Man, I was starting to sound like Justin. Or Adam. It's just that the reality TV bug had bitten me hard. I needed to know what was happening with the show.
Pippa took her apron off. "So are you coming home with me?"
"Er, no. Are you all right to walk?" I asked her. "It's a bit cooler today so you should be fine. I've got some banking I need to take care of."
"Banking? Come on, Rachael, that's your go-to lie."
"It's not a lie this time. Promise."
As soon as Pippa was out the door, I punched Dawn's number into my phone.
"Hello, dear," she said, like she was a little surprised I'd actually called back. "I hope you're coping okay after everything that's happened."
"I'm sorry for your loss," I said. "I know that you and Pierre were very close."
"It's a tough time," she said. "Listen, Rachael, I've got something very important to tell you."
"Is it about the show?" I asked, a little too eagerly.
"It is," she replied. "Are you available to meet up sometime?"
"Yes, of course I am!" Way too eager again. "I am free right now actually."
She chuckled a little. "Right now might be a little too soon for me, dear. How about tomorrow?"
"Oh," I said, trying not to sound disappointed. "Yes, tomorrow is fine." I supposed there wasn't much point to closing down the bakery for the day now.
"Meet me down at the studio at 11:00 AM. I'll see you tomorrow."
"What should I wear?" I called out, running into the living room with a dress in each hand, only to come face to face with Pippa and Marcello engaging in a giant make-out session.
"Oh," I said, braking on my heels. "Sorry. I'll give you some space."
"No, Rach! It's fine," Pippa said, waving me back. "After all, this is your apartment."
Marcello was looking red-faced and sheepish. "Hello, Rachael." He straightened up, though Pippa was still half-draped over him. "I just want to assure you that I will pay you back for all the damage at the bakery. Just as soon as I get another job."
I tried not to open my eyes too wide at the mention of Marcello finding another job. Who would be crazy enough to hire him? I had to wonder what kind of job Marcello would even be suited for. Some place where he didn't have to make anything, touch anything, or take on any responsibilities. My mind was coming up blank.
"It's okay, Marcello. I've got insurance." But I had to wonder if insurance would cover an employee who wasn't even officially employed yet. I hadn't put Marcello on the books for his 'trial' period. Anyway, I had bigger things to worry about. Like what to wear for my meeting with Dawn Ashfield in the morning.
"Does it even matter?" Pippa asked. Pippa was the kind of girl who could be 'girly' in certain ways—take marrying a perfect stranger and gushing about his every eccentricity like a love sick puppy, for instance—but who was completely ungirly at other times. Take clothes, for instance. She wasn't the kind of girl to gush over outfits. She didn't even like shopping. So I wasn't surprised when I held up the dresses to ask "Blue or purple?" and her eyes glazed over.
"It does matter. I need to impress Dawn. Pippa, I think this is a sort of secret audition. Or maybe we're even going to start filming. After all, Justin told me I was practically a shoe-in to make the cut. And Dawn has influence on the show, you know. Without Pierre around, she probably makes the final decision. I'm kinda nervous."
"Well, I think either dress is fine." Pippa frowned. "But don't get your hopes up too high. She could want to see you about anything."
Just then my phone started to ring. "That's probably… Oh! It's Justin." At first I was a little disappointed, but then I realized something. "Pips, if Justin is calling me then that DEFINITELY means that filming is back on!"
Pippa went back to kissing Marcello while I took the phone call. "Justin?" I said excitedly. "I think I know what this phone call is about."
"You do?" he asked, cutting me off.
"Yes," I said, holding up the blue dress in front of the full-length mirror in the hall. "It's about the show, right?" I lowered my voice in a cheeky, conspiratorial manner. "It's about filming, isn't it?"
"Yes, it is," Justin said, surprised. "Oh, so you already know that filming is being put on hold indefinitely."
I dropped the dress. "Excuse me?"
"I'm having to call all the auditionees," Justin said with a sigh, showing just how over it all he was. "Tell them all that the show is technically 'on hiatus' until this whole Pierre business is sorted out. Basically, if the show ever comes back--and I mean IF--then we'll have to hold all the auditions again."
I was stunned into silence. "But, Justin, I thought you said Pierre liked me, that I was going through to the next round."
"Pierre did like you," Justin said, just a little too pointedly, I thought. "But Pierre is dead, Rachael. He won't have much sway over who gets on the show from beyond the grave."
I moved into my bedroom and slumped down on my bed. "I just thought... Never mind."
Justin must have heard my glumness. "Hey, it's okay. You can audition again. You were great."
"So you said."
Justin clucked his tongue and lowered his voice. "I don't suppose you had a chance to speak to Adam and Renee, did you?"
"I did, actually. Still forming my conclusions there."
"Ha." I could hear Justin's heavy sigh down the end of the line. "Honey, I just got off the phone with Adam myself, and let me tell you, he is ECSTATIC over the news."
"Ecstatic? Why is that?"
"Well, honey, he knew he didn't get through. He blew his audition, and not just in the 'kind of' blew it way that you did. I mean, his cake was inedible. Maybe we could have pushed him through if he had any kind of personality to speak of on the day, but he totally froze up, and not even in an entertaining way. Pierre hated him. We'd already sent him home that day WELL before Pierre's body was found."
Hang on. But Adam said he'd heard the screams when Pierre had been found.
And that wasn't the only thing he'd told me.
"But Adam told me that he'd gone through to the next round. Or at least that he was pretty sure he had."
"Nope," Justin replied. "We'd told him thanks but no thanks. Try again next year. So, you can imagine that this is all very good news to him. If we rehold auditions then Adam gets another shot." Justin sighed. "Not that I think he has what it takes, but hey, I'm just the genius producer of the whole thing. Rachael? Are you still there?"
"Er, yes," I said, standing up. I'd been lost in my own thoughts. "I have to go, Justin. Thanks for calling."
"Hey, Rachael," he whispered again. "You ARE still working on trying to clear my name, right?"
"I am Justin. That's why I've got to go. I think I better make another visit to Adam Ali."
Chapter 7
"Dawn?" I asked tentatively, as I stuck my neck into the greenroom like a nervous gander. No one there.
Hmm.
Maybe I should just leave. After all, there was no way that Dawn wanted to confide in me about my top secret casting on Baking Warriors. I cringed now, remembering that I'd been so sure of her intentions, so sure that I'd made it on TV. What made me cringe even harder was how much I'd wanted it to be true.
My heart started to thud a little. What if it's bad news she wants to tell me? Maybe she wanted to tell me that my audition was so abhorrent that I should never bother embarrassing myself by trying again.
I should just leave. I need to talk to Adam.
"Hello, dear!"
I stifled a scream as I managed to control myself from jumping out of my skin. Dawn was standing behind me with a big, warm grin on her face that immediately put me at ease. She was probably only old enough to be my mother, but she had that 'grandmotherly' vibe about her that made you want to spend the afternoon with her baking cookies. Or just being taken care of by her.
For a few seconds I missed my own grandmother. I was ashamed to find that I could feel tears beginning to prick my eyes and I quickly tur
ned away.
"Oh, heavens, are you okay, dear?" Dawn placed a hand on my arm and stroked it gently. That, unfortunately, only made the tears fiercer.
"I'm fine," I said quickly, putting a bright smile on my face. "Just had a silly moment there."
Dawn smiled sympathetically. "I suppose you've heard that filming has been delayed indefinitely. But don't worry, dear, you'll be able to audition again when the time comes. I'm sure you'll be on the top of the producer’s lists. Is that what's got you so upset?"
I shook my head quickly. "No. Geesh, I hope I wouldn't cry just because a TV show was being delayed. I hope I'm not quite that desperate to be famous." Was I though? I wondered if the disappointment of the news Justin had given me was actually mixing together with my sudden grief and making me feel more emotional than I would have otherwise.
I didn't want Dawn to think me that shallow. "I'm just missing my grandma today.” I glanced around the studio where the Baking Warriors logos and branding still stood, all pink and white lettering with puffs of flour and sugar surrounding the font. "She was the one who taught me to bake." I bowed my head. "I thought that being on the show might make her proud. Well, if she can still be proud of me, wherever she is now." I took a deep breath. "She passed away a few years ago, just before I opened my bakery. She never got to see that either."
"Oh, I'm sorry, dear. Come on, why don't we go grab a coffee and we can talk about it." She smiled that warm smile at me and I teared up again, but nodded, grateful for the opportunity.
The venue Dawn had chosen didn't exactly thrill me.
But as we walked through the automatic doors of Bakermatic, I smiled anyway and offered a polite nod to the manager, Simona, as I slid into the booth across from Dawn.
"I love this place," Dawn said, glancing around the store. "So bright and yellow. Like happiness."
The place hadn't exactly caused me a great deal of happiness. For a while there, the low prices and underhanded practices of Bakermatic had threatened to put my boutique bakery out of business. But we had reached a sort of truce these days. Meaning, basically, that we just stayed out of each other hair, and Simona didn't send staff down the road to hand out fliers in the front of my store.
"I'll order," I said. "What would you like?"
Dawn said she'd have a cappuccino and a brownie. I had to bite my tongue to stop from pointing out that none of the cakes were baked on the premises and that they arrived in plastic, filled with preservatives. Whatever Dawn Ashfield wanted, Dawn Ashfield got, as far as I was concerned.
It was a little awkward when I finally got to the counter to order from Simona, but not for the reason I'd originally thought it would be.
Simona wasn't quite looking at me as I ordered the cappuccino, brownie, and a vanilla latte for myself. I thought we were over the whole mortal enemies thing so I was a little surprised.
"How's business been?" I asked, as casually and as friendly as I could.
Simona just nodded as she punched the orders into a tablet screen. "Sugar?" she asked as her long black ponytail swung forward, covering her face and almost obscuring her words.
"Er..." I hadn't asked Dawn. "Just a couple of packets on the side."
Simona finally looked at me. Then her gaze drifted out the window to where the tents filled with press still stood to form a makeshift campsite. "So, is what they are saying true, Rachael?"
I shrugged, unsure. "That depends on what they are saying." I thought about Justin still holed up in his hotel room. "I know they are trying to pin it on one of the producers, but I was there and I don't think he did it." I wasn't really sure I ought to be speculating like that. I also wasn't sure why I was in such a rush to trip over myself to defend Justin.
Simona made a face as though she had no idea what I was talking about. "No," she said, lowering her voice into a whisper. "I'm talking about the rumors about you and Pierre."
I felt my face redden. The creep of the blush must have been slow at first but after a few seconds, my cheeks burned like a furnace and I was certain I must be red as a tomato. "That's...that's in the press?" I whispered. I glanced over my shoulder in dismay to look at Dawn.
Did she know?
Oh, this was so humiliating.
"I'm sorry, Rachael. I assumed you knew."
I shook my head. "I haven't looked at any of the news," I mumbled, grabbing my sugar packets and taking them back to the table. I'd been avoiding all the press coverage so that it didn't influence my investigation. Now their glowering glares and sniggers the other morning made so much more sense.
I slunk into the plastic booth, wishing that the yellow seat would swallow me up.
"You okay, dear?"
Simona delivered the coffees to the table and I muttered another thanks. My hand was trembling as I ripped the sugar packet open and dumped the contents into my latte.
I had to ask. "Dawn," I started to whisper, before we were approached by a young woman in her early twenties with a short mahogany colored bob and a purple pea coat.
"Sorry," she said, her voice gushing. "But, you’re Dawn Ashfield, aren't you?"
I paused, stirring my coffee and looking at Dawn, waiting anxiously for her response. Would she be annoyed at being interrupted like this?
It was clear this sort of thing must happen to her all the time. She graciously posed for a photo while the girl, practically bouncing up and down with excitement, aimed her smart phone at the two of them, her arm around Dawn. "Thank you so much!" she squealed, before running off.
"I suppose you get that quite a lot," I said, taking a sip of my latte before scanning the room. I hadn't noticed it when we'd first walked in, but now I saw that half the people in the shop were casting furtive glances in Dawn's direction and whispering to each other to check amongst themselves if it was really her, wondering if they had the nerve to come over and ask for a photo like that one brave girl had.
Dawn waved her hand and picked up her cappuccino. "Oh, it's all just part of the job. I've been at this a long time, dear. It's become second nature over the decades. I've come to expect the constant interruptions. Water off a duck's back now."
I nodded but I was trying not to frown. I knew that Dawn had been baking for a long time. She was one of those faces that occasionally turned up on morning TV shows when I was little. She had also published dozens of cookbooks over the years, but it wasn't until she'd been cast as a judge on Baking Warriors five years earlier that she'd actually gotten truly famous.
Anyway. I supposed she knew better than I did when it came to her own experience.
"You were asking me something, right before that young lady came over?"
I was suddenly too embarrassed to ask if Dawn knew anything about the rumors about me and Pierre. I was sure that if she did know about them—and surely she did—then she would be discreet about it.
I cleared my throat. "I was just wondering, Dawn. Not that I'm not thrilled to be having coffee with you, but why did you want to meet up with me? Does it have something to do with the show?"
Dawn chuckled a little. "You are anxious to be on the show, aren't you, dear?" She reached over and placed a hand on mine and it felt warm and leathery. "But take if from me, dear, fame isn't all it's cracked up to be." She took a sip of coffee and ended with a heavy sigh. "Take it from Pierre."
"Right." She still hadn't answered my question though. "I'm sorry about Pierre, by the way. I know the two of you were close friends." They were always in magazine features together, raving about how they couldn't live without the friendship and support of the other while they were filming. "It must be tough for you right now."
Dawn stared down into her coffee cup. "Yes," she whispered. "To be honest, though, it still hasn't quite hit me. Maybe once we're all out of this town. Nothing really feels real at the moment while we are all in limbo." She lifted her eyes and I caught sight of tears sitting in the bottom of them. "By the way, dear, I don't believe any of those salacious rumors about you and Pierre. I was there. I k
now you only met him the one time. But, you know, people do talk."
I could feel my face redden.
"Don't worry, sweetheart. They've gotta have something to fill the magazines and websites with. It's only because you did so well at the audition. People were jealous, I guess." She settled back in her seat. "If Pierre hadn't been killed, then you likely would have been the one to go through to the next round. And you didn't even use that sad backstory about your grandma!" She must have caught sight of my face because she looked immediately stricken and hurried to apologize. "You must forgive me. Years of working in reality TV have rubbed off on me. I'm starting to sound like a producer. All this talk about backstory, like the events aren't real things that have traumatized people. Please, you must tell me a little about your grandmother."
I nodded and told her about how she started to teach me how to bake when I was just three years old. "My mother had me when she was very young. She was single and had to work full time to support me, so we moved back in with my grandma. Nana was the person who looked after me full time from when I was just a few months old, right up until I started school." I recounted some of my best memories to Dawn, of the way Nana had taught me about the science of baking, as she called it. She baked every thing with precise measurements, always used a pair of finely tuned scales to make sure there was the exact right amount of flour, sugar, butter, etc., in a dish, never ever eyeballed it, and knew that you couldn't just double the ingredients in a recipe and expect it to taste the same. "Recipes are there for a reason," she would always say.
"Even though it could occasionally be frustrating, I learned a lot from her strictness, and everything she taught me has stuck with me." I grew quiet for a moment. "She passed away only a few months before the store opened. I always wish I'd brought the date forward, but I was my grandma's granddaughter. I waited until everything was perfect before I went forward."
"You must really miss her," Dawn said gently.
Death by Chocolate Cake: A Bakery Detectives Cozy Mystery Page 5