Trifle and Trouble (No-Bake Cozy Mysteries Book 2)

by Ramona Ransom

  “I’ll tell you all about it, I promise,” Nessa told her grandfather. “I’m really looking forward to seeing it in real life. I know the pictures don’t do it justice.”

  Chapter Three

  Nessa hadn’t taken into account how busy The Shack would be for lunch. She offered to pick up something to eat for her grandfather, who was hard at work at the bakery, along with their friends at the insurance company next door. The line to pay was at least a dozen people long, and almost every single table was full both inside and out. The size of Lake Wilawalo definitely didn’t determine how busy the local businesses were because it seemed like everywhere Nessa went, she was waiting in line.

  Oddly, that wasn’t her biggest surprise of the trip. Nessa had never technically worked in food service other than during the summers she’d visited and helped out at her grandparent’s bakery, but she got enough takeout to know that a lunch rush wasn’t the time for a potential employee to apply for a job, and it certainly wasn’t the time for an irate customer to be yelling at the chef. Of course, problems happened, and it would never be okay for a member of staff to tell a customer to wait for a better time to complain, but when Nessa realized that it wasn’t just any customer shouting at the chef, she figured they wanted to do just that.

  She saw one poor waitress running around like a chicken with her head cut off, another trying to explain to a young man that now wasn’t the time to ask for a job application, and the chef being accosted by none other than Ellen. She’d never have known it was her if it wasn’t for the chef kindly saying, ‘okay, Ellen, I understand, Ellen’, over and over. Nessa loved the restaurants that had a big window, allowing her to see the chef cooking her food, but she bet he didn’t feel the same way.

  If she remembered correctly, the chef’s name was Kyle, and she had to give him serious credit for his patience. He flipped burgers, dropped French fries in the fryer, and doted on every plate like it was his only, all the while being screamed at by a crazed woman trying to instruct him how to properly layer a BLT.

  “Just because they named it in that order doesn’t mean it should be placed that way. It simply cannot go, bacon lettuce tomato, it has to be bacon first, so the grease settles into the bread, making it taste less stale, which wouldn’t matter as much if you people ordered bread from the right place. Then you have to put the tomato before the lettuce. No one wants their bread being ruined by soggy tomatoes.”

  “Which is it, lady?” a guy in line to pay shouted. “If you want the bacon grease on the stale bread, then you might as well put the tomato there, too.”

  “Our bread is not stale!” Kyle said, exasperated. “Ellen, you order your BLTs on our crusty French bread. That means the outside of the bread is crusty. That also means it’s not as soft as our regular sandwich bread is. If you’d choose a different bread, all your problems would be solved. And we never put the tomato directly on the bread anyway, which you’d know if you would stop yelling at me for five seconds.”

  Ellen laughed loudly and maniacally. “You all hear this guy? He thinks he can tell me what to do. Meanwhile, he doesn’t know his proverbial crusty bread from his elbow. What a joke.”

  Nessa was appalled that someone would act like that. Kyle worked hard, and he was someone handling her in addition to all of the food orders coming in. He seriously had the patience of a saint.

  Finally, Ellen retreated from the building and went outside to no doubt cause trouble somewhere else. Nessa still had at least six people in front of her in line, but thankfully, the other waitress that had been handing the job applicant was now free to help get the line down. When it was her turn, she apologized to the girl at the counter, dropping a hefty tip in the jar.

  “You didn’t have to do that,” the girl whose name tag read Mallory said. “We’re used to her.”

  “Maybe so, but you shouldn’t have to put up with people like that,” Nessa told her. She let the woman know she was there for a pickup order and wished that whoever the guy was that had come looking for a job would stop off at the bakery. She was probably being picky, but no one who’d applied so far fit the bill. Although, with any knowledge of the foodservice industry, he’d have known not to come in when he had, so maybe she didn’t want him.

  “Crystal, can you grab the lunch order for Lex?” Mallory called to her fellow waitress, who was running around refilling drinks.

  Crystal gave her a thumbs up, letting her know she was on it. Nessa handed her credit card over to Mallory, suddenly aware of the silence around her. “Boy, it got quiet in here, didn’t it?”

  Mallory laughed. “I guess it did. I hardly notice her anymore. I’ve learned to tune her out over the years.”

  Nessa remembered her grandfather saying that The Lunch Bunch had only been meeting at The Shack for months, so she was curious what Mallory meant by over the years.

  “Gosh, she’s been at this for that long?” Nessa asked.

  “She’s my ex-mother-in-law,” Mallory said, sounding both relieved and frustrated.

  “Yikes.” Nessa didn’t know whether to apologize or laugh. There was absolutely no way she could deal with someone like that on a daily basis, and she was already trying to figure a way out of ever having them meet at the bakery.

  “You’re telling me,” Mallory said, passing Nessa back her credit card. “If you want to wait over there, Crystal will bring your food right out. Tell Lex I said hi, and if you’re the one who will be delivering the food to the insurance company, tell Brian and Lizzie the same.”

  Nessa took the card, staring at the woman. “How did you know it was for them?” she asked.

  “I’ve worked here for a long time. I know what everyone gets. Lex got the tuna on rye with extra pickles. Brian got the meatball grinder, and Lizzie the banana nut muffin with two sides of extra crispy bacon. That leaves the patty melt, which must belong to you.” She winked. “I’ll remember your order next time as well.”

  Nessa continued to stare in awe. “I still don’t know how you do that because both my grandfather and Brian couldn’t decide what to order. What if they don’t choose the same thing every time?”

  “I know that, too. Trust me. It’s a gift.” Mallory laughed and waved the next person in the line up to her. “Have a nice day, Nessa. And before you ask me how I knew that, I saw your name on the credit card.”

  She smiled, thinking about small-town life. As she waited for her food, she wondered if her grandfather and Faye knew what their regular customers ordered or if she was expected to remember them herself. She knew it would take time but promised herself she’d learn because of what she’d just experienced with Mallory. She couldn’t believe how much the woman knew about her customers, and Nessa wanted her own customers to feel the same way about her. Maybe the next time she came to The Shack, she’d get some tips from Mallory if they were less busy.

  Crystal finally arrived with her bag of food, and Nessa was off to the bakery, ready to tell her grandfather all about her eventful trip to The Shack and just how many different ways she’d come up with to make certain that The Lunch Bunch didn’t meet there. She didn’t mean to be ungrateful, but the idea of knowingly bringing someone in who was going to cause trouble didn’t seem like a great plan.

  Chapter Four

  Nessa heard her alarm go off, and after grumbling for a minute, she reached her slender arm out from under her cozy cave of blankets. She felt around for her screaming phone, angry that she had to wake up. She laid in bed a minute longer before jumping up, remembering that it wasn’t 3 am and she was going to look at the house she loved so much.

  Quickly showering and getting herself ready, she went downstairs in search of something to eat. Thankfully, her grandfather had thought ahead. She read the note he left on the table for her that instructed her to open the microwave where she’d find her breakfast. Curious, she did as she was told and found a box from the bakery inside.

  “Grandpa!” she said to herself. “You’re a lifesaver.” Nessa took out the
cranberry orange loaf from the box and cut herself two slices. She added a little butter to each piece and put them back in the microwave to warm them.

  As she ate, she thought about her plans for the day. After she met with the realtor, she was supposed to come back home and plan out her next no-bake recipe. Of course, her first one hadn’t been a recipe at all when she started, but she’d found a great empty recipe book at the thrift store and carefully written down every step she’d taken when she made her very first no-bake creation. Her grandfather had loving named it the Best No-Bake Éclair Cake in New England, but Nessa simply called it Éclair cake. It was good, but not the best, and she knew that. She could have done way better and intended to do that on her next quest.

  Nessa finished her breakfast, took a to-go mug of coffee with her, and hopped into her spitfire orange Jeep. She loved her vehicle, even if it was bright and a little over the top. One good thing about moving to Lake Wilawalo was that she didn’t need a map or a GPS. She knew where everything was.

  The air was chilly but still a bit warmer than it had been recently, and since she’d bundled up in her favorite sweater, Nessa rolled the windows down and put on her favorite playlist to blast through the speakers. She was on her way to see her dream home and couldn’t be more excited. She didn’t need music to pump her up, but it didn’t hurt.

  As she drove through the streets of downtown Lake Wilawalo, Nessa enjoyed every single thing there was to see. Everyone she passed looked happy, and that felt so good. Granger was nice, but life on the lake was different. Somehow it felt like much more of a carefree and lively place to be.

  Finally on Lady Lake Avenue, she felt herself become even more excited. Her heart raced a little faster as she pulled into the driveway, making sure to turn down the music as not to disrupt the neighborhood. If there was any chance she would live there, she didn’t need to be known as the woman who drove the orange Jeep and listened to her music too loudly. The house was exactly as she remembered it. The blustery-sky blue, 2600 square foot, split-level home was just as perfect as it had always been. She was in love before she even stepped foot out of her Jeep.

  Nessa got out and looked around, not seeing her realtor’s vehicle there or any vehicle at all. She looked at her phone, making sure she hadn’t arrived too early. She hadn’t. It was ten o’clock on the dot, exactly when they were supposed to meet. While Nessa had purchased a house before, she had no idea how realtors worked. She was pretty sure they sometimes arrived early to set up the house or make it smell like cookies or something. While the cookie smell would have been a nice touch, she really just wanted her realtor to have shown up for the appointment.

  Walking around the property, she saw that most of the outside looked okay, but the roof needed work, and so did the in-law apartment. The pool was closed up for the season, but the patio area around it was inviting and just as she’d hoped. The previous owner had strung lights around the pergola and left all of the outdoor furniture behind, which was fine by her. Nessa explored a while longer before hearing her phone ring. She took the call, disappointed in the result. Her realtor had a sudden family emergency and wouldn’t be able to show her the house. She suggested going over to the neighbor’s home as they had a spare key just in case something happened. Her realtor assured her that the neighbor was good friends with the owner and wouldn’t mind a bit.

  Nessa ended the call before looking around a little more and trying to decide if it was worth bothering the neighbor when she heard a familiar scream. She knew it was bad when she found someone’s scream to be familiar.

  “Nessa Pierce, for the love of everything good in this world, please tell me you aren’t the person the realtor just called about.” Bizzie Eadler, one of her least favorite people in the world, came stomping over to her.

  “You’re the neighbor?” Nessa asked, hoping there was some confusion.

  “You’re the potential buyer?” Bizzie groaned, putting the set of keys she had back into her purse. “I don’t think this is such a good idea.”

  “What?” Nessa laughed uncomfortably. “Showing me the house or me moving in next door?”

  “Umm, both?” Bizzie answered. “It’s bad enough we have to work together now.”

  Nessa didn’t know how to reply to that. After finding out that Bizzie had asked her grandparents not to sell cookies in their bakery so that she could have less competition at her own business, Bizzie’s Cookie Cottage, Nessa had done what she thought was something nice. She offered to buy cookies for the bakery once she officially took over. Clearly, Bizzie hadn’t appreciated the offer.

  “Well, I’m more than happy to rescind. I don’t have to buy cookies from you.”

  Bizzie huffed, realizing how what she’d said had come out. “I’m happy to sell you my cookies, but you have to agree that us working together and being neighbors sounds a little like the worst thing in the world to happen to either one of us.”

  It did sound pretty awful, Nessa agreed, but that didn’t mean anything. She still loved the house, no matter who the neighbors were.

  “The only thing I’ll admit right now is that it’s probably best you aren’t the one to show me the house. I’ll make another appointment with the realtor. I don’t want you to show me all the reasons why I shouldn’t move in.”

  “That’s probably a good idea,” Bizzie said, turning to go. “Oh, Daniel never told me what you thought about the cookies you ordered last week. I figured there was no way possible that you disliked them, but you just didn’t want to have to admit to me that you actually enjoyed something I made. Either that or you’re jealous that I can bake and you can’t.” She shrugged and smirked, and Nessa wasn’t sure which had annoyed her more.

  “Bizzie, if I thought your cookies were gross, I wouldn’t have offered to buy them for the bakery. They’re good. He probably didn’t want to tell you because it’s easier to avoid talking about me than dealing with whatever it is you have to say.”

  “True. He probably didn’t say anything because I made him swear I’d never have to hear about any of the dates you go on. Normally, I’m very interested in hearing about my brother’s life, but since you’ve been in it, I’m doing my best to ignore nearly every aspect.”

  “You poor soul.” Nessa rolled her eyes as far back as they’d go. “Don’t forget our upcoming meeting. We’ll be planning an order for the bakery from your shop. I’m thinking it’ll be a big one, so get ready.”

  She could see how hard it was for Bizzie to respond to that. She so desperately wanted to keep being snarky, but a big order for her cookie shop didn’t exactly warrant that. Once Bizzie was on her way back to her house, Nessa got into her Jeep and drove home, ready to drown out her sorrows about the house in her next no-bake recipe.

  Chapter Five

  “Welcome to Juniors Chop House,” the young host said, opening the door for her and Daniel. They’d chosen to go to a nice dinner at a popular steakhouse just outside of town. It was Nessa’s first time there, as it had only been open for about a year.

  “Thank you. We have a reservation for two under Eadler,” Daniel said, taking the lead.

  The host showed them to their table, assuring them their server would be with them soon. As they browsed their menus, they chatted briefly about their respective days, Nessa choosing to leave out the part about Bizzie for now. She wanted to start their date on a good note, and it was also important to her that she not spend all her time complaining about Bizzie to him. They were brother and sister, and it wasn’t a good look for Nessa to do something like that. It also wouldn’t be fair to him to have to listen to it from both ends.

  Once their server arrived, they placed their orders, Daniel a 24 ounce Ribeye and Nessa a 14 ounce New York strip. While they waited for their meals, they each enjoyed a glass of red wine.

  “Want to hear about my latest no-bake recipe?” she asked, eager to tell him.

  “Of course.”

  She rattled off her idea of a chocolate orange trifle. S
he’d found a ready-made custard and chocolate swiss roll from one of the vendors that her grandfather used at the bakery. While they didn’t typically order things like that, Nessa was going to give it a try. She told him about how she’d mix the custard with chocolate and then make an orange-flavored whipped cream that she’d yet to figure out before she’d begin to build the trifle. She planned on putting the ready-made swiss cake roll along the edges of the dish, then adding the custard until it was built to her liking. She’d top it with the orange cream and some grated chocolate.

  “What do you think?” Nessa asked, feeling hopeful her idea wasn’t a total wreck.

  “There’s only one thing I can think of that would make it better,” he said, a twinkle in his eyes.

  Her heart leaped to her throat. “What?” she croaked. She’d thought her idea was great and worried that she’d missed something obvious.

  “You probably won’t remember this, but one year around Christmastime, I came into the bakery with my parents. They ended up talking for over an hour with Lex and Maude, and I was so bored. I knew you were in the kitchen doing something way cooler than I was, and I wanted so badly to go back there with you. Eventually, your grandmother made the offer. She set us up in the back with those chocolate orange things.” Daniel grinned at the memory but looked nervously at Nessa.

  She remembered the day well. Her grandmother always gave a slice of the chocolate orange to the kids at the bakery, and once it caught on, kids came in left and right for a slice. She had Nessa open and crack each of the oranges into slices and bag them up for the kids. That’s what she’d tasked her and Daniel with that day all those years ago.

  “I remember,” Nessa said quietly. “I had no idea you did, though.”

  “Of course, I do. That was so much fun. I still buy one of those oranges every time I see one. Remember how we kept stealing slices for ourselves?” He laughed.