my credit card. Maybe there’ll be a place to add the size there. If not, I’ll call her back. I sure hope her husband gets better. You should have heard him, Jess. Sounded just like a frog. Dr. Montalvo would’ve told him he only had a day of life left!”
“After he gave him a sucker,” I added.
Abuelita refilled my mug and patted my shoulder like I was a nice, little puppy.
I looked at her suspiciously.
“You open tomorrow, yes? You make the doughnuts?” she asked sweetly.
Sylvia rolled her eyes. “I’m sorry, Jess. Mom ran out of her Little Debbie snack cakes last week, and she’s been intolerable ever since.”
I still had no mixer. That left me with two choices. One, I could trust my friends to help me muddle through my first day, hand kneading more dough than any one person should touch in a lifetime. Or, two, I could do the more sensible thing and postpone the opening until further notice.
To be honest, I was leaning toward being sensible until I remembered Mammy’s pep talk. Which would I regret more?
That was easy.
I looked at Abuelita, making sure I had her complete, undivided attention. “We’re opening. If I fail, it’ll be my own fault, not some spoil-sport, grumpy baker’s doing.”
Abuelita latched onto me. It was more like a strangle hold than a hug, but her rare gesture warmed my heart and lent me courage — which was nice because I had a hunch I’d need it.
“No regrets” became my mantra for the rest of the day until I set my alarm super early for the following morning. It’d take me twice as long to knead the dough by hand than with a mixer, but I was determined.
No regrets.
Chapter 21
My mantra didn’t fill me with the same purpose it had the night before when my alarm screamed in my ear at two in the morning. Only pure, stubborn determination and the timer on my coffee maker pulled me out of my warm, comfortable bed. It was hard not to regret everything this early.
Mammy wasn’t up yet. The early birds weren’t even up yet. So when my apartment intercom buzzed, it startled me out of my wits. I leaned against the wall and peeked through the tiny gap between the curtain and window frame.
It was Martha and another lady I didn’t know. They stood in front of the bed of a pickup parked on the street.
I nearly warned them not to park there long for fear of backing up traffic and angering other drivers, but the streets were dead. Ugh, it was early.
The lady with Martha flipped the tarp covering the bed of the pickup over, and in an instant I was awake and alert … and oh-so-happy. I squealed, jumping up and down and startling Mammy awake.
“Are you okay?” she asked from her guest bed.
“It’s a mixer! They brought a mixer!” I grinned at her.
“Well, then why don’t you go down and get it before they think you don’t want it and let me get a couple more hours of beauty sleep?” She fluffed her pillow and nestled back in.
Right. I ran back over to the window. “I’ll be right down!” I waved at them, running barefoot down the stairs. Now that I had seen the mixer, I didn’t want to let it out of my sight.
Martha grinned from ear to ear. “Maria have bakery. She want help.”
Maria smiled as widely as Martha did, pointed to the bed of her pickup, and explained why she was there. While I didn’t catch every single word, I understood her meaning clearly enough. She didn’t like Sal, so she was lending me her mixer until I could find mine or get another one.
She’d even brought her husband to help us unload the bulky machine and put it inside the shop.
I couldn’t say “gracias” enough. I’m not normally a huggy person, but I made an exception in this case, hugging the couple at least twice in my immense relief and gratitude.
Releasing them from my hold, I said, “Free doughnuts. Si? Gratis, yes?”
They nodded their heads, so I guessed they understood.
After another hug, I let them go, at which Martha and I hopped and squealed in my kitchen. I tried not to resent the two hours of sleep I’d lost, but I was too wide awake to go back to bed. So, after a quick run upstairs to put shoes on and twist my hair up and out of the way, I grabbed the measuring cup and got to work while Martha scanned the radio stations for some decent music.
I marveled at her knowledge of lyrics. No wonder she was learning English so quickly. She sang everything from the Black Eyed Peas to Bruce Springsteen to ABBA, whipping up a rainbow assortment of frostings and jelly flavors while I kept the temperature steady on the fryer.
We sang, danced, fried, flipped, and frosted. I heeded my mom’s advice and whipped up a few batches of mini cinnamon rolls to use as samples. The mixer made everything easier, and the warmth of the kitchen cut the rising time so we got a lot more done than I had supposed possible. Take that, Sal!
By sunup, we had filled the display cases with fresh, gooey pastries. Mammy came to help while I fried the next batch and Martha mixed up more glaze and frosting. I’d need to get more powdered sugar before the end of the weekend.
An hour before opening, Tia Rosa and Fernanda showed up along with a couple more helpers Martha had hired for me. Having the extra hands there ended up being a good thing when I flipped the open sign on the front door and smiled at the line of people already waiting outside. I waved at Jake and Adi.
Tia Rosa took orders and fed the register while Mammy and Fernanda waited on the customers at the tables. I went back into the kitchen to mix more dough. We’d have to keep production steady if the opening rush was any indication of how our day would go.
Ooh, I hoped Sal was watching.
I was happy hiding out in the back until Fernanda booted me out of the kitchen. Jutting her thumb over her shoulder, she said, “You have fans. You should go out there and mingle.”
I wiped my hands on the apron Adi had made for me and my crew.
Mammy fluttered between tables, refilling coffee cups and wiping the glass tops for waiting customers who swooped into the wrought-iron chairs before she could even finish.
Abuelita licked her fingers, sitting back in a chair with her eyes closed.
I took the cleaner and wash cloth from Mammy and sprayed the recently unoccupied table. Jutting my chin in Abuelita’s direction, I asked, “How many has she had?”
“That was number five,” Mammy said with a chuckle. “She’s going to be as hyper as a toddler before she crashes.”
Tia Rosa overheard us. She piped up, “No is fair. I look at the doughnut and I am round ball. She eat five doughnut and she skinny lik
e the stick.”
Abuelita opened her eyes at that. “What? I get employee discount. They half price!”
I didn’t recall hiring Abuelita, and from the look on Tia Rosa’s face, neither did she.
Mammy rolled her eyes. “Skinny and cheap, but we love her.”
Miss Patty came in with Eduardo. “Jess! There you are. Your shop is adorable. It reminds me of the candy shop I used to go to when I was a little girl. It was a magical place. People went in with frowns and left with smiles.”
Eduardo glanced nervously around him, hunching his shoulders and trying to make himself small. He didn’t like crowds, and the place was packed. “That’s exactly the effect I was going for. I’m pleased you like it. What’s the occasion?” I asked.
“We’re celebrating.” Miss Patty rested her hand on Eduardo’s shoulder, and he looked at the floor shyly. “Eduardo just gave me his latest painting, and oh, it’s gorgeous. You have to come see it. It’d complement your piece beautifully.”
I tried to catch Eduardo’s eye, but the crowd in my shop clearly overwhelmed him. “I’ll try to swing by later if things slow down.”
My smile faded when I saw Angry Art Man standing on the sidewalk outside my shop. Had he followed Miss Patty and Eduardo here?
Miss Patty laid her hand over mine. “Oh, honey, that’s not going to happen. This place is packed! But we just had to come down and see how you were doing, tell you about the painting, and treat ourselves to a few doughnuts while we’re here. We’d better grab a spot in line!”
“On the house,” I told Tia Rosa as I pointed to Miss Patty. I owed her and Eduardo coffee and doughnuts, and there was no better time than the present to pay up.
I clutched the rag in my hand and peered out of the window, but I didn’t see Angel Flores.
Instead, I saw Gus. He came in, looking around with a deep frown.
“Why the gloomy face, Gus? This isn’t a fire hazard, is it?” I teased.
He tried to smile, taking his place in line behind Miss Patty who was quick to tell a cop and doughnut joke.
Gus took it well, but he didn’t laugh. “Yeah, I should grab a couple dozen for the guys. It’s been a day.”
I looked at the clock. “It’s only a little after ten.” Gracious, was that really the time? I glanced at the cases, calculating how much more time I had before the next batch came out of the fryer. The sample trays were low, but Fernanda came out of the kitchen just then with another loaded plate of mini cinnis.
Gus said, “It can’t get any worse than it already is.”
I tried to sympathize with Gus while keeping my eyes on the door. Angel Flores had just sneaked inside. His eyes flitted between Gus, Miss Patty and Eduardo, and me. Who was he here to see? What did he want? He sat down at a nearby table and Mammy went to take his order.
Gus sighed, dragging my attention back to him. I really needed to check on things in the kitchen, and I didn’t want to leave Mammy alone with Angel Flores when I doubted the purpose of his visit was merely to eat a doughnut. But Gus’ next words held me in place.
“I have some bad news for you, Jess,” he said.
I looked around. “I was only kidding about the fire hazard thing.” Maybe I shouldn’t have said that. As Abuelita would say, “Estúpida!”
“No. It’s not that,” he reassured me.
“Well then, spit it out, Gus. I can handle it.” Seriously, the mixer arriving in the nick of time this morning had fixed everything. I was on a high that had nothing to do with the sugar in the air. Nothing could stop me today. And I really did need to get back to the kitchen.
“I’ve already sent my guys out to follow a promising lead, and I’ve been watching security videos all morning, but…” he stopped and shuffled his feet.
“But what?” I asked. My heartbeat slowed down like it knew something bad had happened.
Gus watched Miss Patty and Eduardo move to the opposite end of the counter to wait for their order.
Oh no. Had evidence led him to conclude that Eduardo was his prime suspect? Miss Patty would be crushed. My imagination ran wild with possibilities that were probably worse than the truth in the time it took Gus to continue.
He lowered his voice. “I don’t know how it happened, but someone stole your painting right out from under our noses.”
Well, I hadn’t expected that. My argument in defense of Eduardo evaporated off my tongue. “From the police station?” I squeaked in shock.
“Yeah. Our forensics team sent it back to us this morning. They didn’t find anything, and I was going to give it back to you today. It was in my office. I’m so sorry.”
“Illari is gone? My princess was kidnapped from your office?” I blurted loudly, biting my tongue before I could add, “What kind of policeman are you?” I could see he felt bad enough already.
Abuelita, however, had no filters. “What kind policeman you are to let the thief steal from you?” she declared, wiping a smear of cream from her cheek and licking it off her finger.
Angel bustled out the door, leaving his recently served doughnut untouched.
Abuelita switched tables faster than Angel had escaped from the shop. “What? Is no good for to waste the food. I help,” she said.
Chapter 22
Unlike Abuelita, I was more concerned about my painting and Angel Flores than a wasted doughnut. Where did he think he was going in such a rush?
“Have you checked out Angel Flores?” I asked Gus.
“The guy who’s obsessed with Eduardo’s paintings? Yeah, I ran his name and didn’t get any promising hits. Either he’s not a criminal, or that’s not his real name.”
“Can’t you run his fingerprints or something?”
Gus shook his head. “Is this another one of Abuelita’s gut feelings?”
Abuelita said, “No is Crazy Art Man. Is Sal. Sal the thief.”
Gus looked ready to list all the reasons why it was impossible for Sal to have stolen anything other than my mixer, but he’d only end up frustrated. Persuading Abuelita when she was convinced she was right was as useful as talking to a brick wall, and I didn’t have much time to spare. I really needed to check on things in the kitchen. I said, “Doesn’t it strike you as odd that the painting he bought hasn’t been stolen? And now mine has gone missing when he’s been hanging around the police station. If Eduardo’s latest painting comes up missing, Angel would be my first suspect.”
Miss Patty now stood beside me, her jaw open while Eduardo held the pink box of doughnuts and looked between us.
Gus said, “Look, I have a guy watching Miss Patty’s shop. Angel would have to be stupid to try to steal anything in front of a cop.”
“Like you kept my painting safe?” I pointed out.
Miss Patty added, “I’m sorry, Gus, but I have to agree with Jess. I don’t trust you or your guys to protect Eduardo’s painting. I’d better hurry back to my gallery. Come by if you can.” Giving my hand a departing squeeze, she motioned for Eduardo to follow her as she power-walked out of my shop.
I moved behind the counter to make room for the next batch of doughnuts in the cases. When I went into the kitchen, Martha was already rolling out and cutting out the next round. Fernanda showed the new hires how best to apply the glaze so that it stuck and the frosting so that it didn’t melt. They had everything under control.
Mammy swooped in. “Let’s take a little break. I’d like to see the new painting.”
“If it’s still there,” I added. She didn’t need to convince me. I was dying to see where Angel had sped off to in such a hurry.
“My thought exactly,” she said.
My helpers could spare me a few minutes. They had the kitchen running smoothly.
Taking off our aprons and caps, I ran up to the terrace to get Lady. I hadn’t taken her for our normal morning walk yet.
She laid in the shade of a potted palm but hopped to her feet as soon as she heard me. Her oasis was almost finished — would be finished by the end of today — an
d already, I loved it. Lady was happy too. Her tail wagged a mile a minute as I clipped on her leash and we ran back downstairs to Mammy (who had a treat waiting for my four-legged friend).
It felt good to be outside.
Aside from the news of my painting’s disappearance, it was a glorious morning. Like a dream. Everything was turning out so well, I held the hope that my painting would resurface by the end of the day.
Full of positive thoughts, I came to a screeching halt when I saw Eduardo’s latest work through Miss Patty’s window. All of my happy musings of a moment ago came crashing down around me.
Mammy pointed at it. “Are those…?”
She didn’t need to finish her question. “They are,” I answered.
With a heavy heart, I went inside Miss Patty’s gallery.
I looked around for Eduardo — praying that he had a reasonable and believable explanation for what he’d done.
“Where’s Eduardo?” I asked.
“Oh, he went to work. He still has to put his time in at the garden center, you know,” Miss Patty said.
I faced his newest painting. Maybe a closer look would allay my suspicions.
It didn’t. The details were too similar.
Eduardo had painted the same diamonds I’d seen earlier in Dr. Montalvo’s office — the ones that had recently been stolen.
I still couldn’t imagine Eduardo being the thief — not when his paintings would be taken as evidence, a sort of visual confession. But he knew something. There was a definite connection between the paintings and the jewel thefts. I was convinced of it now.
My cell phone rang. It was Fernanda. “Jess, the mayor is here with his camera crew.”
Talk about bad timing. I sighed. I needed to tell Miss Patty about the diamonds. “Okay, I’ll be there in a few minutes.”
“You need to get here now! He’s crowding out the customers with his entourage and won’t leave until he’s seen shaking hands with you.”