Cake and Punishment

by Maymee Bell

  “You’ve always had a knack with talking to people. Another trait you got from your grandfather and me. That’s what makes our law firm so successful. The gift of gab.”

  It had always been fun watching Dad in court. I’d been known to give the judge a couple of cookies a time or two while I was in the courtroom. Those were fond memories, and I was sure that was the reason I’d become a pastry chef.

  “You are very good at what you do.” Dad reached over and patted my hand. “Do you have a plan?”

  “Yeah.” I took a sip of the coffee. “I’m going to head back to the city next week. There’s no reason for me to run and hide when I did nothing wrong. There are tons of apartments. I’ve got plenty of money saved up to put down a deposit. I’ve still got my job, and I’m able to pretty much avoid Noah by going into the restaurant in the middle of the night or when he’s off work. It’s not like my desserts have to be made right at the time the customer orders them. It was just fun pairing the desserts to Noah’s dishes.”

  “You are a smart and kind girl who’s also pretty.” Dad had to add the last pretty part because he was my dad. I smiled. “You know, you don’t have to go back. You’re always welcome here.”

  “Dad…” I wondered if Mama had put him up to talking to me. “I’m not about to go to the Piggly Wiggly to get a job in the baking department. I want to create and not let anyone tell me what I can make. That’s not here in Rumford.”

  “I’m just letting you know that this is your home and you are always welcome.” He stood up and bent down, kissing the top of my head. “I think I’m going to go read in the library for a couple of hours before I have to go in to the office.”

  “Thanks, Dad.” I looked up and took comfort in the warmth of his eyes, so thankful that he hadn’t given me love advice.

  He and Mama didn’t understand. How could they? They’d been high school royalty in their day. The homecoming king and queen, the prom king and queen. The couple people like me hated in high school. They were the “it” couple and still were. They’d loved each other from the first time they’d set eyes on each other in the baby pool at the RCC. I was sure of it.

  With another cup of coffee in me, it was time to turn the Red Velvet Crunchies dough into a warm finished product. I put Duchess in the empty chair. She curled into a tight fur ball. Once I’d retrieved two baking pans and lined them with parchment paper, preheated the oven, and rolled the dough into two-inch balls, the crunchies were in the oven making the entire house smell like cookie heaven.

  There was some extra dough that I put in the refrigerator. It would last up to three days. I took a sticky note from the built-in desk and scribbled some quick baking instructions in case Mama got a wild hair and decided to use her oven.

  After the cookies were baked with a nice crackly top, I put a few extra chocolate chips on the tops for looks and let them sit on the baking rack while I ran upstairs to throw on my shorts and tee. A good morning jog was exactly what I needed to start thinking about Charlotte’s cake before I met with her.

  The dew was coating all of the lawns in my parents’ gated community. There was a faint line of orange on the horizon that would soon fully engulf the sky. Rumford did have the most amazing sunrises.

  With each hit of the pavement, my creative juices flowed. I created all sorts of different flavors to present to Charlotte—unless she’d already picked out the type of cake she wanted. I even created a mental list of items I’d need for all the fun piping that made wedding cakes ornamental and gorgeous. When it came to weddings, I knew it was the presentation that caught the eye but the inside that warmed the soul.

  After I got back, I quickly showered and threw on some jeans and a nice sweater along with my old pearls. The crunchies were nice and firm. The gooey middle I sank my teeth into when I tasted one was the perfect consistency and sure to please anyone’s palate. I took out a few baggies and filled them, sticking them in my bag.

  I borrowed Bitsy’s car to meet up with Charlotte. We were meeting in the grand ballroom, which was in a different building on the country club property than the clubhouse.

  I took my time driving through town so I could get another look at all the changes. There just so happened to be an available parking space in front of Small Talk Café. I had a few minutes before I met with Charlotte, and a cup of coffee sounded good.

  The café tables inside the picket fence on the outside of the café were occupied. The smiles on the diners’ faces and chatter warmed any chill that hung in the air from the fall day.

  “Mornin’.” A southern drawl greeted me from over my shoulder as I reached for the door. “Let me get that.”

  “Thank you,” I said to the man in the sheriff ’s uniform. “I appreciate it.”

  My face flushed. It’d been a long time since any man had held a door for me. His charming smile, good looks, and gentlemanly manners made my heart flip. Chivalry isn’t dead, I thought to myself.

  “My pleasure.” He flashed that smile again. “Are you related to Bitsy and Robert?” he asked, and motioned to the car.

  “I’m their daughter, Sophia.” I stepped into the line to order my coffee.

  “Carter.” He held his hand out. We exchanged pleasantries. “How are your folks?”

  “They are good.” I was next in line. “It was nice to meet you, Carter.”

  “Mornin’, Sheriff.” The young girl behind the counter glanced over my shoulder as if I weren’t even there. “I saw you coming in, so your coffee is already down there.” She nodded to the end of the counter.

  I looked at Carter again. He seemed pretty young, I thought as I looked at his side profile. He had pronounced cheekbones and a sharp, clearly defined jawline.

  “That’s mighty nice of you.” He thanked the girl. “Good to meet you, Sophia. Please tell your parents hello.” He took a step out of line and then stopped. “If you need anything while you’re here, don’t hesitate to give me a call.”

  He took a business card out of his pocket and handed it to me. I couldn’t help but notice he didn’t have a wedding ring on.

  “Thank you, but I’m not in town long.” I returned the smile and took the card.

  “All right, then. You have a good visit.” He winked and moved on down the counter, stopping to talk to a few folks on his way to get his coffee.

  “Can I help you?” The girl behind the counter cocked a brow. The tone she used with me was much different than the one she’d used with the sheriff.

  “Black coffee, please.” My southern manners were slowly coming back along with the southern accent I’d thought I’d lost.

  “Next,” the girl said, and glanced over my shoulder. My signal to move along.

  The sheriff made his rounds back through the coffee shop and gave me one last nod before he left the café.

  The bold coffee was a nice surprise for a morning pick-me-up, and it got me good and alert for my meeting with Charlotte. It wasn’t a gourmet coffee like the ones we served with my pastries at the restaurant, but this was a café, not a coffeehouse—or a bakery, for that matter.

  When I got to the RCC, the valet took my name and directed me where to pull up in front of the old ornate building. From what I’d heard yesterday, it’d been restored when the country club had redecorated the clubhouse, and I couldn’t wait to see what it looked like for a wedding.

  “It’s come a long way from our cotillion.” Charlotte was already there when I entered the ballroom.

  “You aren’t kidding.” Happy memories of me dancing with my dad during the cotillion came back to me as I twirled around the gorgeous ballroom with white-and-gold-checkered floors.

  Charlotte’s romantic decoration elements and towering floral arrangements were dripping around the room.

  “A bit over the top?” she asked, not really wanting my answer. “I know,” she gushed.

  “Wow,” I gasped.

  “I want that fairytale wedding.” She let out a deep sigh.

  “You’ve d
efinitely taken full advantage of the room’s extravagant beauty.” I knew the cake would look stunning on the table in front of the window with the long satin drapes that spilled into a pool at the base of the window. I’d play on the blues and golds to decorate the most spectacular cake anyone in Rumford had ever seen. My creative mojo was flowing and I felt alive. Images swirled in my head.

  I reached in my purse and grabbed my pencil and paper.

  “What are you doing?” Charlotte asked when I sat down at one of the place settings and pushed the dishes out of the way.

  “I have a design idea for you to look at.” My ideas floated around in my head like the wind. If I didn’t grab them while they were in there, they would float away and I’d lose them forever. “Unless you have something in mind.” I’d completely forgotten that she’d had a baker before me. Since the wedding was so close, she probably did have a design.

  “No. Bad juju from the last baker, so I want to start fresh.” Her eyes narrowed. “Though I did love the almond cake with raspberry filling.”

  “That’s easy.” I smiled. Knowing that recipe by heart would make the cake-baking process so much easier for me. Plus, it was all basic ingredients that any grocery store would carry.

  The elegant shades of the ceiling’s graceful, painted details reflected the romantic feel Charlotte was going for. Towering centerpieces of roses, hydrangeas, and tulips sat atop golden birdcages strung with glittering, twinkling lights. Rich, blue table linens overlaid with delicate Battenburg lace were accented by the ten place settings of gilded crystal and china around each of the round tables. Shiny silverware lay on top of cloth napkins. The massive windows overlooking the breathtaking courtyard of the Rumford Country Club invoked memories of Charlotte and me playing while our mothers played couples tennis on the courts beyond the courtyard.

  “Fairytale wedding you want”—the pencil in my hand had its own mind as it sketched across the paper, bringing my thoughts to life—“a fairytale cake you will get.” I finished the quick drawing, stood up, and held the paper to face her.

  “Sophia,” she gasped. Tears filled her eyes. “I’ve never seen something so beautiful. I can only imagine what it will look like in color.”

  “This layer will be in gold fondant.” I pointed to each layer as I spoke. “This layer will be blue like the drapes with the gold accents on the swirls.” Layer by layer I told her my color vision.

  It took even my breath away.

  “You being here completes my vision of a fairytale wedding.” Charlotte squeezed me in a big hug. “Can you believe it?”

  “No. It’s amazingly stunning,” I said. I wasn’t sure what it was; I’d not felt this creative in years and the ideas were plucking my brain so fast I could barely keep up with the mental pictures with the few notes I was able to jot down. “And seeing you this happy makes me happy and a little ashamed I’ve not been a good friend over the last ten years. There’s no excuse. I should’ve come home more. Tried harder.”

  “All that matters is that you’re here now and you’re making it up to me by making my cake.” Charlotte might’ve been over the top, but her heart was always in a good spot. “Now”—she sat down at the table and pulled a chair out for herself while I sat back down—“tell me more about why you’re really here. I mean, I know you’ve been cheated on and I’ve heard all the gossip, but I want to hear the details from you.”

  “The gossip is probably true.” Tears burned the edges of my eyelids. I blinked them back. I stuck the pad of paper and pencil back in my purse to get my mind and hands off my words. “Noah’s the head chef and I’m the head pastry chef in a very upscale restaurant in Manhattan. Our works complemented each other. We had the perfect relationship.”

  By the look in her eyes, I could tell she was loving my very own fairytale—the one I’d thought I had.

  “We even moved in together.” I let out a long deep sigh. I gulped and tucked a strand of hair behind my ear. It was so difficult to talk about. “I went to work on a whim on my day off and he was in a very compromising position with the maître d’ of our restaurant.”

  “Hush your mouth,” Charlotte snarled. “Go on.”

  “I also found out that the entire staff and our little small circle of restaurant friends knew about it and no one ever told me. I dumped him faster than a speeding ticket.”

  “I reckon you better have.” Charlotte slowly shook her head. “Well, I’m glad you’re here. It won’t be too hurtful for you to be at my wedding, will it?”

  “Heck, no.” Seeing how this ballroom got my creative juices flowing was all I needed to be all in. “This will be a good distraction and will help clear my head so I can decide what I need to do when I go back.”

  “Go back?” Charlotte’s jaw dropped. “You aren’t?”

  “I didn’t quit my job. I took a few weeks off.” The thought of seeing Noah when I got back made me sick. I chalked it up to not enough time having gone by.

  “If you’re sure, then I want you to get a look at the kitchen and meet Emile.” She jerked her head, looking around the room. “He’s the club’s head chef and magnifico,” she said in her best Italian voice, only it came out hillbilly style. She kissed her gathered fingertips before she exploded a wide palm from her lips. “He’s always here super early getting ready for the day.”

  We stood up and looked around. No one was in the room but the two of us.

  “I guess he’s back in the kitchen, which you need to see because it’s so different from when you worked here.” She curled her nose.

  “I loved working here. Old Evelyn Moss let me bake whatever I wanted, plus it drove Mama crazy that I was here baking her friends’ desserts. She was so mad.” It was another time Mama had just about had a heart attack right where I was standing.

  “If you thought Evelyn was old then, wait until you see her now.” Charlotte tilted her head to the side toward the offices.

  “No.” My jaw dropped. “Evelyn is still here?”

  “Still here? She’s the general manager now.” Charlotte’s brows lifted.

  She pulled on the sleeve of my sweater. “I can’t wait for you to meet Emile. A little bit of a pickle, but he loves a southern lady.”

  She pranced in front of me like a blue-ribbon racehorse on our way out of the ballroom and down the hall toward the kitchen.

  My excitement on seeing the fully remodeled and updated modern kitchen quickly stopped when a blood-curdling scream echoed out of the kitchen’s swinging doors.

  “What was that?” I asked.

  Rushing past Charlotte, I prayed there wasn’t anyone hurt by a stove fire or a cut-off finger. I’d been around many kitchen accidents and they weren’t pretty. I flung open the kitchen doors.

  “Help!” The shivering girl pointed behind the steel island where the food had started to be prepped. “He’s…”

  “What?” Charlotte asked. “Spit it out.”

  I eased around the island and looked down.

  “Emile?” Charlotte gasped at the lifeless body of her wedding chef, who looked as if he’d met his untimely demise with one swipe of his own cast iron skillet.

  Chapter Four

  Though I’d been living in New York City for almost ten years and among more than eight million people, never once had I happened upon a murder. I’d been back in Rumford for less than a week, gotten roped into baking my old high school friend’s wedding cake, and now her chef was dead.

  “This is not happening.” Charlotte’s reddish hair bounced, as did her shoulders with each hiccupy sob. “Please, please tell me he’s not…” Both of us stood there over Emile’s lifeless body, our eyes fixed on him.

  “Dead.” I finished her sentence for her, the sting of tears on my eyelids. “I think he is.” I gulped back more tears and turned Charlotte away from the body. “We just need to wait for the police to get here.” I rubbed her back and continued to look over her shoulder at the man.

  No amount of rubbing her back and saying “It
’s gonna be all right” was going to help her. The truth was, I didn’t know how to console her when I could barely keep it together myself. I swallowed hard looking at the skillet. My eyes shifted to Emile’s chef jacket. One side of his collar was still tucked in as if he’d been putting on the coat and maybe gotten hit from behind.

  My eyes moved up and down the counter to see if anything was messed up or if Emile had even tried to fight back with something. Sadly, it didn’t appear that he’d had time to react to his attacker, and the only thing next to him was a white piece of paper.

  “He had such great ideas for the menu for the wedding.” Charlotte’s voice was shaky. “Who on earth would do such a thing?”

  “I don’t know.” I dug my hand in my bag and pulled out a bag of cookies. “Here.” I stuck one in her face. “This will help,” I said, and helped her to the other side of the kitchen, not only to let her sit down but to get out of eye shot of Emile.

  And it did allow me to go back and look at exactly what was written on that piece of paper. Not that it was any of my business. Curiosity ran in my blood and I loved to blame it on Bitsy.

  Careful not to trip over Emile’s body or the skillet, I bent down and noticed the paper was a menu written in some English but mostly French. It was a beautiful language that I’d picked up bits and pieces by ear while in pastry school, since many baked goodies had French names. The delicious and fattening ones, anyways.

  The menu appeared to be food that’d be served for a dinner setting and not a lunch setting, so I wondered if he’d been working on tonight’s menu. There were gourmet appetizers like Champignon Portabella aux Quatre Fromages and Crêpe au Fromage de Chèvre. The main dish items seemed to be mussels, seared duck, and even roasted rack of lamb. The more I glanced at the list, the more I realized these were way too fancy for Rumford, Kentucky.

  “Miss.” A gentleman in a police uniform tapped me on the shoulder.

  I looked around and stood up when I realized the police had gotten there.