by Gale Deitch
“Zach, we both know Mr. Schwartz had a peanut allergy. When we went over the menu with Mrs. Schwartz, she said, ‘Absolutely no peanuts. My husband is deathly allergic.’ His own daughter would know that, wouldn’t she?”
“Trudie, what are you implying? That she purposely made something that would hurt her father? Well I’m not buying it. Sure, Ally has her faults. She’s vain, she’s irresponsible with money, she’s promiscuous, self-centered, divisive.” He counted them off on his fingers. “And if I thought about it, I could probably come up with several more. But she would never do anything to hurt her father.”
“Zach, you weren’t so sure when we were sitting in the car earlier.”
“I was freaked out. But Ally loved her father. She wouldn’t give him anything with peanuts.”
“Hold on.” I closed my eyes and tried to visualize a plastic container sitting at the bar next to Zach, or even Zach delivering them to the intended party. Nothing came to mind. “What happened to the treats? Did you give them to Mr. Schwartz?”
Zach frowned. “Actually, I didn’t. Every time I spotted him, someone was giving me a drink order. I figured I’d deliver them later when there was more time. So I set the container on the bar next to me. A few of the guests sampled them while they waited for their drinks.”
I nodded. This all sounded plausible, as I had only spotted Mr. Schwartz one time that evening speaking with Mr. and Mrs. Lewis.
“Wait a minute. I remember.” Zach stood up and started pacing. “I couldn’t leave the bar so I asked one of the guests. He said that he’d seen Mr. Schwartz by the cabana and would be glad to bring the cookie bars down to him.”
“Which guest was it?” I asked, getting to my feet. “Who was it? Did he actually give them to Mr. Schwartz?”
“I don’t know. I was busy making drinks.” Zach sank onto the couch like a deflated balloon.
“What did he look like? What was he wearing?”
“They were all wearing polo shirts and chinos.” He shook his head. “Even if all the male guests stood in a line-up, I’m not sure I could tell you which one it was.”
“I don’t know. I don’t know. That’s all I hear from you. Think, Zach. Think. You have to be more observant when you’re working a party. Especially when you’re working the bar.”
“Like your friend Bradley, the bartender?” he scowled. “I guess I need to be more like the whiz kid—Mr. Personality, Mr. Dishwasher, Mr. Wine Finder, Mr. Dimple Smile. Face it. Even Barbara Lewis requested him over me.”
For a moment, we stared at each other in silence.
I hadn’t meant to hurt his feelings. I sat down next to him on the sofa and put my head on his shoulder. When he turned to me, I glanced up.
“You know what, Zach? There isn’t anyone who can prep a meal like you or serve like you or leave a kitchen as spotless as you can. We’re a team, and no one can replace you, ever.”
I tilted my head up to him. We were almost nose to nose. He studied me as if seeing me for the first time, took my face in his hands and kissed me. It was a gentle kiss, soft and warm, and his lips tasted of oregano and basil. I leaned in to his kiss, and his hands slid behind my back and pulled me closer.
I closed my eyes to savor the moment.
No. I pulled back and leapt to my feet like a Mexican jumping bean. “Zach! Oh my god, what are we doing?” I fled across the room and stood on the other side of the coffee table.
“What’s wrong?” he asked. “I thought you enjoyed it.”
“I did. I mean, I didn’t. I mean….” I didn’t know what I meant, but I had to put a stop to this right now. He and I were best friends and business partners and that’s all we were. “Let’s not complicate things, Zach.”
“But Trudie, that was nice, wasn’t it?”
The huge grin on his face caused me to smile. It was good to see him snap out of his gloomy mood.
“Yes. I have to admit, it was nice. But we have a business to run. Let’s wait until things calm down. Then we can talk. Right now,” I said, checking my watch, “we’ve got a contract to write for Barbara Lewis.”
“Okay.” He smiled. “When things calm down, we’ll talk.”
ABOUT TEN, I finally arrived home. The first thing I do when I get home, after throwing my purse onto the sofa, is walk straight to the kitchen. Or to be more specific, the refrigerator. Okay, so I had just eaten six out of the eight slices of pizza. Zach didn’t have much of an appetite. But that was almost three hours ago. A girl gets hungry.
Opening the door of the fridge, I cringed. With everything that had happened, I’d forgotten all about the cabbage soup diet I’d been on all week. Containers of cabbage soup filled the shelves. I’d read about the diet in Good Housekeeping magazine, which showed several before and after shots of people who’d lost tons of weight.
I pulled out a container and opened the lid. “Blech,” I gagged. After five days on this stuff, I should have lost ten pounds. I slid the scale out of the corner. I had read somewhere that keeping a scale in the kitchen is a deterrent to bingeing. So far, it hadn’t worked for me, but I didn’t see any reason to move it back into the bathroom.
Setting the soup on the counter, I slipped off my shoes, stepped onto the scale and waited for the digital display to register a number. I’d gained three pounds. Three pounds. Turning back to the refrigerator, I removed all the containers of soup, pulled off their lids and dumped every one of them into the sink. I flipped on the switch and fed the whole mess to the garbage disposal, enjoying the grinding and gurgling sounds as it swallowed up the cabbage soup.
As I washed out the containers, I thought of all the dishes Bradley and I had cleaned the night before. Bradley. I’d forgotten to call him about working the Lewis party Saturday night. I retrieved my catering apron hanging on a hook in the bedroom and found the business card with his phone number. Hanging alongside my apron was the one Bradley had worn. I’d brought them both home to wash. I pulled the card out of my apron pocket. In a bold block print, his note said, “Call me anytime. I’m up late. Bradley.”
I glanced at the clock. It was late, but I picked up the receiver and punched in his number. The scent of his cologne had lingered on the apron, hinting of spice and citrus. I held it up to my nose and inhaled. I could still feel his arm around me as he’d tried to calm me down last night.
He answered after the first ring. “Trudie, it’s great to hear from you so soon.”
I paused, wondering how he knew it was me.
“Caller ID,” he said, reading my mind.
Hearing his voice again, my heart started to flutter.
“Hi, Bradley. Hope it’s not too late to call.” I hugged the apron.
“It’s never too late. I’m a night owl. Most of my jobs are at night, and—”
“And what?” I prompted.
“I—used to stay up with Mom waiting for my dad to get home. But enough about that. What can I do for you?”
“I have a dinner party booked for Saturday night. They specifically asked for you. Are you available?”
“Asked for me? Who are they?”
“Guests at the party last night. They’re the people you retrieved the bottle of wine for.”
“Oh yeah, the Lewises. I remember them. Barbara and Robert, right?”
“Exactly. You have an amazing memory.” I thought about Zach and how he couldn’t recall what any of the guests even looked like. Bradley not only remembered them, he knew their names.
“Hard to forget. Mrs. Lewis pretended to lose her footing on the stone patio and held onto my arm for support. Then she wouldn’t let go. Happens all the time.”
He didn’t sound conceited or egotistic, just nonchalant and resigned to the facts of his life.
“Well, are you?” I asked.
“Am I what?”
“Available, to work the Lewis party.”
“Yes, and I’d be happy to work with you again, Trudie.”
“Great. I’ll call you back with the d
etails later in the week. Thanks, Bradley.”
When I hung up, my insides danced with anticipation like the tiny bubbles in sparkling wine.
I’d had these feelings once, in high school, when I was assigned to tutor Greg Ballard in Algebra. Greg was popular, very cute, always had a girlfriend, and never noticed me. But in our tutoring sessions, he was attentive and nice. He talked to me as if I were a good friend. Every time I went to meet him, I pretended I was going on a date to meet my secret lover. In the halls at school, he wouldn’t stop to talk. I knew he thought it would damage his reputation. But he’d always give me a quick wink, like we had something together, just the two of us. The relationship, such as it was, ended with the semester when he aced his Algebra exam. I never forgot that feeling of excited anticipation before each meeting.
I held the apron to my nose again and inhaled. Last night, Bradley and I had connected, in a weird sense because of similar but opposite experiences growing up. We understood each other, and if nothing else, we might become friends.
Then I remembered that kiss with Zach. After such a long, close friendship with him, I’d never even considered him in romantic terms. We were as close as any two people could be. And we truly loved each other. But not in that way.
His kiss felt good. Natural. I hadn’t wanted it to end.
So why did I break away from him? Of course, I knew the answer. A relationship like that would ruin our bond of friendship and the rapport we’d had all these years cooking together. Working side by side with Zach provided the comfort and security I needed to make our business thrive. I couldn’t let that change.
I wondered if the kiss had merely been a way to release the stress of all that had happened over the last twenty-four hours. As I told Zach, we needed to wait for things to calm down and life to go back to normal. Then we could evaluate our feelings for each other.
My stomach growled. For now, I was hungry.
I went back into the kitchen, pulled out my biggest frying pan and retrieved a package of bacon from the freezer. Prying off six strips, I dropped them one by one into the pan. When they were brown and sizzling, I cracked in three eggs to cook in the grease. The heck with cabbage soup. Tonight, I would begin a low-carb diet.
Chapter Eight
Every time I pull up to the entrance of A Fine Fix, my heart feels like a sweet potato swelling in the oven. I am a business owner.
Just a small warehouse off Nebel Street in Rockville, my shop sits amidst a row of others, a printing and mailing service, a plumbing supply house, a flooring and carpeting showroom and an auto upholstery shop. My neighbors and I have an understanding. We help each other out, patronize each other’s business. Janine next door designed and printed my business cards at a discount and Jake installed a new headliner in my Honda when the fabric kept drooping down on my head. And when Manny held a special one-day flooring event and open house, A Fine Fix provided the punch and pastries at no charge.
On Monday morning, Zach’s VW bug sat out front, and the company van was backed up to the loading dock. I pushed open the customer entrance door with our logo etched into the glass. The décor of our office reflects who we are—quirky but chic. Manny, our flooring neighbor, had scanned dozens of catalogs until he’d found the perfect purple carpeting with orange swirls. I’d located a fabulous birch desk at the used furniture store in our office park, and we’d hung oversized art deco posters on the walls. An antique white distressed table and chairs provided an area where clients could select table settings and view sample menus in a comfortable and welcoming atmosphere.
“Good morning, Zach,” I shouted. He wasn’t in the office, so I knew he must be busy in the warehouse, where we store all our equipment: pots, pans, china, glassware, silverware, linens. The warehouse is also where we keep our pride and joy, a twelve-foot by eight-foot walk-in—a room-sized, aluminum refrigerator with a freezer in the back—a treasure we’d purchased used when a restaurant up the street went out of business.
“Be there in a minute,” he yelled from the back. He was probably reshelving the supplies from the Schwartz party. I’m sure this was the first chance he’d had with all that had occurred over the last couple of days.
I sat at the desk and tried to settle my nerves, wiping my moist palms on the sides of my turquoise sherbet capris. In all the years I’d known Zach, I had never been apprehensive about seeing him. Why in the world did he have to kiss me and change everything?
“Hi.” His voice startled me. Then I saw his sheepish grin, hands sunk in his pants pockets. Was he nervous, too?
I noticed that his normally curly hair was flat on one side as if he’d slept on it all night. “Don’t you ever look in a mirror?” I walked over to him and held out my hand, palm up. “Comb.”
He pulled a pick comb out of his back pocket and handed it to me.
I stood on tiptoe and reached up to correct the damage, using the pick to pull out his natural curls. Zach dipped his head down to me, holding my gaze for a moment. I could feel the warmth of his breath. “There. Not perfect, but better.”
After so many years of working side-by-side with Zach, why did this closeness feel so awkward? I handed him his comb and stood back. “Remember, we have to deliver the contract to Barbara Lewis today and should at least be presentable.”
“Yeah, I know. See, I wore khakis today instead of jeans. And a white polo. Very clean cut, wouldn’t you say?”
“It’ll do.” I walked back to the desk and turned on the PC. I didn’t want to lead him on, just wanted to forget about what had happened last night and get to work.
“It’ll do? Isn’t this exactly what your all-American model, Bradley Miller, would wear?”
“What is this obsession you have about Bradley?” I couldn’t understand what he had against Bradley, who had only been sweet and supportive to me. In fact, Zach had to be the only person who didn’t like Bradley.
“Obsession? I don’t think I’m the one with the obsession.”
“Zach, I don’t know what your problem is, but get over it already. We’ve got work to do. Now where did you put the contract details we worked on last night? I want to enter them into the computer and print it out. I told Mrs. Lewis we’d be there about eleven.”
“Sorry. They’re right here.” He pulled up a chair and pointed to a folder that was sitting on the desk. “Trudie, can I just say one more thing first?”
“All right,” I sighed. “Go ahead.”
He covered my hand with his. “We’ve been friends as long as I can remember and will remain friends forever, no matter what.” He gazed into my eyes. “Right?”
I nodded.
“So even though I said some things last night and even though I kissed you, I want you to know that nothing has changed. Nothing. We are still BFF.”
“BFF?”
“Best Friends Forever. You know. It’s cell phone text lingo. I’m not very fast with those little keys, so I’m trying to learn some short cuts. What I’m not so sure of, though, is whether LOL is Lots of Luck or Laughing Out Loud.”
We both broke out laughing.
“So BFF?” He held out his pinky.
“BFF.” I said, hooking my pinky around his and feeling my whole body relax. No one knew how to make me feel better than Zach did. Smiling, I opened the folder and got to work.
THIS TIME, I found a parking space right across the street from the Lewis house. When the maid let us in, we assumed we knew the drill and headed for the drawing room.
“This way, Miss Fine,” she called from behind us. When we turned, her arm was extended to the opposite side of the foyer. She cleared her throat. “Mrs. Lewis would like to see you in the library today.”
“Oh.” I made an about-face, straightened my turquoise jacket and adjusted the matching headband as she drew back the French doors.
Zach and I walked slowly into an enormous hunter green room with massive mahogany built-in bookcases and the smell of rich leather. I felt as if we were about to meet the
Wizard of Oz. Rising from her throne-like chair behind the desk, Barbara Lewis, in fact, was wearing an emerald green dress.
“Ms. Fine.” She smiled. “And Mr.—“
“Cohen,” Zach said.
“Yes, Mr. Cohen. So nice to see you again.” She sat down, gesturing for us to sit in the two Queen Anne chairs that faced the desk.
After reviewing the menu and discussing the terms of the contract, Barbara Lewis wrote out and signed her deposit check in majestic scrolling letters. When she placed the check in a pale blue parchment envelope, I almost expected her to stamp it with a royal wax seal. She smiled and stood to hand it to me as a gesture of dismissal.
“Uh, Mrs. Lewis,” I ventured, taking the envelope. “Would you mind giving me just another moment? Could I ask you some questions about the party the other night? I’m curious about a few things.” It bothered me that Goldman seemed to be focusing his entire investigation on Zach and overlooking everyone else who’d been at that party. Barbara Lewis and her husband had spoken to Mr. Schwartz before he died. They had also spoken to Bradley. Maybe they had seen or heard something without realizing it.
Her smile faded. “I have a very busy schedule, Miss Fine.”
“I’m sure you do, Mrs. Lewis. It’s just that…you see…Mr. Schwartz was a friend. Well, the father of my friend, Allison. I just thought…maybe the police have missed something, some small detail that will shed light on how Mr. Schwartz died.” I wondered if she could hear the trembling in my voice. This woman was beyond intimidating, and I hoped she wouldn’t cancel our contract completely and demand that I return the check.
“And you think that I might be the person who can provide that small detail.” Barbara Lewis’ posture was stiff as she stood behind the desk.
“I don’t know. You may have seen something, or heard something, that seemed innocent at the time.”
Slowly she lowered herself back into her chair. “All right. What would you like to know?”
I sat down and crossed my legs. “You mentioned that Mr. Schwartz wanted you to try a special wine that night. How long did you speak with him?”