by Eve Calder
“What’s going to happen is we’re all comparing notes and looking at a few new angles on Stewart Lord’s murder—and that was all Maxi’s doing,” Kate said. “Somewhere, the police are missing something. And now you’ve got a whole team of people in your corner who want to find out what really happened—and get you out of here.”
“And a big ol’ birdie told me that the investigation unit is releasing the bakery tomorrow,” Maxi said. “So we can give it a good scrubbing and get it reopened in the next few days.”
Sam stopped in mid-bite. He stared at Maxi and back at Kate. Then down at the floor. For a moment, he was completely still. Finally, he wiped his face with the sleeve of his navy jumpsuit. “Tomato sauce,” he muttered.
“Well, I hope you saved room for dessert,” Kate said matter-of-factly. “’Cause Minette made a sweet potato tart and some banana pudding just for you. She even crumbled vanilla wafers over the top of the pudding.”
“Yeah,” Maxi added. “And word is, Carl’s on the warpath because she didn’t make any for him.”
Chapter 18
Kate rolled over and glanced at the Millennium Falcon clock on the bedside table: 4:45 a.m.
She couldn’t help it. She was too keyed up to sleep. Apprehensive. But also excited. And Sam was counting on her.
Today they would get their first look at the bakery since Kyle had shuttered it. She’d learn what, if anything, could be salvaged. And what would need to be replaced.
It was already a given that all the foodstuffs would have to go. If they weren’t already gone. They couldn’t take a chance on using anything. But what about the pots, pans, tools, and mixers?
And what of her own belongings?
Kate felt a knot in her stomach. She’d already liquidated most of her possessions just to move here. So what, exactly, would she have left?
A warm, furry lump shifted at the foot of the bed. And yawned. Oliver.
He looked up at her with bright onyx eyes.
“You want to go out, don’t you?” she said, ruffling his soft head. “OK, but we have to be careful not to wake Michael and Javie. Or the rest of the house. Very quiet. Promise?”
Oliver made a soft chuff, chuff sound.
“I’m going to take that as a ‘yes,’” she whispered, stroking his ear.
Quickly she pulled on the new baby-blue terry cloth robe Maxi had loaned her. It matched the blue T-shirt top and pastel-striped pajama bottoms that went with it. Though on Kate, the pj bottoms looked more like pedal pushers.
She grabbed the dayglow-yellow lead and clipped it to his collar. “Come on, baby boy. Let’s get you a little break. And if we use the kitchen door, no one will even know we’re up.”
Kate stealthily opened the bedroom door. And smelled coffee. It couldn’t be. Could it?
She looked down at Oliver. “Remember,” she whispered. “Sssshhhhh!”
The pup lunged for the door, pulling her along for the ride. When they arrived in the kitchen, Maxi was sitting at the breakfast bar, reading the paper.
“Good morning, sleepyhead,” she said with a smile. “Or should I say ‘sleepyheads’?”
“I couldn’t sleep, and Oliver needed to go out,” Kate said. “I can’t believe you’re up. Are you nervous, too?”
“Nah, this is when I normally get up,” Maxi said. “But don’t tell anybody. It’s my deep, dark secret.”
“Getting up before the crack of dawn is your deep, dark secret?” Kate asked.
“One of them,” she said with a wink. “How about some coffee cubano?”
Kate nodded. “Tell you what, I’ll take this little one out, and then I’ll pour us both a cup. You keep reading the paper.”
“The yard’s all fenced, isn’t it, Oliver? Just open the back door and this little guy knows exactly what to do.”
“What if he … um … waters one of your bushes? You know, hits something he shouldn’t?”
“I trust him. Besides, he’s got to go somewhere. Right, sport?”
Kate had to admit, Oliver looked like he agreed with her. She bent and carefully unclipped the leash.
“Just leave the door open. When he’s done, he’ll come back. I guarantee he won’t take off before breakfast.”
Maxi reached down, patted Oliver’s fluffy head, and gave one plush ear a good scratch. “This little guy is a chowhound. Aren’t you, sweet boy?”
Oliver dogged Maxi’s steps to the door. The minute it swung open, he dashed outside.
“Now, time for a second cup for me and a first cup for you,” she said, pouring them each measured portions of the hot, inky liquid and setting the fluffy coconut cream in front of Kate.
“Would it be OK if I baked a little something?” Kate asked as she ladled several tablespoons into her coffee.
“Oh yeah! Mi cocina es tu cocina.”
“I don’t even know how to thank you. Baking, well, it calms me down. And helps me think. And with the whole bakery thing today, I could really use it.”
Maxi laughed. “Sheesh, you can thank me by coming into my kitchen at five in the morning and baking anytime you want. I can’t believe I have my very own kitchen elf. Look out, Harry Potter. I mean, mi mami, she cooks. But not at five a.m. So what are you going to make?”
Kate took a long draw on her coffee cup and felt the caffeine gallop into her bloodstream. “I kind of have a craving for monkey bread. It’s pretty easy. And it goes great with coffee.”
“Ooh, that sounds perfect.”
“Best of all, kids usually love it. Partly because of the name, mostly because it’s sticky and good.”
“If it’s food, mi chiquitos will love it,” Maxi said. “Not a picky eater in the bunch.”
As Maxi read the newspaper, Kate spent the next few minutes collecting ingredients. Just as she had everything lined up on the counter, Oliver pranced into the kitchen, turned three circles next to Maxi’s barstool, and settled himself on the floor at her feet.
Retrieving the glass measuring cup from the dishwasher, Kate remembered something she’d once read about measuring the quality of a friendship not just by the honest conversations but also by the companionable silences.
Maybe that’s why it seemed like she and Maxi had known each other for years, instead of just a few days.
With the windows open, Kate caught the scent of jasmine and salt water in the cool morning air as she mixed flour, salt, and sugar.
For some reason, those white blossoms reminded her of weddings, which naturally led back to Evan. The good times. His devilish blue eyes. His dimples. What was he doing now? Did he still care? Had he ever really loved her?
She threw the dough onto the floured counter with a hard thunk.
Maxi looked up and grinned. “What’s his name?”
“Evan. How did you know?”
“I’ve punched a few balls of dough. Before Peter. And after.”
Oliver rolled over, stretched, yawned, and closed his eyes.
“I was angry when he was calling all the time to apologize,” Kate explained. “Then I was even madder after I left New York and he stopped calling.”
“Well, yeah.”
“I know. It makes no sense. I’m being totally irrational.”
“You’re grieving,” Maxi said. “You don’t have to be rational. You don’t miss him. You miss the man you thought he was. And angry is good. Hang on to angry for a little bit. It keeps a girl from making the same mistake twice. Or going back to the lunkhead.”
Kate smiled in spite of herself. “You’re right. On both counts. So get ready for one angry batch of monkey bread,” she said, reaching for a bag of shelled walnuts and a rolling pin.
Twenty minutes later, Kate slid the Bundt pan into the oven and shut the door. “I’ve been thinking about it. If we’re going to reopen Sam’s bakery and keep it going, we’re going to need some marketing. I mean, not only is Sam not going to be there baking his signature breads, but some of the tourists might actually believe that Cookie House rolls po
isoned someone.”
“Mmm, yeah,” Maxi said, draining her small cup. “Half of Sam’s customers come just to buy his sourdough. Muy delicioso. Can you make that?”
“I’ve made it before. But it’s not my specialty. And my bread won’t taste like Sam’s, even if I follow his recipe perfectly. With sourdough, the secret is the starter. It’s the stuff that leavens the bread. And it’s a big part of the taste and texture. The baker keeps a little bit back every time they make a batch—letting it grow for the next time. Some bakeries have been using the same line of starter for decades. Or even centuries. But after what happened at the bakery, we’re going to have to destroy Sam’s starter. If the police haven’t already.”
“Is there any way we can get more?”
“Well, I could find out where he got his starter in the first place. And if they’re willing, we might be able to buy some of that. But it still wouldn’t be a perfect match. Starter changes over time. Adapts to the environment. And good bakers all have their secrets—things they do to grow it, change it, and make it better.”
“Just like plants. So we get another cutting from the momma tree?”
“Exactly. But depending on how long Sam’s been growing it and what he’s done to it over the years, his plant could be a whole lot different than the original.”
“Still, that seems like a really good idea. And pretty much our only idea.”
“The starter will help. But my strengths are sweets and pastries. And we’re running a shop named the Cookie House. Call me nuts, but I think we should sell cookies. Make it what we’re known for—our calling card.”
“Oooh, Sam’s not going to like that,” Maxi said, raising her eyebrows.
“When Sam comes back, we need to hand him the keys to a thriving business. At that point, he can do whatever he wants with it. But if we don’t do something drastic now, the place is going to fold. I’m not Sam. I don’t have his bread skills. But I have my own talents. And I think we can make this work.”
Maxi slowly nodded. “The tourists, they’re always surprised when they can’t buy cookies at the Cookie House. I mean, we natives? We know better. We don’t even ask anymore. I wish you could have seen the place when Cookie was there. There were lines out onto the porch and down the sidewalk. Especially during tourist season. And the house looked so different. The outside was pretty and clean. It was painted this super pale pink with white trim and lots of flowers in the yard. It was so beautiful.”
“What if we did that?”
“What do you mean?” Maxi asked, pouring each of them another cup.
“Take the Cookie House back to what it was when everyone flocked there. A little paint, a little pressure washing, a little yard work on the outside. On the inside, a new, improved Cookie House that actually sells cookies—along with Sam’s breads. All kinds of cookies. Maybe a few cakes and pastries, too. I mean, sure, people come into a bakery for bread. But nothing says they won’t leave with bread for dinner—and a little something for dessert. Or they’ll buy their kids cookies on the spot as treats. And all those tourists who come into the Cookie House looking for cookies? Let’s give the people what they want.”
Maxi cocked her head to one side. “We could actually use this time to help Sam by giving the bakery a makeover.”
“Inside and out,” Kate added.
“And if he wants to change it back…”
“It’s his business. He can do what he wants. But once he sees what the Cookie House can be again, he might actually like it. I can do the cleaning myself.”
“I can do the landscaping,” Maxi added. “A little grass, a few flowers.”
“And after we reopen, we can get estimates on painting the outside. Maybe with the right payment plan and the extra money from selling desserts, we could swing it.”
“My head says it’s a super good idea,” Maxi said slowly. “My heart says we should do it without telling Sam.”
Chapter 19
After a morning of scrubbing every surface in the bakery, Kate collapsed on the settee in the floral shop with a fresh cup of café cubano.
Maxi was finishing three different flower arrangements simultaneously. But, somehow, with flying fingers, she made it look effortless.
Oblivious, Oliver occupied himself with a bright red rubber Kong left behind on his last visit. His new favorite game: dropping the cone-shaped rubber toy and watching it bounce oddly on the hardwood floors. When it finally landed, he’d race over, grab it in his mouth, and fling it again.
“I’d like to put the word out that the Cookie House will be selling cookies now,” Kate said, feeling the caffeine and sugar lift her spirits. “I was thinking of having us drop off fresh batches at some of the businesses around town. Hit a handful of different ones every day. Give them each a dozen or so and see if we can build up a demand. Maybe even leave a few business cards? The problem is, it won’t be cheap. And I’d have to do the baking in your kitchen. At least, for now.”
“Ay, that’s horrible news. All those good smells coming from my kitchen—what will the neighbors think? Seriously, that’s a super excellent idea. And I can help out with the baking in the evenings. And with some money for the ingredients. But at this rate, I’m going to need a lot more of Sunny’s yoga classes.”
“Speaking of Sunny, what if I started baking some rolls for her—just for the early morning class?”
“Oooh, we could drop those off with the cookies. Sunny talks to everybody. That would really spread the word.”
Kate released a deep breath and smiled. “I’m just so happy to be baking again. I don’t know if Gabe ever told you, but I was heading for a job interview at Fish-a-Palooza before my car broke down.”
“Ugh!” Maxi said, decisively snipping an inch from a rose stem. “A total waste of your talents. Frozen fish. And, word is, they do the same thing with the desserts. It’s the same mushy stuff you can get on the freezer aisle.”
“With all the great food around here, how do they stay in business?”
“It’s what we natives call ‘a tourist trap.’ Tons of ads aimed at visitors. And they cozy up to the bigwigs at the resorts and hotels, too. They have a fun atmosphere, like a party. Lots of tropical drinks. And the setting is beautiful. On the mainland, right on the water. But they spend their money on rent and booze, not food. By the time you pay the bill and figure out what you got for it, you’re out the door. And I don’t think they care if you ever come back.”
“Yeah, we have a few restaurants like that in New York, too. Luckily, most of them don’t last long. New Yorkers don’t hesitate to tell total strangers what we think of a place—whether they ask or not. And once the word is out among the cabbies, that’s it—game over.”
“Do you miss it? The city?”
“Oddly, no,” Kate said, shaking her head. “I always thought the pace was exhilarating. Energetic. But toward the end, I was burned out. Fall and winter were so cold and gray. Spring too, for that matter. I mean, there’s wonderful culture—art, and food and music. And for a chef, the markets and the neighborhoods and food trucks are a wonder. But I was working sixteen-hour days. When I started dating Evan? He’d talk me into playing hooky once in a while. Taking a day off here and there. Going to shows. And clubs. And some wonderful restaurants. The guy really knew how to have fun. And everyone around him always had fun. I actually started to think about what I wanted to do next. If I could do anything. If I could go anywhere. That’s when I realized that it wasn’t New York.”
“So did the ‘if I could do anything’ part involve running a bakery that doesn’t make cookies?”
“A restaurant. A little hole-in-the-wall place.”
“In Paris or Rome?”
“Here, actually.”
“For real?”
Kate nodded vigorously. “I’d been hearing about Coral Cay for years. From foodie friends. Other chefs. Things I’d read here and there. So I wanted to come here for at least part of our honeymoon. I was secretly hoping E
van would fall in love with the place and say, ‘Let’s never go back.’ We’d buy a little café and run it together. And spend all our spare time at the beach. Stupid, right?”
“OK, so instead of a handsome rich guy, you got a cranky old baker who’s accused of murder. Other than that, exactly the same.”
“It’s stupid because it was my dream and I was waiting for him to suggest it. I mean, how lame is that? And he wouldn’t have wanted to work in a restaurant. Or work, period.”
“You fell for a guy with no job?”
“Independently wealthy.”
“That’s just rich-people speak for ‘the boy is livin’ out of his momma’s purse.’”
“Yes, but it’s a Gucci purse.”
“Sorry, chica, you did the right thing. He doesn’t have to work? Fine. But he doesn’t work at all? That’s just bone lazy in a better zip code.”
“For a while there, I think I was working enough for both of us. When Rosie and Andre were talking about Muriel Hopkins, I almost wanted to cry. Before I met Even? I swear, I was just like that.”
“You’re nothing like that,” Maxi said. “I mean, look at you. You took your whole life and—boom! You changed it.”
Kate looked down. Oliver was standing in front of her with a green leash clutched in his mouth. He sat back on his haunches and peered politely up into her eyes.
“Uh, does Oliver have a green leash?”
“Yup,” Maxi said. “That’s one of many. Sometimes he shows up here, sometimes at the house. So I keep a few of them in both places. I think they’re less for him and more for the human he wants to walk.”
“OK, little guy, you don’t have to ask me twice. Let’s go for a nice stroll around downtown. Maybe we can decide who we’ll cookie bomb first.”
Chapter 20
As Kate walked down Main Street with Oliver, it finally hit her: Her cell was still MIA.