by Maymee Bell
I pulled the phone from my ear and noticed she’d hung up the phone.
If I was going to have to go over to Charlotte’s and help her beat the situation into the ground, then I was going to need to take some brain food. The Berry.
“Mama,” I called into the family room. I walked over to the refrigerator and opened it, pulling out the fruit tray.
Instead of buying the fruit and cutting it up, Bitsy purchased multiple fruits trays that were already done for her. She claimed that she kept so many because she liked to be able to pull out something fast for people who just stopped by to snack on. Around these parts, no one really called to announce they were coming by. Most times they didn’t even know if they were stopping. Usually they’d drive by and get a hankering to stop. It was those times that Bitsy would never be caught unprepared. She said it was good southern hospitality to have a bit of food to offer.
As a child, it had killed me to stare at the boxed coffee cake that sat on the counter waiting for company to stop by. As soon as someone other than Bitsy and Dad walked into our house, I immediately asked them if they wanted a piece of the cake. They thought I had really good manners and complimented Bitsy, but we both knew my real motive. “Did you call me, sweetie?” Bitsy eagerly asked.
“Isn’t Natalie Devin in your Garden Club?” I asked and pulled out the prepackaged caramel dip Bitsy used for her quick fruit presentations.
“She is. Why?” Bitsy put Duchess on the floor and scooped some kibble into her bowl.
“Is she still married to Mr. Devin?” I was drawing a blank on his name suddenly, but Bitsy would love that I was calling him “Mister.”
It never failed and no matter my age, Bitsy always reminded to me address her friends as “Mister” and “Missus.”
“Arnold Devin.” She nodded and smiled. “Such a nice man. And a nice couple.”
I stuck the caramel in the microwave and took the salt and Dad’s mixed-nut can out of the lazy Susan.
“Are you making The Berry?” Bitsy’s voice rose in excitement.
“I am.” I took the caramel out of the microwave and added some salt to it while mixing at the same time. This wasn’t the usual way I liked to make salted caramel, but in a pinch, this had to do. “Madison is on her way over to get me. We are going to Charlotte’s house to make sure she’s okay.”
“About that.” Bitsy eased down into one of the island chairs. She watched as I used the bottom of one of her cocktail glasses to smash the mixed nuts. “I’ve been thinking about you and the RCC. I think it’s best you just stay far away from there. If you insist on still doing the wedding cake for Charlotte—if there is a wedding—then your father and I will buy every piece of equipment and all the ingredients you need.”
“It’s temporary.” I pulled out one of Bitsy’s pewter platters. “Plus, it’s for Evelyn. I feel like I owe her since she gave me a chance in high school with a job there. She encouraged me to bake.”
“Sophia”—Bitsy poured on her sweet voice—“that woman doesn’t have all her chairs in the parlor. If the police think she did it, then…”
“Who told you that?” I asked.
“Nora Kincaid. You know, Carter’s mama. She and I’ve been friends for a long time.”
I had to question Bitsy’s definition of a long time. There was Webster’s definition and then there was Bitsy’s version. Same words, different meanings. A long time for Bitsy meant at least two weeks.
“Well, he’s wrong,” I informed her. “Evelyn didn’t kill anyone. Besides, I’m only going to work there for a couple more days until a new chef is hired, which I’m hoping will be the sous chef, Nick.” I arranged the strawberries on the platter in a heart shape. Charlotte would get a kick out of that. “Besides, I’m not really doing anything but making sure things run smoothly.”
As I dipped the strawberries in the salted caramel and rolled them into the nut mix, my mouth watered. It was a spur-of-the-moment recipe I’d made years ago when Bitsy was in a pickle and needed a quick snack for one of those drop-in guests. When the guest had asked what it was called, I’d blurted out, “The Berry.” It was a hit.
“Why did you ask about Natalie?” Bitsy brought the conversation back around.
“I thought I saw her today having lunch in the RCC dining room.” I failed to let her know that the dinner she and Dad would feast on was actually Natalie’s lunch after she’d sent it back, too distraught to eat. Maybe she was the one with no chairs in the parlor.
“You probably did. She lunches there daily after her tennis lesson.” Bitsy took a strawberry and popped it in her mouth. “Mmm, mmmm. Still delicious.”
“You are going to ruin your supper.” I pointed over to the food container.
“I have a wonderful idea.” Bitsy had that look in her eye. That look that told me it wasn’t an idea but a done deal.
“I don’t like that look on your face,” I noted, rolling the last two strawberries.
“My Garden Club is having a meeting tomorrow. We are going to be discussing the flower show. Why don’t you make your fabulous Blueberry Buckles? The girls will love it,” Bitsy said.
Under normal circumstances I’d immediately have said no, but with Evelyn on the line for murder and Charlotte’s wedding on the chopping block, this wasn’t a normal circumstance. There was a lot of gossip that went on at the Garden Club meetings, and surely they’d be talking about Emile’s death. Plus, I wanted to get in front of Natalie Devin to see exactly how well she’d known him.
“Let me ask Nick if he’s got everything under control for tomorrow,” I said.
Quickly I texted Nick to see if he was able to handle the RCC lunch reservations for tomorrow because I had something I needed to do for the wedding. It wasn’t a lie. I did need to prove that Evelyn hadn’t killed Emile so Charlotte’s wedding wouldn’t be canceled. He assured me he could and said he’d see me tomorrow afternoon. Madison followed up with a text saying she was in the driveway.
“It’s settled.” I grabbed The Berry and kissed Bitsy on the cheek. “Can you go to the grocery and grab the items I need for the Buckles? The recipe is in your recipe file in the pantry.”
I grabbed my bag.
“Give Charlotte my love. And don’t talk to strangers! Or killers!” Bitsy yelled as I walked down the hall and out the door.
Chapter Nine
“You know, there hasn’t been anyone who’s ever lived up to your baking abilities since you left.” Madison munched on a strawberry on our way over to visit Charlotte. “Say…” She gripped the wheel of her parents’ old wood-paneled station wagon and took the curvy roads back into town. “What are you doing Monday?”
“I plan on being in my new apartment if I can steal some time between now and then to check out what’s available on the Internet listings.” It was on my to-do list.
There was no way I was going to be able to afford my own apartment in the city without Noah paying half. I was either going to have to settle for a roommate I didn’t know or sign a sublet until I could get my feet back on the ground.
Not that I was financially struggling. I wasn’t. I made good money and I invested most of it. Maybe my issue was that in the back of my mind I wanted to open my own bakery, but I had nowhere near that kind of cash. Yet.
“Oh, I can show you several. There’s some in town, or there’s that new development that used to be the Jacksons’ farm, but that might be too far out.” She didn’t quite get what I was saying. “Regardless, I want you to stop by a couple of my showings, a few hours early of course, and put some of those crunchies in the oven. They say that if you make a home smell like fresh-baked cookies, it helps sell it, and I sure could use a sale.”
“I don’t think you understand.” I scooted around in the seat of her swaggin’ wagon, as we’d affectionately called it back in high school when her parents had let us borrow it. “I’m going to be back in New York on Monday. I’ve got a job,” I reminded her.
When had everyone in Rumford
lost their minds? Why was it so hard for them to believe that I was going back to the city and I was just here for a mental health break? That sounded much better than a semi-emotional breakdown, which I’d probably had.
“That’s ridiculous.” She laughed me off as if what I said was the funniest thing she’d ever heard. I looked at her with a straight face and she looked at me. “Oh, you’re serious?”
“Yes. Why would you think I was staying here?” I asked.
“Because you’ve decided to do Charlotte’s cake and you said you were filling in at the RCC as a favor to Evelyn, so I just assumed. That’s all.” She shrugged and suddenly became silent.
“I’d love to give you some Red Velvet Crunchies dough, though, and you can put them in the oven at your houses—I had no idea you were a real estate agent. I thought you were holding down the fort with your young’uns.” I smiled at my friend, who didn’t return the gesture.
“Aw, that’s okay. I was just thinking that if you didn’t have anything to do, I’d pay you to use your skills before you opened up your own bakery.” She let out a sigh.
“Bakery?” I laughed. People had no idea how much money or planning went into opening a bakery. Ever since I’d seen the empty display window of Ford’s Bakery when Bitsy and I had driven by, I hadn’t been able to get the image of my own fun, more modern sweets in that window out of my head. The seed that had been planted by Bitsy and my friends had been watered by my own mind, and I couldn’t shake the feeling I got inside when I pictured the residents of Rumford smiling after they took a bite of something I’d created.
“They didn’t go under, silly,” she said. “They retired, and let me tell you, you’d have a well-developed customer base full of pent-up demand. Now everyone has to go to the grocery store to get a doughnut hole. But I’m the listing agent on the bakery if you’re interested.”
“Interested?” I whispered, not affirming or denying that it sounded good. I wasn’t sure this was the right time. Besides, I had my dream job. At least I’d thought I did a couple of weeks ago.
“Just let me know if you want to see it.” Her lips grew into a smile.
* * *
We pulled up to Charlotte’s house, and I saw a Rumford Sheriff ’s Department squad car. “Carter.” I cleared my throat.
“He’s here all the time.” Madison threw the swaggin’ wagon in park. The car moaned and groaned, then backfired a couple of times when she turned off the ignition. “He and Brett are best friends.”
No wonder he’d taken offense when I’d accused Brett of killing Emile, though I’d yet to cross him off my list.
“If I sell one of those listings, Matthew and I will have enough saved so I won’t have to drive this hand-me-down anymore. Don’t get me wrong. I love that my mother and father gave it to us, and there’s really nothing wrong with it since it’s never seen the roads outside Rumford city limits. But come on.” She smacked the seat between us. “I made out with a guy in high school right here before I started dating Matthew. Not a good memory to relive when I get in here with my two kids and one of them is attached to my boob.”
“Oh, Madison,” I laughed. She was still just as funny as she’d been in high school. It was so refreshing to be back around people who were genuine and not nice to you only because they were trying to move up in the world. “You’ll never change.”
“Why should I?” she asked and pulled the keys out of the ignition. “Maybe you need to look at why you think you need to be different than who you really are.”
She got out of the car, leaving me there with her words hanging in the air. It was a long few seconds of her words swirling around in my head before I heard her yell.
“You comin’?” She stood at the front door of the small gray Cape Cod.
She didn’t wait for me to get out of the car before she waltzed right on in. I grabbed the platter and stood on the sidewalk facing the house. Charlotte lived in an older community of Cape Cods. They were a unique development that dated back to the 1930s. From what I could remember, they’d been nearly falling apart or condemned when I’d left ten years before.
Not today. Even with the sun setting, I could see that the houses had been brought back to life. As far down the sidewalk as I could see, a treescape had been planted along both sides of the street following the sidewalk. There was a letter-styled steel mailbox in front of each house. Even though they were clapboard, each one was painted differently and reminded me of Rainbow Row in Charleston, South Carolina.
“Are you coming?” Charlotte’s arm was extended, holding the door wide open.
“Yes.” I smiled and took the first steps up to the door. “Everything looks so different.”
“Brett has really done a great job with it.” A thin-lipped smile was planted on her face. “The old neighborhood wears a new face.”
“I thought he was a businessman,” I said, stepping up onto the small front porch. A small dormer hung above the door, and the cutest carriage lights were attached on each side of the door.
“He is. He takes run-down areas in different towns and has investors as well as contractors he works with to bring those areas back to life. Ya know, malls, neighborhoods, things like that.” She took the platter as I handed it to her. “Yum,” she sighed, looking down at The Berry. “I’ve missed your fun food.” There was a sadness in her voice that moved up to her eyes.
“How are you?” I asked as we stepped inside her cute house.
“You know.” She hemmed and hawed. “I’m not sure what we’re going to do.” She shook her head and walked into the family room just to the right of the door. The room was painted white and had a nice white brick fireplace along one of the shiplap walls. The bamboo floors added a nice dark touch to the light space. The airiness continued with the two light brown leather loveseats and pallet coffee table. Charlotte’s wedding journal and all sorts of wedding magazines were stacked on the table.
“Your house is adorable.” She’d obviously done a lot of work.
“We knocked out that wall so the kitchen would be bigger.” She pointed to the large island with three fairly large round white pillars that made the delineation between the two rooms.
The side of the island that was in the kitchen area had three stools pulled up to it.
“I’m impressed.” It was refreshing to see how they’d brought the old house back to life.
The sound of people talking filtered through the screen door off the kitchen.
“Grab a beer out of the fridge and come on out.” Charlotte held the platter in her hand and tilted her head toward the back door before she walked out.
The refrigerator door hung open as I bent down and looked at the selection of all the different beers. Charlotte and Brett obviously had a healthy taste for different kinds. Carter’s head peered over the refrigerator door.
“Carter.” He’d startled me.
“I suggest the Blue Brew.” He cocked his head.
His smile was contagious, and I returned it. I glanced back at the beer and drew my eyes down to the Blue Brew.
“Only because you recommended it.” I grabbed one of the blue bottles and stood up.
“Here. Let me.” He reached for the bottle and twisted off the cap before handing it back to me. His brown eyes were as clever as a terrier’s.
His brown hair was a little more muffed up than it’d been this morning. A five o’clock shadow was tickling his jawline and above his lip. My heart quickened when I imagined what it would feel like against my face.
I gulped and blushed.
“Thank you,” I whispered, and quickly took a swig. “Coffee this morning. Cookies in the afternoon, and now a beer. We have to stop meeting like this.”
“I don’t think so.” His gaze gratified me. “I’ve enjoyed our little meetings.”
Was he flirting with me? He grinned at me, making me speechless.
“Did you ask Brett about the menu?” I asked.
“No, because I told you that he was a
t my house at the time of the murder.” His slow southern drawl became much slower, as if he were trying to speak as if I didn’t understand him.
“I’m just saying that you should explore all people.” Not that I was going to talk him into it, but he needed to have more suspects than just Evelyn. “So you don’t have any more leads?”
“I didn’t say that either. And I am looking into the possibility of the affairs Emile might’ve had.” At least he was doing something.
“What are you two doing?” Brett walked in and shoved past us to the refrigerator. He grabbed three beers. “Come on. I’m not going to listen to this all night by myself. Charlotte is talking all sorts of nonsense about canceling the wedding.”
“Say, Brett.” I turned to face him. I was fully aware Carter was still looking at me. “Since I’ve been taking over for Emile, I saw your wedding file. I’m going to need your signature on the food contract.” I snickered for a cover-up. “I’m so shocked y’all’re having a French menu.”
“I’m not signing anything with a French menu. I told Emile that. I told Evelyn that and I told Charlotte that.” His eyes bore into me, his jaw tense.
“You told Emile?” Suddenly, Carter took an interest.
“Yeah.” Brett’s lip curled up. “Last week when we met for our final menu preparation in his office, he tried to get me to sign off on some papers, but I told him I wasn’t going to eat food I couldn’t even pronounce. Especially since I’m paying for it.”
“When was the last time you talked to or saw Emile?” Carter asked.
“Why?” His brows crunched together and he extended a flat palm to Carter. “Wait. You can’t possibly think I had anything to do with this guy’s murder?”
“I think he should check all possibilities.” I shrugged.
“Since when did you get a partner?” He looked between me and Carter, finally settling his stare at Carter.
“I’m only asking because I’m going to make your food and I wanted to get started on it tomorrow,” I lied.