A Cupcake to Die For

by Mary Jane Forbes

  Star put her tray on the small table. “Thanks for lunch. Do as the doctor says and I’m sure you’ll be back to work sooner than you think.”

  “I hope so, especially if Detective Drake leaves me alone, except for a game of chess now and then,” Roth chuckled.

  “Yes, there is Detective Drake,” she said more to herself than to Roth as a shiver ran up her arm. “I have to run, but it was nice to see you…looking so well.”

  Star paused at the nurses’ station. It was a beehive of activity. She waited to speak to one of the nurses hoping to get some information—was Mr. Roth really on the mend or was it Hollywood bravado?

  A nurse hung up the phone and caught Star giving her a wave.

  “Can I help you, miss?”

  “Yes. I work with Mr. Roth and was present when he had the attack. I just visited him and he looks to be doing well. He says he’s going home soon. Can you—”

  “You work with him so I take it you’re not family?”

  “No, I’m not related but—”

  “All I can say is that looks can be deceiving.

  Chapter 12

  IT WAS FRIDAY. Although Roth didn’t remember booking the kitchen studio for her kids’ cooking class, he did mention Burnett might let her use it. She checked with Burnett’s assistant, Suzie, to be sure the studio with a kitchen set up was still available. It was and Mr. Burnett must have had a change of heart because he even sprang for a cameraman. She could use it the next four Saturdays, two hours per day, mornings only. Splicing and dicing were not part of the deal.

  Star had spent the days following her visit with Roth confirming the cooking lab sessions with five kids, all ten years old. It had been scheduled before Roth fell ill. It was to be a reality pilot.

  She confirmed the kids. All but one boy said they would be at Burnett Media, Studio 7, ten o’clock sharp. That gave her two girls and two boys. They were excited to participate, especially the moms. She spent the morning checking the equipment in the studio. Her plan was to check the menu plans again, then shop and deliver the ingredients to the studio for the class on Saturday.

  She was mad at herself for wallowing in a pity party the first few days of the week. Sure she had drafted and finalized the plans to pitch to Roth a month ago, but so much had happened that she felt addled, unprepared, unable to move forward.

  Tyler seemed to be immersed in his project and now so was she. She put aside her threats to vacate the house and dropped any idea of returning to Daytona Beach. But they did exchange text messages and he was sorry he couldn’t make it back this weekend. Maybe next weekend would work. The word murder was never mentioned by either of them although he did say that Detective Drake had made an appointment to see him next week in Twentynine Palms, something about verifying Star’s statements.

  Everything seemed to be in order for the kids’ first class. Checklists marked as completed.

  Star was antsy. This pilot show was a big deal. Hers all the way. Not a commentary on someone else’s idea of a bakeoff. The principal at the local middle school gave Star the number of a teacher to contact. The teacher would know which moms to ask if their child would like to be a little chef. The class was not a competition. She pitched it to the moms as something fun. Fifth graders learning how to cook, master a food processor, cut with knives without chopping off a finger, and measuring accurately for some recipes and cooking by the seat of their pants for others. Four Saturdays. Yes, a joyous time.

  “Hey, miss, I’m looking for the cooking teacher. Do you know where I can find her?” A man in cargo pants, sleeveless black shirt, and white sneakers stood in the doorway. A large canvas bag was slung over his broad shoulder. He had an easy smile.

  The stranger reminded Star of Tyler with his thick brown hair and a lock falling on his forehead. But this man was muscular with tattoos on his arms. Star smiled back. Tyler would have immediately put the man’s image to paper, a sort of superman cartoon.

  “I guess that would be me, Star Bloom. How can I help you?”

  “Well, this is my lucky day. You are not like any schoolmarm I ever had. Paul Templeton at your service,” he said setting his bag carefully on the floor. “I’m your cameraman. Can you give me an idea about the gig?”

  “Gig?”

  “An hour shoot, give or take thirty minutes? The action? What’s important to capture with the camera?”

  “The action, Paul, will be four kids, ten years old, whipping up a batch of cupcakes, maybe a class scrambling eggs. Four in all.”

  “Nice. Can I test the tasty cupcakes, as an objective observer, of course?”

  Star giggled. “I think that would be a lovely idea.”

  “Miss Star—”

  “No Miss, just plain Star.”

  “Yes ma’am. A Star you are. If you have a minute, can you walk me through the action? You know, how you’re going to teach these wannabe kid chefs? Where they stand, where they go for eggs and other stuff?”

  “Sure. First will you help me move these three tables away from the workstations? That way you’ll have a clear shot to capture the action. Pretty cool, huh? Cooktop with oven, a cutting surface, and a sink. Workstations, that’s where the action takes place.”

  “The tables? End to end?” Paul asked picking up a five-foot folding banquet table.

  “Yes, over against the wall by the refrigerator.”

  “What will be on the tables?”

  “Extra ingredients and kitchen paraphernalia. The kids will scamper for what they need bringing the items back to their stations.”

  “Oooh, paraphernalia. A big word for the young chefs. The black and white tiles on the floor, red stoves, white frilly curtain on that fake window will give a nice backdrop with the kids. That will provide a wicked-fun picture.”

  Star couldn’t help smiling as she went over her plans for the first day. She definitely hoped to provide a wicked-fun class.

  “That does it, Paul. Thanks for your help. Do you have any other questions?”

  “A few. How about going to the café down the street? A cup of coffee?”

  “I’d like that. My treat,” Star said packing up her laptop.

  “Definitely not like my schoolmarm. She would never have offered to pick up the tab.”

  - - -

  The Betty Grable café was almost empty. A slow time of day, after breakfast and before the buzz of lunch business. Star led the way to a corner booth clad in red leatherette. She ordered a chicken salad sandwich and Paul followed suit. The café was cozy, decorated in the era of films gone by. Customers visiting for the first time didn’t notice the scratches on the light-bent-bamboo chairs, or the rips in the red leatherette stools at the counter and benches on the back and sides of the booths. It was only after you sat talking that you saw the tatters.

  Star loved everything about the place. It spelled Hollywood in her mind.

  “So, Mr. Templeton, what magic does your camera eye catch these days?”

  “Ahh, yes. Soap commercials,” he said chuckling. “Mostly gigs shooting commercials for retail companies. Not so much clothing with big name models, but regular stuff—dog food, toothpaste. It pays my share of the rent. Hours are random which gives me the freedom to participate when there’s a casting call.”

  “You’re an actor posing as a cameraman?” Star said smiling.

  “Yup. Now tell me how you arrived in Hollywood.”

  “I was the winner of a reality TV show in Daytona Beach, a bakeoff competition. But the producers went belly-up when the last episode was filmed. They skipped town. But somehow the show, the film clips wound up in Burnett Media’s treasure vault, my term, and Vincent Roth called me in Florida. He wanted to know if I was interested in providing the commentary for the show, spice it up to pitch it to a network. I said yes, and voila, here I am.”

  “Wow, a rags-to-riches story…pretty blue-eyed blonde takes Hollywood by storm.”

  “Well, I wouldn’t say that. But, you never know,” Star said.

>   “Speaking of Roth. Terrible thing…almost died. Rumor has it that the Hollywood PD is looking to arrest someone on the charge of attempted murder,” Paul said.

  A pall fell over the easy banter with the cameraman. The rumor mill was thriving churning out the worst case scenario—attempted murder. She had to hold her nerves in check or they’d get the better of her. Drake said as much that she was a person of interest along with everyone who attended the barbecue.

  Yes, even the man sitting across from her—Paul Templeton.

  Chapter 13

  IT WAS THE DESERT.

  Deserts were supposed to be hot.

  Tyler missed the cool ocean breeze at home. Home! He and Star never called the house they shared as home after the first few days. Come home. Come back home. No. It was we’ll meet back at the house.

  Tyler leaned back in his chair, glanced around the living room set up as a computer lab, two by two facing the walls not to be bothered by what the other team member’s screen was displaying. The team was working hard, heads bent staring at their computer monitors, eyeballs glued to their piece of the action.

  Tyler stood. Stretched. Maybe a bottle of lemon seltzer would help. He couldn’t concentrate on the animation, his piece of the action. He missed Star. Missed her sparkling blue eyes, her laugh, the warmth he felt when he held her in his arms.

  Roxy saw the look of frustration on Ty’s face. She stood, motioned with a nod to him to follow her to the kitchen.

  “What’s up Tyler? You haven’t been yourself all day. How about we dodge the others, go to dinner tonight, just the two of us.”

  Tyler shook his head.

  “Don’t tell me you’re thinking of that girlfriend of yours. I’m sure she would want you to relax at the end of the day. That’s what she’s doing. With a cameraman I heard.”

  “Come on, Roxy. She can certainly have a business lunch with her cameraman.”

  “The way I heard it, it was a cozy lunch. Of course, I wasn’t there.”

  Tyler sighed and strode back to the living room. “Let’s take a break. It’s almost lunch time anyway.”

  “Yo, that sounds good. My back is screaming at me,” Ben said as he stood rubbing his lower back muscles.

  “Last one in the pool pays for my tacos, extra cheese,” Sam said.

  “How about you, Ty?” Roxy said. “Going for a swim?”

  “No. I’ll take a walk. I’ve hit a wall with my graphic. I need to puzzle it through…alone,” he called over his shoulder as he charged out the back door grabbing a bottle of icy seltzer on his way. Leaving the others behind he snatched his cell from his shorts pocket, tapped the top of his directory, Star’s code.

  Voicemail.

  Chapter 14

  EVERYTHING WAS READY FOR the kids—a shiny red food processor at each child’s station. Red mixing bowls, black and white checkered hand towels folded on top of white bib aprons, junior size, and an assortment of pans tucked in the shelves beneath the butcher-block countertop. A five-foot walkway between the line of workstations and a large refrigerator and dishwasher allowed plenty of room for the students to dash to the tables or the refrigerator for additional supplies. Star had rented red equipment—mixers, food processors, blenders—to lend some bright color and whimsy to the action being filmed.

  Paul Templeton arrived in the nick of time just before the class was to begin. He’d been held up chatting with a director’s assistant notifying him of a casting call that afternoon.

  Star propped open the door to the studio just as two kids came running down the hall with an adult woman in their wake. Star welcomed them to class introducing herself as their teacher, Miss Bloom. The woman seemed to be thankful to release her charges to the teacher as she introduced herself as the mother of the boy and his friend Brooke. Next came a boy holding his mom’s hand. Star instructed the kids to pick a workstation and put on the apron folded on the cutting board.

  Looking down the hall Star didn’t see anyone else. She was missing one girl. The kids were getting restless so she couldn’t wait. Turning to their eager faces she smiled and asked each to print their first name with the marker on the sticky nametag and pat it firmly on the bib of their apron. They busily followed the teacher’s request as a woman walked in behind a girl in a wheelchair.

  “Sorry, we’re late. I missed the number on the studio.”

  “Not a problem. I’m Miss Bloom,” Star said walking up to the girl. “You must be Jenny Sue Washington?”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “I’m Mrs. Washington,” the woman said. “Can Jenny Sue take the empty place at the end? She’ll need her wheelchair but can stand with it nearby. Is that okay with you, Miss Bloom?”

  “Of course. Looks like it was meant to be your spot Jenny Sue. You go right ahead.”

  The three other children giggled as they slipped the bib aprons over their heads and attached their nametags watching Jenny Sue roll up to the end station. Their new classmate was skinny, her brown hands manipulating the wheelchair. She smiled at the others seeing what they did with their aprons.

  The boy next to Jenny Sue handed her the apron.

  “I’m Bobby,” he whispered. “You’re supposed to print your name on that nametag. Do you want me to help?”

  “No, I can do it. But thanks,” Jenny Sue whispered back with warm black eyes and a smile.

  “Miss Bloom, can we chat a minute after class?” Jenny Sue’s mother said.

  “Sure. Have a seat with the other mothers.” Star stepped to the moms. “Please introduce yourselves. I’ll be glad to answer questions at the end of class.”

  Turning back to her young students, a grin spread across her face. They were exploring their workstations commenting on the cupcake pans, food coloring and the packages of ice cream cones.

  They were adorable. She wished Tyler could see them. Maybe the next class he could sketch the cartoons she saw in her mind’s eye.

  Chapter 15

  Tie-Dyed Cupcake

  in Ice Cream Cone

  SPOTLIGHTS WERE FOCUSED ON the young bakers along with the brilliant overhead fluorescents. Paul mounted his shoulder camera so he could move around, zoom in, out, or panoramic views.

  The four children stood quietly looking at their teacher as she donned her apron and patted her nametag to the bib—Miss Bloom. She handed out laminated recipe cards to each student. The picture at the top of the card brought smiles to their faces. Class couldn’t get better than learning to bake cupcakes in an ice cream cone.

  “Welcome chefs to your first class. Today you will be baking tie-dyed cupcakes. A picture is at the top of your card. Looks yummy don’t you think?”

  The boy on the left, Steven, waved his hand. “Miss Bloom, how do we make the different colors? I’ve only eaten chocolate cupcakes, my dad’s favorite.”

  “Good question, Steven. You’ll be mixing white cake batter and then dividing it into three bowls. Then you’ll add food coloring—pink and lavender into two of the bowls leaving the third bowl white. You’ll see. Please set your oven to preheat at 350 degrees while you mix the batter.”

  Jenny Sue sat in her wheelchair to rest while Star answered questions. When she picked up the box of white cake mix, Jenny Sue stood at her station exchanging a grin with Bobby.

  “You each have a mixer with a large mixing bowl. Open the cake mix and carefully dump the mix into the bowl.”

  “All of it,” Brooke asked tapping the edge of the box to the rim of the bowl. The contents landed with a puff of mix covering her fingers. “I did it,” she said with a giggle wiping her hands on her apron.

  Steven’s face was so close that a puff of the white mixture landed on his nose.

  The others followed suit holding their breath. Jenny Sue looked over at her mom with a triumphant smile.

  “Good job. Now read your recipe card. What three ingredients do you add next?” Star said.

  “I know, I know. One cup of water, a quarter cup of oil and three eggs,” Bobby said.


  “That’s right. Take your time. I lined up everything you need on your cutting board. When you’ve added all the ingredients turn your mixer on low and watch…about two minutes. Set your timer if you like. When it’s smooth and velvety turn the mixer off. If it’s not as you’d like turn the mixer back on, do it again, if necessary.”

  Star walked around checking the oven settings. She pointed out a tiny piece of eggshell in Brooke’s batter. Steven dropped an egg on the floor. Paul zoomed in as Star handed him a sheet of paper towel and another egg.

  “Okay, good job. Now using the spatula divide the batter into two bowls leaving the balance in the big bowl. Add the pink and lavender food coloring, one in each of the two bowls. Stir in the color with the spatula.”

  Star stepped to the chefs checking their progress.

  “Now for some fun. We’re going to use a muffin pan because it has bigger sturdier holes for the ice cream cones. For your dozen cupcakes, place a cone in each hole and add a couple of spoonfuls of each color—pink, lavender, and white--one on top of the other. Leave room at the top for expansion. Too much of one color? Don’t worry. Swirl it gently with the chopstick giving it the tie-dye effect. Do the same steps for the remaining cupcakes. Wait for me to hold the oven door when you put your pan in to bake and set the timer for fifteen minutes.”

  One by one their pans were ready for the oven. Star held the door, watching they didn’t burn their little fingers, and closed the door. She told each child to wait for her to take the pan out. They were not to remove the pan by themselves.

  While their cupcakes were cooking the chefs put all their mixing stuff into the big dishwasher at the back wall.

  Sitting in her wheelchair, Jenny Sue was the first to position herself in front of her oven with the light on. The other three quickly sat on the floor squealing in anticipation as they watched the cupcakes rise.

  As the timer’s dinged, Star removed the pans from the ovens setting them on the cooling racks.