Sugar

by Karin Kallmaker

  "What the hell did you do?"

  Christ, it was Robert, her landlord. Large, loud and certain he knew what was best, Robert planted his feet, ignoring everyone but Sugar. The man was an idiot, Sugar thought, to ignore two beautiful women in order to look at her.

  "I didn't do anything. The fire started in the oven."

  "Some concoction of yours? How are you gonna pay for all this damage?"

  "Are you the homeowner?" Emily's tone snapped Robert's attention to her. "Your own insurance will compensate you for damages and of course Ms. Sorenson for her lost property. And if they don't, you will."

  Robert must have noticed how gorgeous Emily was because his tone became moderately more civil. "I'm not paying for anything of hers. She was supposed to get her own insurance."

  "Your own insurance company is aware that you have a . . . dwelling... in your garage?" Emily's right eyebrow quirked.

  Robert slowly turned purple. Sugar wondered if he'd like some tea now, too. "I don't see that that is any of your—"

  "But it is mine," Gantry cut in. She flipped out a business card. "I will be reporting the illegal rental to other county departments. They will be quite interested to learn of it."

  It crossed Sugar's mind that Elliot Ness hadn't been the one to get Al Capone. The credit went to the I.R.S., and Robert would

  likely be getting a call from them, too. He had been an ass to her the last eighteen months, over everything from "excessive" use of the driveway to whether her newspaper was too close to his after they were delivered. Now that her cheap place to live was no more, she was rooting for the Feds. Careful, she warned herself, with visions of health inspectors in her head. You're not exactly squeaky clean in all this, either.

  "She was operating a bakery out of the cottage," Robert accused. "Whatever happened was because she started it!"

  "I did not!" Sugar really had had enough. All her hopes and dreams had gone up in flames. She didn't even have flour to her name and her only order due in the next week might be lost. She'd forked out good money to enter the Seattle Eats competition a mere two weeks away and there was no way she'd have anything worth submitting now. She struggled past Gantry's restraining hand. "I was making one cake a day, well within the capability of the oven."

  "You report me to anybody and I'll report you!" Robert stepped toward Sugar but held up when Emily and Gantry moved in as well. "We have a contract!"

  "A contract to further an illegal arrangement isn't valid." Emily waved one hand as if the truth of her words was something a first-grader would know.

  "I'll sue you for everything you have!"

  "Oh, like that'll make you rich." Sugar dashed angry, helpless tears from her cheek. "It wasn't my fault."

  Robert cracked his knuckles. "You'll never prove that."

  "She won't, but I will." The cool voice coming from behind Sugar brought Robert up short. Well, it was either the voice, Sugar thought, or the fact that Charlie was four inches taller than he was. Her lesbian trinity closed ranks. Charlie's tone was scathing. "The oven was installed on a combined one-ten electrical connection, and two one-tens don't make a valid two-twenty. There was also no ground and the circuit box was overfused. You endangered her life, your own, and that of your family and neighbors."

  "Your insurance company is going to be very, very unhappy," Emily added.

  "Even lacking intent to commit a physical crime, I wouldn't be surprised to find that your entire rental fraud was criminal in nature," Gantry speculated.

  Robert's mouth opened and closed and Sugar said the only thing that came to mind. "My big sister is a lawyer!"

  Charlie cleared her throat, and while she never broke a smile, Sugar saw one in the light brown eyes.

  Robert gaped just once more, then hurried for his back door, slamming it shut behind him after a wild look at the four women, none of whom had moved.

  "And the horse you rode in on, asshole." Emily's vivid blue eyes crackled with animosity. "I hate bullies."

  "Hear, hear," Gantry said. "That type doesn't think beyond the next buck. Even now he doesn't care that someone might have been killed."

  "Oh, oh—I know." Charlie was smiling broadly now. "Let's all get on our cell phones. You know he's watching, and he'll croak."

  Sugar felt like a spectator at a well-choreographed play. Three phones, three chirps, three women separating themselves by polite distances. Their conversations flowed over Sugar as if she wasn't even there.

  Emily said without preamble, "We'll need to postpone the Cake Dreams feature..."

  Gantry was more roundabout. "It's me. Just checking in. How are you feeling?"

  Charlie, after listening for a bit, said only, "Oh, hell, my mother called."

  Another cup of tea settled Sugar's nerves more, and her sodden purse was brought out to her. It was typical of her, Sugar mused, that she'd rescued cookbooks but not her checkbook. Her cell

  phone was damp, but turned on for a minute before the battery went dead. She'd been meaning to charge it.

  "Who can you stay with, dear?" Gantry patted her arm. "I will warn you that it's not unusual to sleep badly the first several nights after a big shock."

  "It's not like I have a girlfriend who'll care," Sugar muttered.

  "Every woman needs a girlfriend," Charlie remarked from her position, leaning on the hood of Gantry's county car.

  "I have girlfriends, but not a girlfriend," Sugar said. Charlie's mouth twitched in what might have been a relieved smile. Sugar all of a sudden wanted to blush. The woman had amazingly suggestive eyes. That or she was still in shock. Yes, that was a far more likely explanation.

  Emily lightly touched Sugar's arm. "I really must go, but as soon as you feel up to it, I would love to do the feature. We have a studio kitchen we could shoot in, change it a bit to look like it might be yours." She frowned for a moment, as if ticking off a mental checklist. "I think we'd have done that anyway, given how small your real kitchen is, er, was. Here's my card again, and please—I meant it—call."

  "I will," Sugar said sincerely. If she ever hoped to get on her feet again the feature would be a real boon.

  Emily hesitated. "I'm really sorry about all this. I had hoped..." At Sugar's inquiring look, she hurried on, "A friend of mine is having her fortieth birthday this weekend and I've left organizing things late. I was hoping I could persuade you to take a rush order for about twenty people. I even brought photos of her cat."

  "Oh." Sugar quickly ran through the necessary calculations. A lookalike cake for twenty had been priced on her Web site at two hundred dollars, something Emily had to know, and she could certainly use the money. It might cover half of a new windshield. She brightened. Her Web site, which was hosted on a paid server site, would still be up. She'd still get orders. All she needed was a kitchen. She had enough savings for supplies.

  Grannie Fulton had a large, utilitarian kitchen capable of producing a Thanksgiving meal for thirty. Damnation.

  "I think I can stay with my grandmother," Sugar said slowly. "When did you want the cake delivered?"

  "You really think, given all this—" Emily waved a hand at the smoldering, smoking cottage. "You think you could still do it?"

  "I think so, yes."

  "Wow, okay. Well, here's the photos."

  "Excuse me," Gantry interrupted. "But why does she need photos of the cat?"

  Emily flashed Gantry a smile. "Sugar does the most fabulously realistic three-dimensional cakes, to order. The only other place I know of in the country where you can get one like it is New York."

  Sugar eyed the calico's markings. They were intricate, with at least five different shades of icing and a lot of pastry brush painting to simulate fur. The yellow eyes and jeweled leather on the collar would be fun. But if she kept the pose simple, it was doable. "Would she like one of the cat on her back, like this? Wanting a tummy rub?"

  "Oh, that would be delightful, yes." Emily grinned. "Okay. Well. Here, let me write my home phone on the back. If you r
ealize later you can't, please call me, okay? I can always order something from the grocery."

  It was unthinkable that she might lose the order to Safeway or Costco. Somehow Sugar found some basic business sense. Running a business wasn't her strength to begin with, so finding a moment of practicality under the circumstances was a bit of a miracle. Grannie Fulton would say the Lord had worked in His mysterious way. Right, burn down the house to make a good business contact. "Chocolate cake with a ganache, or vanilla with something like a lemon?"

  "Chocolate. It's an all-dyke event."

  Sugar nodded with a knowing smile. "And you know how much I charge for one of these?"

  "Yes." Emily handed back her business card. "She's my best

  friend and it's her fortieth. I really don't want an ordinary cake. One of yours will make the freezer-to-oven easy hors d'oeuvres forgivable."

  "As you wish," Sugar murmured, her mind whirling through the ingredient list. She longed to go back into the house and at least get her metric scale and favorite measures. Her cake ingredients were calculated by weight, not volume, which allowed vast flexibility in sizing recipes along with precision in measuring. "I know I can get this done."

  Resigned, she knew that she would have to put up with Gran and the lectures about being single, missing church and preferring cookbooks to the Good Book. She would do nearly anything to avoid going back to restaurant slavery. Anything not to have to ask a single sister for money. Again. At Gran's she could pay her way. At least Gran thought trying to make a living by baking was laudable.

  Charlie joined them quietly, holding a large box as if it were a feather.

  "The other thing I was going to talk to you about," Emily said cheerfully, "is your entry for the Seattle Eats competition. I saw your company name on the competitors list. We're covering it, and I was hoping we could tape your preparations as one of the competitor background stories."

  It was abruptly too much to think about. Sugar felt the blood drain out of her head again. Gantry put an arm around her shoulders. "I really think it's time to move you to your grandmother's."

  "I'm so sorry, babbling on." Emily held the passenger door open for Sugar. "Call me. We'll get everything sorted out when you're ready."

  Gantry's arm was very comforting and Sugar found herself wondering how old she was. Anywhere between thirty-five and forty-five, she thought.

  "Hang on a minute!" Sugar looked up dazedly to see Charlie offering her the box. "I thought you could use these. And we'll leave warning tape on the doors and windows. I hope that keeps

  the jerk out of your stuff. Someone will be here tomorrow at ten a.m. to check if it's safe to enter. If you're here with a truck, you might salvage most of your equipment."

  Sugar peered into the large box, wondering where on earth Charlie had found such a large carton. It wasn't full of clothes, which would reek of smoke, but the durable items from the counter and primary baking drawer. Her scale, stainless steel bowls, whisks, copper measuring cups, even her favorite metal scrapers and spatulas. Her cell phone charger and portable CD player were also inside. She blinked back tears. "Thank you. I— that was very kind. And what I'll need most for the next few days."

  Charlie shrugged. "I guessed."

  The box was settled on the seat behind them, along with her squishy purse and the meager items Sugar had already removed from the house. Emily took her leave to back out the Jaguar. Gantry followed suit and the last Sugar saw of Charlie was as she walked back toward the cottage with a roll of bright yellow warning tape in hand.

  "Sugar, my child! You look back from the shores of hell itself."

  "Something like that," Sugar said, then she was enveloped in Grannie Fulton's attar of roses with a hint of vanilla scent. It was an aroma right out of her childhood and suddenly Sugar found herself in tears, crying helplessly in the safety of Grannie Fulton's arms.

  Gran had her and Gantry both in seats at the kitchen table with slices of banana bread and steaming mugs of coffee before Gantry could finish explaining what had happened. Sugar blew her nose and took a nibble of the treat. It was wonderful. Dense and moist, it tasted of banana and pineapple, even a hint of coconut. She would have to get the recipe, she thought.

  Then she recalled that her recipe boxes were now a fused pile of paper pulp and ink. She'd been meaning to scan them for, well, years. Tears trickled down her cheeks. Gantry offered a small

  packet of tissues, which Sugar accepted with a grimace she hoped looked as grateful as she felt.

  "Have another bite, Sugar Bear," Gran urged. "There's nothing that can't be helped by food in your stomach." She turned to Gantry. "Could I bother you to fetch that basket of preserves? My old legs aren't what they were."

  Gantry rose to get another artifact of Sugar's childhood. "Goodness, I haven't seen a jam cozy in ages. What a beautiful handle, and it holds six tall jars. My grandmother's held four standard-sized."

  "I used to have quite a crew to feed in my younger years. Now, every jar in there is all my own fruit," Gran said proudly. "You haven't tasted anything like my peaches in ages, either. Gantry, now that's an unusual name."

  "It's a family name." Sugar watched Gantry's eyes light up as Gran proffered a jar of preserves. Gantry was earning big points, having the etiquette to use the jam spoon to put two dollops on her plate, not on the banana bread. Crumbs in the jam were verboten. "My father's middle name and his father's first name. If I'd had any brothers I might have escaped. Most of my friends call me Tree."

  "Gantry has a fine, strong ring to it," Gran Fulton observed. "It seems to suit you as much as Sugar suits my granddaughter."

  Sugar blew her nose to avoid meeting their combined gazes. "I don't know about that."

  "You were the sweetest of the litter." Gran patted her hand. "And you know you can stay as long as you like. My door has always been open to you. I'd certainly like to meet any gentlemen friends you may have, too."

  Sugar caught herself before she rolled her eyes, then stole a glance at Gantry, er, Tree. She responded to Sugar's very slight shrug of chagrin with the most subdued wink on record. "I don't have time for dating, Gran."

  "You're the last grandchild not married, so I worry about you. Go forth and multiply," Gran quipped.

  "Mom and Dad did enough of that, and Patricia and Quinn did

  their part. I don't need to add to the population," Sugar answered back. She glanced at Tree. "I have three older sisters. That makes me the baby of the family."

  "You still are," Gran said serenely. "Now, the guest room is all yours, and if you bring me the phone, my friend Judy has a daughter your size, and I'm sure we can get you a few things to wear. You'd best take a shower, dear. I can't say you smell all that good."

  "I know."

  "I'll be going," Tree said quickly, after bringing the phone from the counter to the table. "You have my card, Sugar. I'm glad to get you settled."

  "Thank you. You've really been very kind."

  "Not everyone is so lucky." Tree gave her a steady glance.

  It wasn't ideal, Sugar knew, but Grannie Fulton was a darned good safety net. She nodded. "I know."

  "Sugar, dear, would you go in the pantry and fetch a jar of last year's peach preserves? It was an uncommonly fine year, all the early spring rain. For Gantry to enjoy all on her own."

  Sugar found the jar easily enough. She knew her way around Gran's kitchen and pantry. There was a stockpile of baking ingredients, too. She could start on Emily's cake tonight, if her nerves steadied. Right. Every woman looked like an angel to her and she cried at the smell of vanilla. She could bake tonight, sure.

  "I really can't accept it," Tree protested. "There's a rule."

  "A jar of fruit, what harm is that?" Gran pressed the gift firmly into Tree's hands. "I insist. Kindness is in short supply in this world. That's all I have to say."

  Tree relented with a grin. "Well, having tasted some already, I'd be a fool. And my mama didn't raise no fools."

  Gran patted Tr
ee's hand. "It'll make tea tonight that much better."

  Naturally, but clearly, Tree said, "My partner adores peaches. Thank you, really."

  Sugar waved good-bye from the door and steeled herself for Gran's inevitable question.

  "Now, what do you suppose she meant by 'partner'? Do you think she's one of those gay women?"

  / could have died in the fire. Sugar thought about that for a long moment, and the reality of life's fragility swept over her. She'd always thought it wasn't worth the trouble of coming out to her Bible-thumping, church-going, loving but homophobic grandmother. At that moment she no longer had the energy for the secret. "I do think she is, Gran. And so am I."

  Grannie Fulton gazed at her for a long, tense moment. After a sigh, she said quietly, " 'Whatsoever things are true, whatsoever things are honest, if there be any virtue I have learned to be content.' "

  She dialed the phone, leaving Sugar to make her way bemusedly to the shower. Maybe the world would make sense tomorrow.

  Chapter 2

  "Why, you knead that just like bread dough. My, my."

  "Nearly," Sugar admitted. "You taught me the basics, remember?"

  Sugar wasn't put off by Gran's intent study of her methodical scrape-fold-press motion with a metal spatula and one plastic-wrapped hand. It was calming to be doing something so familiar after her panicked awakening. She'd thought she'd smelled smoke, then couldn't remember where she was. It had lasted only a moment or two, but her heart hadn't stopped pounding for ten minutes.

  Kneading fondant, which would serve as her molding material when she iced the cake, was something she could do in her sleep. Just this past Sunday, for Mother's Day, she'd had three cakes to ready all at the same time and that had felt as if she were kneading fondant in her sleep.

  Business plan item number nine—hiring assistant bakers—was now even farther down the list.

  She'd already had two batches of the malleable, creamy white sugar solution chilling in the refrigerator that had been included in the rental, for all the good they did her now. Unlike the car, they weren't insured. Thank goodness she'd gone for more than minimum coverage. A glass-repair guy was supposed to meet her around noon and drop a new windshield and windows into place, and it wasn't costing Sugar a dime. It was a huge relief.