by Mary Maxwell
“Maybe just a few more minutes?” I fell back onto the bed. “Pretty please?”
My voice echoed through the apartment until it was swallowed by the silence. After a few more minutes, I forced myself to get up. Since it wasn’t Sunday, the only day Sky High Pies was closed, I needed to get myself motivated with a shower and quick cup of coffee.
When I rolled into the kitchen downstairs thirty minutes later, Julia was perched on a stool sorting through index cards from Nana Reed’s recipe box.
“Morning, Katie!”
I smiled at her. “How are you, Jules?”
“Peachy,” she replied brightly. “How about you?”
“I’ll go with semi-peachy. I’m a little tired after another late night, but I’ll catch up on my sleep when I’m Blanche Speltzer’s age.”
“She’s eighty,” Julia said. “And you’re, like, uh…”
“I know, I know. I’ve got fifty more years until I can have a good night’s rest, but that’s okay. There’s plenty to do in the meantime.”
She glanced at the prep list on the whiteboard above the counter. “More than plenty,” she reported. “And speaking of Blanche, there’s a voicemail message requesting two platters of chocolate-dipped strawberry cupcakes for some little shindig at her house tonight.”
I smacked my forehead with the palm of one hand. “I almost forgot! I was invited to that shindig.”
Julia smiled. “That’s nice. I don’t think I’ve heard you mention going to Blanche’s for one of her parties before.”
“Because this will be my first time.”
Her eyes brightened. “Well, bless my stars,” she said in a quivering voice. “I didn’t realize I worked for one of Crescent Creek’s crème de la crème!”
She did her best to keep from giggling, but her joyous laughter quickly filled the room. I leered at her for a brief moment before joining in.
“You know something, Jules?” I asked as the boisterous snickering faded away.
“What’s that?”
I walked to the coffee maker and filled a cup for myself before topping off Julia’s mug.
“I am so lucky that you’re here!”
Her cheeks turned pink. “Little ol’ me?”
“Yes, little ol’ you. I remember when you first started working here with my parents. My mother would go on and on and on about how amazing you are, how clever and creative and dedicated you—”
“Let me guess,” Julia said. “You didn’t believe her.”
I rolled my eyes. “Yes, I believed her. The last time my mother told a fib was never! That woman was born honest and plans to die that way.”
Julia grinned. “You’ve got that right. When my kids were toddlers, I used to bring them in so your mom could give them the Little White Lie Lecture.”
I stopped smiling. “The what lecture?”
She repeated the name and went on to tell me that my mother had taken a throwaway incident from my childhood and turned into a fable that she shared with every child she met.
“What kind of fable?” I asked suspiciously. “Did she make me the villain?”
A glimmer of mischief danced in Julia’s eyes. “Maybe just a little,” she said. “The story was about the time you tried to bake a cake for your parents’ wedding anniversary and nearly burned down Sky High Pies.”
“I was nine,” I sputtered. “It was an accident.”
“And you blamed it on your brother,” Julia said. “You told your parents that Brody left the cake to burn instead of the other way around.”
“Because he volunteered to help,” I explained. “I asked him to turn on the oven to three-fifty. But he was mad at me for some trivial thing, so he put it on five-hundred degrees.”
Julia sipped her coffee and nodded. “Right,” she said. “Then you and Olivia got caught up in an argument about a boy from school. The cake burned, the kitchen filled with smoke and Viveca’s uncle called the fire department because he thought Sky High was going up in flames.”
I smiled. “I violated one of Nana Reed’s cardinal rules of baking,” I said. “Check the oven temperature before anything goes inside.”
We shared another laugh about the long ago little white lie. Then we got busy with preparations for the day. Julia made two large trays of Buttery Pecan Brownie Bites for a special order. I tackled the Cherry Berry Chocolate Scones—adding blueberries to my grandmother’s original recipe—and two batches of Pistachio Peppermint Mounds. Harper arrived at six to put the finishing touches on the dining room before we opened at seven.
“It’s going to be a really wonderful day,” she announced confidently.
I looked up from my last batch of cookie dough. “How can you tell?”
She smiled. “Because it begins with your attitude,” she explained. “And I’ve got mine set on Happy Happy Joy Joy!”
Julia grumbled briefly before recovering. “Me, too,” she said. “And when I get home I’m switching it to Happy Happy Mojito Mojito!”
The morning passed quickly in a whirl of breakfast customers, carryout telephone orders and deliveries from two of our regular suppliers. By noon, my lower back was howling and the prep list on the wall had been finished.
“What’s next?” Julia asked.
“Why don’t you take a break?” I suggested. “I can clean the kitchen today.”
She tried to argue for a few minutes before I sent her out to the front porch with a fresh cup of coffee and a warm slice of apple strudel. As I organized the pots and pans in the sink, there was a knock on the door and Viveca came in with Tim and Delilah.
“Hi, Kate,” she said cheerfully. “Hope we’re not interrupting anything mission critical!”
I gestured at the sink. “Just a dozen dirty pans,” I said. “Which I will be happy to put on hold for a few minutes.”
Tim and Delilah gazed around the kitchen. It was their first time peeking behind the curtain at Sky High Pies.
“This is impressive,” he said, admiring the stainless steel gas range with eight burners. “I could whip up a mean omelet on this baby!”
I pointed at the walk-in cooler. “Eggs are in there,” I offered. “Omelet pans are overhead.”
He glanced at the pot rack hanging above the center island. “Maybe next time,” he said. “My sister made us a huge breakfast of French toast and scrambled eggs and bacon.”
“It was enough to feed an army,” Delilah said. “Most of which Tim inhaled without a breath.”
He shrugged. “What can I say? I’m a growing boy.”
“Growing more obnoxious every second,” Viveca joked, giving her brother a playful pinch on his chin. “But that’s fine with me. I’m just grateful that you’re both safe and everything’s been resolved down in Denver.” She crossed the room and gave me a big hug. “Thanks for leaving that message last night to let us know, Kate. I crashed early and didn’t even hear the phone ring.”
“That’s okay,” I said. “It was late. I called as I left Denver so you’d at least know that Lois Jordan and Jake Breen had both been arrested.”
Delilah beamed at Tim. “We can go home now!”
“I don’t know about that.” Tim winked at his sister. “I’m thinkin’ we should stick around. I had no idea my sister could put on such an amazing breakfast spread.”
Viveca smiled proudly. “Wait until you see what I’ve got planned for lunch.”
“You’re all more than welcome to eat here,” I said. “On the house and as much as you’d like!”
“Thanks, but no,” Viveca said. “You’ve already done way too much for us this week, Kate. I don’t know how we can ever repay your kindness.”
I shook my head. “You don’t owe me a thing. It was good to unravel the puzzle. Kind of took me back to the good old days in Chicago.”
“Do you miss being a PI?” Tim asked.
“I still get plenty of opportunity to solve mysteries,” I said, tapping my grandmother’s recipe box. “But they’re more of the culinary an
d penmanship variety now instead of actual crimes.”
CHAPTER 48
Blanche Speltzer was standing in the middle of her living room, sipping a glass of white wine and talking with Mrs. Swift, when I arrived at her place that night with Trent and Dina. The crowd was a variety of ages, interests and backgrounds: young couples and gray-haired widowers, bookish college students and bejeweled debutantes, elegant matrons and middle-aged women that I recognized from Sky High. After visiting the makeshift bar in the dining room for something to drink, we inched through the crowd and found a spot in one corner beside an étagère filled with framed photos of Blanche and her late husband.
“Just in time,” Dina said. “It looks like our hostess is about to make an announcement.”
I glanced around the room, eventually finding Blanche positioned beside the fireplace.
“May I have your attention, please?” she said to the chattering crowd of Crescent Creek residents. “I’d like to make a toast.”
Nearly everyone in the room stopped talking, with the exception of two guests who ignored Blanche’s request. The oblivious duo—blue-haired retirees named Florence Hastings and Myra Talbot—sat with their heads nearly touching and their mouths going a mile a minute. I wondered how long it would take Blanche to say something. She answered my question by sticking two fingers in her mouth and filling the room with a high-pitched whistle.
“Flo!” she yelled. “And Myra! Can you zip it for five minutes?”
The two guilty chatterers blushed with embarrassment.
“Sorry, Blanche!” Myra apologized. “We were comparing notes on that new cosmetic surgeon that just opened up in Boulder.”
A few of the guests murmured in appreciation.
“How many of these people have gone under the knife?” Trent whispered to Dina.
She held one finger to her lips.
“Well, it sounds like—”
I dug an elbow into his ribs. “Keep quiet,” I said softly. “She’s got new hearing aids. Do you want to—”
“Kate?” Blanche called. “Do you have something to share with the other students?”
The line earned a laugh from the crowd, many of whom had survived Blanche’s history class during the decades she taught at Crescent Creek High.
“No, I’m good,” I said with a wobbly smile. “I was just telling Chief Deputy Walsh that we should pipe down until you’ve finished.”
Trent shrugged, but kept his mouth closed. Dina shook her head and looked down at the toes of her black patent leather pumps.
“As I was saying,” Blanche continued, “many of you know that I’ve hosted these little soirées for years as a way to shine the spotlight on some of our community’s more noteworthy residents. Once it was Wallace Babson for winning the top prize in the Savory Skillet Contest at the State Fair with his Tater Tot Fiesta Fantasy. And another year, I hosted a very special group to honor Pearl Dundee for using her CPR know-how to save Maxine Babson’s life after the poor dear choked on a bite of the aforementioned Tater Tot Fiesta Fantasy.”
Everyone in the room chuckled at the memory of Wallace and Maxine. While the incident was a close call for Mrs. Babson, it was also the last time Wallace had prepared his Savory Skillet Contest winner.
“Well, this year is a little different,” Blanche continued. “If you’ve been following my Whispering Wanda blog, you may have an inkling about what I’m going to announce this evening.”
A few people in the back of the room buzzed with anticipation. I glanced over at two women who were staring at me while having a hushed conversation. When they realized that I was on to them, both suddenly turned red and looked away.
“Kate?”
When Blanche said my name again, I was daydreaming about Viveca England’s brother and his close call with the poisoned cupcakes.
“Kate Reed?”
I gulped in a breath and raised my hand. “I’m right here, Mrs. Speltzer.”
Blanche smiled and gestured for me to come forward. “Oh, Katie,” she said as I made my way through the crowd. “You can call me Blanche, hon.”
As I walked between Carson Pratt and his wife Imogene, she touched my arm lightly. “You two would make a lovely couple,” she whispered.
I didn’t understand the comment, but kept moving toward Blanche. When I walked up, she reached out and gave my hand a gracious squeeze. Then she leaned in, whispered that I should stay put and raised her glass again.
“To Kate Reed!” she said loudly.
The room erupted in a chorus of cheers and applause.
“And I know that our second guest of honor is here,” Blanche continued, “because I saw that tall drink of water walk through the front door about a half hour ago.”
The hushed conversations and speculative whispers died done to a faint hum.
“Where are you, Zack Hutton?”
At the sound of the newspaper photographer’s name, my heart skittered over a few missed beats. And when I saw him step around the corner from the dining room, I felt lightheaded. His hair was brushed back, a light covering of stubble hugged his jaw and his muscular torso pressed against a burgundy polo shirt that he wore untucked over a pair of chinos.
“There you are!” Blanche said. “C’mon over here, you handsome shutterbug!”
Everyone in the room watched Zack stroll up and plant a quick peck on Blanche’s cheek. She smiled cheerfully and directed him to stand beside me.
“Well, then,” she continued. “Many of you already know that I’m opening Crescent Creek’s very first matchmaking service.” Several of the guests nodded and smiled. “For those of you who haven’t heard the news, my new enterprise will be called ‘Whispering Wanda’s World of Romance’ in honor of the blog that I’ve been writing for the past few years.”
“How does she even know the word ‘blog’?” I heard Trent mutter to Dina. “Isn’t that usually something only younger people would—”
“Deputy Chief Walsh?” Blanche shouted. “Do you have something to share with the class?”
Trent’s face turned a memorable shade of cherry with highlights of utter humiliation.
“No, Mrs. Speltzer,” he said meekly. “I’m sorry to interrupt, ma’am.”
“As well you should be,” Blanche said, glaring at him down the length of her nose. “Do you mind terribly if I finish?” she added. “Or would you like to have the floor?”
Trent shook his head and focused his attention on the floor.
“Now then,” Blanche continued. “Where was I?”
Mrs. Swift stepped from the crowd and whispered in Blanche’s ear. After graciously thanking her good friend for the assistance, Blanche proceeded to elaborate on the announcement about her new matchmaking enterprise. Whispering Wanda’s World of Romance would be headquartered in a one-room office in downtown Crescent Creek. It would be open for consultations and inquiries from noon until five o’clock every weekday afternoon. Emergency appointments could be arranged as long as they didn’t interfere with Blanche’s naps, yoga classes or bingo tournaments.
“Whispering Wanda’s will be of the people, by the people and for the people,” Blanche said. “Unless someone is trying to find a suitable breeding companion for their dog or thoroughbred,” she added. “In which case, I will call in one of my veterinarian buddies to lend a hand.”
The crowd chuckled at the joke, but the laughter was brief. Blanche tapped her wine glass with one of her diamond rings to quiet the group.
“To inaugurate my new business,” she said, smiling first at me and then Zack, “I plan to find proper romantic partners for these two darling singletons.”
Zack glanced over and raised one eyebrow. I felt my cheeks grow warm before I looked away. Everyone in the room was staring at us; dozens of curious glances accompanied by a low murmur of whispered remarks. Luckily, before I began to sweat profusely or faint from embarrassment, Blanche raised her glass of wine and toasted not only Zack and me, but everyone in the room.
“Each one of you brightens my days,” Blanche said with a serene smile. “You are as luminous as the noonday sun and as vivid as the stars twinkling in the midnight sky.” She took a tiny sip of wine before lowering her glass. “Very well then,” she added. “Please enjoy the rest of the evening. If you have a chance, take a moment to congratulate Kate and Zack on their exciting opportunity as the first two clients of my new dating service!”
I gave her a quick hug, shook Zack’s hand and made a mad dash back to the corner where Trent and Dina were grinning at me like mischievous children.
“Did you have any idea that was going to happen?” Trent asked.
I glared at him silently.
“I’m guessing that’s a no?” Dina said.
My eyes burned two tiny holes in her forehead. While I was waiting for one of them to apologize for the unbridled glee in their eyes, I saw Zack Hutton navigating the crowded room. He was heading directly for our corner.
CHAPTER 49
“I’m going into the kitchen for another beer,” Zack said after joining us. “Anybody need anything?”
I looked at Trent. He shook his head and said he was leaving soon anyway.
“Be right back,” the handsome photographer said.
“She’ll be right here,” Trent called.
I glowered at him as soon as Zack was gone. “Did you arrange this?”
“Quite possibly,” Trent answered, giving Dina a speedy glance.
“Why?”
“Because I knew that Blanche needed one single guy and one single girl for tonight’s announcement, ” he said. “And because I’ve heard things around town.”
“Like what?”
“Oh, let’s just say that I heard the queen bee of a particular bakery café blushed wildly when a dashing newspaper photographer was taking her picture.”
I glared for a few more seconds before surrendering to the smile that was desperate to appear. Dina excused herself, saying she needed to powder her nose, leaving me alone with Trent.
“Well,” I said after she disappeared into the throng of noisy guests, “that’s very possibly the most gallant thing you’ve ever done, Deputy Chief Walsh.”