Cake and Punishment

by Maymee Bell

  “We ain’t ever been there either. We did get an invitation to the Harrington wedding this weekend because my wife is on one of them committees with the girl’s mama, but we heard there was some ruckus going on about the menu. Something about expensive food that no one will eat.” He smacked Poochie on the back. “Buddy, I’ve got to get out of here. If you can get ’er gassed up and ready to go for the game, I’m mighty appreciative.”

  The two men shook hands and turned around before I could scatter myself gone.

  “Can I help you?” Poochie’s head peeked around the corner of the door.

  My hands clasped behind my back, I swayed back and forth, looking around.

  “Poochie.” I smiled real big. “It’s me, Sophia Cummings.”

  “Little Sophia.” His smile reached his soft blue eyes. He’d aged, but I could tell he was still as kind as ever. “You’re home.”

  “I’m outta here.” The bus driver nodded and excused himself from the office.

  “Yeah, man. I’ll get that done.” Poochie watched as the man left. “What on earth are you doing back here?”

  “I’m baking Charlotte’s cake for the big day this weekend.” Instead of telling him the real truth of what’d brought me home, I figured it best to see the future instead of the past. “And I’m in need of a rental for the next week.”

  “Just a week?” He tsked. “Darn shame. I bet Bitsy and Daddy are just over the moon with their little girl home. They keep braggin’ on your fancy job.”

  “That’s so sweet. I’ve enjoyed being home and reconnecting with everyone.” Somehow I needed to slip in the questions milling around in my head about Patrick and the bus driver. “Who just left?”

  “That’s Ducky Hemphill. You remember old Ducky. His family owns that pharmacy on Main Street.” He spurred a faint memory. “Anyways, he retired and then decided to become a bus driver. You know, most men my age are doing that.” He took a greasy towel from the back pocket of his garage overalls and wiped his forehead. “I’d never want to deal with youngins.”

  “I heard him saying something about the baseball game.” I led slowly into the questions. “I probably should catch a game while I’m home to support my old school.”

  “Honey, they’re away. Ducky is the team’s bus driver. He loves it.” He jammed the oily rag back in his pocket.

  “He mentioned Patrick. I work with Patrick at the RCC right now.” I explained quickly how I was helping Evelyn Moss out in the kitchen.

  “Poor kid can’t cut a break.” Poochie ran his fingers along a pegboard that held a few keys with yellow sales tags and grabbed a couple.

  “What do you mean? He is a good worker, from what I’ve seen.” I followed him out the door and next to the office, where he pointed out a few cars.

  “He’s got a sad home life. Mother took ill and sister has to stay home with the other kids. I don’t know all the particulars, but I bet Bitsy would know.” He cackled and opened the door of a four-door Corolla. “Now this car here is probably the one I’d let you rent. I remember how hard you were on cars.”

  Driving slow hadn’t been part of my vocabulary when I’d gotten my license. It was probably a good thing I didn’t have a car in the city even though I did keep insurance. Poochie had always been working on my car for my parents when I was in high school.

  “Get on in and sit down.” He turned his face to the rusty truck next to us. “Or you can drive that. It’s a tank.”

  “I’ll take this one.” I tapped the wheel once I got in.

  “Here you go.” He gave me the keys. “I’ll settle up with the paperwork later. I’ve got a bus to get ready before school lets out.” He shut the door. I rolled down the manual window. “You be careful and stop in a couple times to see me while you’re here.”

  “I will.” I put the keys in the ignition and it started right up. “Thanks, Poochie.”

  I’d had plans to head on over to see Bitsy, but that had all changed when I heard the bus driver talking about Patrick. If Patrick did have another motive to kill Emile, what could it be?

  If Patrick enjoyed cooking as much as the bus driver said, there had to be more to his relationship with Emile than the bullying. Something was fishy.

  It was as if I’d lost myself in my thoughts and questions concerning Patrick, because when I looked up, I had mindlessly driven to Rumford High School and already parked in a visitor’s parking space.

  A knock on the window made me jump.

  “Sophia Cummings, is that you?” Claire Edmond, the school’s librarian, stood next to the car.

  I gave a slight wave, turned off the car, and got out.

  “Hi, Mrs. Edmond. How are you?” I asked.

  “Fair to middlin’.” She rubbed the small of her back. “Gettin’ too old for this job. Up and down, carrying them books to the shelf, is startin’ to wear on my back. Instead of quitting or retiring, I figure them ebooks’ll run me out of my job.”

  “You aren’t old enough to retire.” Heck, she was past it. I’d thought she was one hundred when I went to school there.

  “You always were my favorite student.” She pinched my cheek and I took it like a champ.

  “Are you here for career day?” She nodded toward a sign stuck in the schoolyard. “You’re probably the most famous person to come out of Rumford. Bitsy’s always a-braggin’ about you at the Friends of the Library meetings.”

  “She’s one of a kind. Yes, I’m here for career day.” I rubbed my hands together. “I better get in there, because I’m late.”

  “It’s like an act of Congress to get into the school nowadays.” She took a few steps and called over her shoulder. “Come on. I’ll let you in the library door so you don’t have to worry about going through the rigmarole they put you through just to get into the office.”

  “Are you sure?” I didn’t waste any time to let her change her mind. I hurried alongside her.

  “Sure as Shinola.” She and I walked to the side door, and she unlocked it with her key. “I guess you know where you’re going.”

  “I sure do.” I gave her a quick hug. “It was so good to see you. Will you be at the little library event?”

  “Yes.” Her chin lifted up and down. “Even though Catherine Fraxman is the new librarian of the city’s library, I’m helping in any way I can.” She leaned in. “You know, she’s still a little young to run such a big job, if you were to ask me. Even though you didn’t ask. I still took off work here just in case this old shelf up here needs to be dusted off.” She slapped her knee and laughed. “I just might get fired after all,” she said in delight.

  “Don’t count on it. This school couldn’t function without you.” I waved bye and headed out the double doors that spilled into the hallway.

  I stood there for a second to let my mind warp all the way back to my high school days. To the right was the cafeteria, and if I could remember correctly, the gym was to the left. I was on the hunt for the athletic offices, where I knew they kept the players’ information. If I could get my hands on Patrick’s address, I’d stop by and talk to his parents. I wasn’t sure what I’d say to them or what I was looking for. I guessed I’d figure that part out when I got there.

  First, I had to get the information. As I’d assumed, the baseball coach’s name and gym teacher’s name were the same. Rumford liked to save money by having the gym teacher coach a few different teams. This made things much easier on me, since gym class was in session and there was no coach in the office.

  I had to be very vigilant because I knew that any minute the class bell could ring and the hall between the office and the gym doors would be filled with wandering teenage eyeballs. I didn’t want anyone to see me.

  Before just waltzing into the gym office, I walked by and casually looked through the door’s window. A few feet after the door, I turned around and looked up and down the hall before I turned the knob and let myself in.

  The light was already on. There were several helmets, baseball unifor
ms of all sizes, and stinky gym bags stacked next to a couple of those big orange barrel coolers, no doubt ready to get put on the bus once Poochie got it there for them.

  Another thing I knew from high school was that if a public school bus was used, it was a liability for someone under the age of eighteen to ride without parental consent. Not only that, but there was a file that had to be carried on the bus with those signatures. The forms always had the parents’ names, insurance information, and medications to be dispensed along with the student’s address.

  I looked around the top of the desk to see if the file was sitting there among the millions of files stacked on top. Nothing stood out. I opened the desk drawers. They were filled with mouthpieces, baseball bats, baseballs, paper clips, rubber bands, pencils—things that weren’t what I was looking for.

  “The stack of stuff.” I smacked my hands together and turned to eye the bags and equipment in the corner. I hurried over there and started to go through the items. Just as I thought, there was a bag with the playbooks and headsets for the coaches to communicate during the game along with the permission slips from all the players.

  I squatted down and put the file on the floor, quickly thumbing through it. When I found Patrick’s information, I took my phone from my back pocket and snapped a couple of photos. I threw the file back in the bag, zipped it up, and tossed it on top of the other bags just before the bell to switch classes rang.

  I scurried out the door and tried to blend in with the high schoolers as best I could, until a pair of eyes caught mine. Patrick stared at me with a blank expression on his face.

  Chin tucked to my chest, I kept my head down until I felt a heavy hand on my shoulder.

  “Excuse me.” I jerked around to see a man with a Rumford logo cap on his head and a whistle around his neck. “Did you need something?”

  “I’m sorry?” I asked, as if I didn’t know what he was asking.

  “I just saw you come out of my office. Was there something you needed?” he asked.

  “You’re the coach,” I snapped, nodding and trying to come up with a good explanation for why I was there. Over his shoulder, I saw Patrick walking past us. “Patrick”—I grabbed the boy—“I wanted to know why you weren’t at work, but I see why.”

  “Hey, Chef. Yep. I’ve got baseball. I told y’all that.” Patrick took a tone I wasn’t accustomed to from him. Like a big-billy badass tone. “Baseball is more important, and if you can’t understand that…”

  Out of the corner of my eye, I saw the coach roll his shoulders back, furrow his brows, and nod in complete agreement. Patrick was saying everything the coach wanted to hear.

  “I’m sorry.” I stopped him from saying anything else. “I just realized I was looking at an old calendar. That’s all. See you at work.” I hurried off into the crowd of students before they could stop me again.

  Patrick’s eyes and his hard words haunted me the entire way to his family’s house. He’d looked like a deer in headlights. If I’d not heard the bus driver say something about Patrick’s love for cooking, I’d never have believed it from his attitude.

  My phone’s GPS led me straight to the poorer side of Rumford. I’m sure that in its heyday, the area had been somewhat desirable.

  My heart hurt when I pulled up and parked the Corolla in front of Patrick’s home. No wonder he had tried to stay at work or school more. The front porch had caved in; some of the dingy siding boards had rotted and not been replaced. The roof was partially covered with a blue tarp—“partially” only because the other part of the tarp had blown off and hung down the front of the house.

  I got out and looked down the street to see if anyone else was out. It was silent. Eerily silent.

  “Can I help you?” A woman with a cigarette dangling from her lips and a diapered baby stuck on her hip had walked around the corner of the house.

  “I’m looking for Sherri, Patrick’s mom.” I stepped a bit closer.

  “Who’s asking?” She was one talented woman. She was able to take a drag and blow it out without taking her hands off the baby.

  “Sophia Cummings. I’m from the RCC and wanted to talk to him about his work hours coming up.”

  “He ain’t gonna be working there much longer,” she snarled.

  “You are his mother?” I asked.

  “Hell, no. Mama’s sick. I’m his sister and this here is our little sister.” She held the baby out for me to get a gander at.

  “Sweet.” It was my standard reply when I saw a baby that wasn’t necessarily super cute, but was awfully sweet.

  “Mm-hmm,” she hummed, and stuck the baby on her hip again. She let the cig drop from her lips and snuffed it out with the toe of her ripped-up shoe. “I reckon you got what you came for.”

  “Wait.” I stopped her when she turned to disappear around the house. “Why is he quitting? He loves his job.”

  At least that’s what I’d gathered from what the bus driver had told Poochie.

  “Daddy said that even though times are tough, we’ll get by, because Brother”—she was referring to Patrick—“needs to focus on getting a big-time contract for baseball instead of being a sissy in a kitchen.”

  “Sissy?” My jaw dropped.

  “Yeah. You know, like a girl. A boy acting like a girl.”

  “I know what a sissy is, but why does working at the country club make him a sissy?” I asked.

  “Because he started talking all sorts of nonsense about becoming a cook or something like that. Daddy gets mad and says Brother’s lost his mind. Sometimes he hits Brother, sayin’ he’s knocking some sense back into him.” She gave a bit of a shrug and transferred the baby to the other hip. “I reckon he’s right. Kitchen work is a woman’s job.”

  I gulped. When was the last time Patrick’s father had hit him? Had Emile put all sorts of ideas in Patrick’s head? Had Patrick’s father killed Emile?

  “What’s wrong? You’re all white and stuff.” Her eyes swirled around my face.

  “Where’s your dad?” I asked, and took a deep breath.

  “He’s working a double down at the factory. Between his double shifts and Patrick’s money, we barely have enough to pay for gas to get my mom back and forth to her chemo treatments and stick any sort of meat on the table.” She lifted her chin in the air. “Well, you better get back to your fancy job.”

  I took a couple of steps backward toward the car.

  I had thought I was going to leave here with answers. Unfortunately, I left with more questions that needed to be answered.

  The drive back into town made me think about the case and what I’d uncovered that would make someone want to threaten me. They could’ve killed me if they’d really wanted to, but they hadn’t. The reason, I thought, was that they wanted to scare me.

  Downtown was the heartbeat of Rumford, and it was beating today. Peacocks and Pansies was located next door to Small Talk Café. The cobblestone street of downtown added that cozy, small-town feel Rumford was known for. I scored a parking spot in front of Small Talk.

  The inside of Peacocks and Pansies was adorable. The walls were wooden shiplap and the ceiling was tin. A few comfy and fluffy-looking cream couches were spread out over the boutique. The pillows had cute southern sayings on them and a price tag dangling off. Even the rugs on the floor had a price tag. Not only did Carol Bauer sell clothes; she also sold the furniture and accessories you’d need to make the cozy French country look that had gotten so popular.

  I picked up a couple of pieces of the leather cuff jewelry and smiled at some tried-and-true quotes stamped on them. There were several long brown wood bead necklaces with tassels hanging off the bottom of them. Small leather pouches meant for small items rested on a round table along with some fancy soaps.

  “Sophia, is that you?” Carol asked from the other side of the boutique. “I’m worn plumb out and I don’t know why. I got to bed with the chickens.” She winked. “Let me get that dress I was telling you about.”

  “Thanks.�
�� I grinned as I put the piece of jewelry down and walked over to the dressing room.

  “You go on in that dressing room right over there behind that curtain.” She pointed to the hanging drape.

  I’d seen dressing rooms like these in boutiques in New York. Carol had done a great job with the place.

  “What’s your name?” the young girl asked, coming closer.

  “Sophia Cummings.” I put my hand out and could see that she wasn’t as young as she’d looked a few feet away. She just had really beautiful pale skin. Her coal-black hair lay in long loose curls over her shoulders. “Did we go to school together? I’ve been gone so long, people look so different.”

  “I don’t think we did. I work for Carol a couple of hours a week. You know…” She leaned over me and grabbed the small chalkboard hanging from a hook. She wrote my name in pink chalk and hung the board back up. “I like the discount.”

  “Are you Ella?” I asked.

  “Heavens, no.” She laughed. “I’m Lori. Ella usually works today, but she’s off because she’s hosting a big wedding shower tonight.”

  “Charlotte’s?” I asked.

  “Yes.” She nodded with a big smile. “You’re going?”

  “I’m a longtime friend of Charlotte’s.” Now I knew I had to go to the shower as Madison had suggested. I had to get one of these suspects crossed off my list.

  “Longtime friend, nothing.” Carol came up from behind and rested her hands on my shoulder. “Sophia is baking the best part of the wedding. The cake.” She shifted her weight to the right and looked at me. I twisted my head to the side and agreed.

  She dropped her hands from my shoulders and grabbed a hanger from the rack next to us. She handed me the dress.

  “You let me see that on you, now, ya hear?” Carol basked in her assertion that the dress was meant for me.

  “I will.” I walked into the dressing room and Carol pulled the curtain closed.

  I held the dress up to get a good look and knew that it’d need a lot of work to look better on me than it did on the hanger. It was a red strappy dress with a low cowl back and a flirty skirt that hung to my calf. Something I’d never pick. I normally stuck with the standard black or white. I was a little partial to both since I wore a lot of those colors in the kitchen.