by Sandi Scott
“Seagrass has managed to support tourism without losing the charm and serenity of a small Gulf Coast fishing town. That’s no easy feat, especially since we do so while preserving our wonderful environment and natural resources.” More applause came from the audience.
Ashley grinned and nodded as she taste-tested her ginger-laced glacé cherries. “Amen, sister.”
“While the larger port cities cater to spring-breakers and industrial interests, weekend warriors flock to Seagrass’s historic, beachside inns and quaint villas on the Colorado River. We have to ensure that any business entities seeking a foothold in our beautiful city do not destroy the area’s delicate ecosystems.”
A male voice called out, “Bravo!” Many bouts of laughter and copycats repeating his exclamation rang out in the banquet hall.
Patty responded with an excited burst of clapping. “Might I add, with that surge of upscale clientele here in Seagrass—in a culinary scene dominated by fast food franchises—we are very lucky to have tapped into the market of fine dining and catering, the delicate ecosystems notwithstanding?”
She squinted through the window. “Oh, they’ve got the dessert table arrangement all wrong, even after I drew them a labeled diagram. These mess-hall waiters will be the death of me!”
Parisian waiters would generally undergo years of training in fine dining service, so all waiters were especially subject to Patty’s scrutiny. A twinkle cracked the icy surface of her blue eyes. “Why don’t you go and make it right, before the speech is over?”
Ashley peered nervously into the dimly lit dining room. A man was standing in the hallway near the dessert table, rather than sitting around the dining tables like everyone else. Ashley recognized the outline of his messy, brown curls. She turned to busy herself with cleaning up. “Maybe you should go and make sure it’s done right.”
Patty grabbed her arm with the speed and ruthlessness of a snake sinking fangs into its prey. “Oh, no, you don’t. I caught you sneaking peeks at him during cocktail hour. Now you have to go, and then tell me all about him. That’s how it works.”
She pointed at Ashley with the authority that only French-trained head chefs could master, almost poking out the eye of a straggling waiter.
“Patty, I’ve already told you about Ryan.”
“Not the important stuff. All I know is that you worked a dead-end IT job together before you came to Paris. Those are the facts—I want the feels.”
Ashley smiled as she remembered.
“You know, we had a lot of fun in that basement office. We called ourselves the ‘Below-Grounders against the Above-Grounders.’ Most of the people we helped couldn’t figure out the most basic of tasks, like the relationship between their computer’s power cord and the need to actually plug it into the outlet, and Ryan and I kept each other sane. But he had a girlfriend and I was with Serge at the time, so there were no feels, Patty.”
“Sounds so romantic.” Patty scoffed, stirring her au jus.
“Romance is relative, snooty-pants.” Ashley retorted as she made her way to the door.
Patty laughed. “Anyway, what’s he doing here? Unless he just can’t stand to be away from you.”
“The news station sponsoring the banquet is one of his clients. He has his own web design and IT business now, so it has nothing to do with me, if you must know.” She tried brushing off the layer of flour that clung to her chef jacket. “He was a good friend, and when I left for Paris, it was—abrupt. I never got to say a proper goodbye.”
Patty raised an eyebrow. “You two seem to have put that past you, seeing as he basically got both of us this ‘magnifique’ banquet tonight.”
Ashley chuckled. “Forgive and forget, I suppose.” She didn’t need to see Patty’s face to know what look she was giving her. “Okay.You’re right. I suppose I shouldn’t leave without thanking him for getting us this gig.”
“Wait.” Patty held up her finger as she looked critically at Ashley’s uniform.
“Are you kidding me?” Ashley held out her arms for examination, knowing that resistance was futile. “This is a quarantined uniform. You’ve already inspected it.”
“Dog hair is the most cunning and persistent contagion of all, hiding until it’s safe to disperse and multiply.” Patty’s nostrils flared as she leaned closer.
Ashley sighed, thinking it might have been easier to keep her dog Dizzy plastic-wrapped at all times.
“I get that this is a most upscale—Hey! Whoa! Are you sniffing me? Have you no shame?”
“I’m a chef. I can sniff out a single dog hair better than a dog can—and that single hair can ruin a whole dish—but never mind, you’re clear.” She smoothed Ashley’s uniform with her hands,then tapped her on the shoulders, signaling the all-clear.
Laughing, Ashley pushed the door open and made her way to the tables to rearrange her desserts.
“Ma’am, are you lost?” a voice whispered from the hallway. Even though she couldn’t see him, she heard Ryan’s smile in his voice.
While some people possessed “resting grumpy faces,” Ashley had the curse of the “resting lost face.” Even after she had been working at her old job for years, the Above-Grounders had continued to ask if she needed help finding the cafeteria.
“Hmm, well, I think I can find my way back to the kitchen, but luckily, there’s this weirdo lurking in the darkness to help me if I can’t find my way,” Ashley whispered back as she joined him, leaning casually against the mahogany-paneled wood.
Ryan sniggered. “I ducked out to the bathroom when they served the entrees. I made the mistake of telling my table I worked in IT, and then they all wanted my help uploading pictures of their food.”
Ashley laughed. “Must have been out-of-towners. I haven’t even had one local put me on tech-support speed dial after telling them I used to work with computers. I think most of them are too stubborn to ask for help.”
He leaned into the light enough for Ashley to reacquaint herself with his blue eyes.
“Yeah, they were Houstoners. Three CEOs, a neurosurgeon and a law firm partner at my table, and yet picking a photo filter is apparently too high-stakes of a call to make themselves.” He motioned toward a far table. “There is one local here who’s guilty of calling me for free tech-support. My college buddy—he owns a construction company here—Eddie Vay. I think you know him, actually.”
“Oh, yeah,” Ashley replied, faking a smile rather than saying more.
She’d never cared for Eddie, who had cut off one of her pigtails when she was in second grade. As an adult, he’d run most of the area’s smaller construction companies, like her father’s, out of business, undercutting them on price in ways that no one could understand. Ashley hadn’t talked to Eddie in years; now that she was back in Seagrass, she was in no hurry to do so.
She heard the back door down the hall close softly. A petite woman peeked around the corner.
“Is she almost done?”
It was Colleen Abramson, the secretary of Bobby McCay who was not only the father of Hope, the speaker, but also one of the largest real estate holders in the county. Known for her cheery disposition and tight spiral curls, Colleen was now almost unrecognizable with a messy ponytail and agitation crowding her face.
They all stared at the podium where Hope, with her knack for public speaking, was gracefully enunciating every syllable without losing her smile.
“But as we move forward, Seagrass can stand with pride, embracing the future without losing the past. That’s why I will make sure that any developers who do business here in Seagrass adhere to the same values that we, the people of Seagrass, have and hold dear. I have a four-part plan I’d like to share with you.”
Ashley finally answered Colleen’s question. “Sounds like she still has most of the speech left. Is everything okay?”
“Oh.” Startled, Colleen shook her head as if she’d forgotten where they were. “No, yeah, it’s fine.” She turned to leave but then stopped, seeming to be deep in t
hought. Turning back, she smiled apologetically at Ashley.
“Say, would it be too much to ask for the desserts to be served straight after Hope’s done up there? I only ask as Bobby is getting a little tired. Even though he loves his little girl and he wanted to stay for her speech, I can tell that he’s ready to turn in. Is that okay?”
“Sure. We’re all ready to rock and roll, honey.”
Colleen smiled. “Thanks.” Then she dashed off in a hurry to wait by the bathroom door, reading and typing on her phone with agitation.
“Looks like someone needs a cream puff.” Ryan quipped.
Ashley grabbed the sleeve of a passing waiter.
“Let’s get the desserts delivered to the McKay table first—straight after the speech, okay? Then you can go on with the rest.”
He nodded and darted off to the kitchen without a word.
Ashley shifted her feet, causing her “no-slip” kitchen shoes to grip the wooden floor in a way that somehow tangled her legs, making her fall all over herself. Ryan chuckled and helped her up. For an ITguy, his hands were surprisingly rough with calluses on his palms from weightlifting.
“Still tripping over nothing, I see,” Ryan teased.
Feeling the blush start, she acted like there was something she had to do in the kitchen and headed straight to the bathroom. A lifetime of tripping over herself in public had taught her that the privacy of a stall was the best place to recover from the embarrassment.
Way to be smooth, Ash, she thought as she checked herself in the mirror first, glad that her crimson cheeks were the worst of it. Despite spending the last few hours rushing around a hot kitchen, she’d managed to look somewhat presentable for her venture out into the “guest” side of the banquet. She’d pulled her chocolate-brown bob into a ponytail for work, and by the end of the night it was always exactly where she’d left it. She used to hate having hair too stubbornly straight to hold a curl, but its willfulness came in handy in her line of work.
She had only been in the stall a minute before the bathroom door was wrenched open, and she heard hushed, panicked voices. Once the door closed, the yelling started.
“You have to delete it! Forget you ever saw it. That email has nothing to do with you and me!” a man’s voice said.
“I beg to differ,” a female voice replied between sniffles. Through the crack, Ashley recognized the woman as Colleen, but she couldn’t see the man.
“It has a lot to do with us and our future here in Seagrass. Plus, he’s my boss—when it gets out, people will be shocked. What if they think I…”
Ashley sat, frozen to the seat. She wondered how long her legs, which she had lifted to keep her feet above the gap between the floor and the stall door, could stand it.
“Well, you don’t have to be the one to tell.”
“I’m not asking, Colleen; I’m warning you. This email is none of your business, and you’d best leave it alone.”
Ashley heard his fast footsteps and then the heavy bathroom door closing. She peeked back through the crack to see Colleen folded over the counter, crying angrily into her hands. Ashley was torn between comforting her and not wanting her to feel embarrassed that she’d been overheard, but her legs were shaking and she couldn’t hold them up much longer. Just as she resolved to come out of the stall, Colleen washed her face quickly and left the bathroom.
Someone really does need a cream puff, Ashley thought. She looked in the bathroom mirror while shaking the lactic acid out of her leg muscles. Who was Colleen talking to and what on earth could be in that email? Ashley knew Colleen’s boss was Bobby McCay, but she couldn’t even begin to guess what kind of secret he had that could be so shocking,nor could Ashley figure out who the man trying to protect Bobby was. It was a mystery, but Ashley saw no reason to poke her nose where it didn’t belong. When she made her way out of the bathroom and down the hallway nearly colliding with Colleen, who was still staring at her phone and pacing, Ashley bit her tongue, smiled and pretended that she hadn’t heard a thing.
“Oh, I’m sorry! I’m so busy, I don’t know if I’m coming or going.” Colleen didn’t seem to suspect Ashley had overheard the argument. “I talked with the waiters,” she continued. “They’re ready to serve the desserts right after Hope is done.”
“That’s great,” Colleen said with a weak smile. “Thank you.”
Ashley smiled back. “Well, I hope everyone liked our food.”
Colleen nodded but kept glancing at her phone. “Of course they did. You’re a great chef.”
“Are you okay?” Ashley dared to ask.
“Sure. Why?”
“Oh, nothing. You just seem upset or something.”
The women locked eyes with each other for a moment before Colleen revealed a more convincing grin.
“Don’t worry about me, sweetie. It’s just been a long day, and Bobby can be very demanding. Actually—speaking of Bobby—I must go.”
Ashley watched Colleen take off, only to stop and linger by the banquet hall door. Moments later, the lights brightened, signaling the end of the speech. Heads immediately turned to the dessert table, like sharks smelling blood. A crowd formed around the croquembouche, some taking pictures of Ashley’s masterpiece.
She didn’t mind the food photography phenomenon. Patty always said that cuisine’s fleeting nature was what made it such a beautiful art; after painstakingly placing carnation petals and clover blossoms between the spun caramel, Ashley liked knowing that her work would be immortalized before disappearing down those rich gullets forever.
The next day, Ashley pulled in to the back entrance of the Gulf Coast Women’s Club, mentally replaying the highlights of their biggest cateringjob yet. Her only regret was that she had not seen Ryan again after she tripped over herself and hid in the bathroom; she found herself wishing she could have told him about some of the hilarious kitchen bloopers of the night. The dessert spread had been such a hit that she’d been too distracted with all the compliments to clean up properly, accidentally leaving behind a few baking trays.
She made her way into the kitchen and grabbed the trays. The kitchen door swung open, startling her. All the pans fell out of her grasp and clattered on the floor.
“Ashley? What’re you doing here?”
It was Sheriff Mueller, staring at her with a look of apprehension. Seagrass had always been such a peaceful town, so the odd time something did happen, it could be seen on Old Man Mueller’s face. Also, the fact that he wasn’t at the diner drinking coffee and brushing breakfast crumbs from his grey stubble, like every other morning, meant that something really bad had happened.
“I’m getting my pans. What’s wrong?”
His eyebrows scrunched together, wrinkling his forehead even more.
“You were here for the event last night, and you cooked the food?”
She nodded. “The desserts.”
“Why don’t you come out here with me?”
His tone was serious, but Ashley had always found a southern drawl comforting. She felt that if you had to get bad news, at least it sounded better blanketed with an accent.
A crowd of Seagrass’s small police force was gathered in front of the side hallway, which was blocked off with caution tape.
“We’re waitin’ for the state police to get here for forensics,” Mueller offered, taking a notebook from his pocket. “Would you mind answering a few questions?”
“Uh, what’s this about?” She crossed her arms, wishing that she hadn’t thrown on sweatpants and a Texans jersey.
He sighed, putting a hand on her shoulder.
“Colleen Abramson fell ill at the dinner last night. Someone found her in the bathroom this morning—deceased.”
Her mind raced with questions. “Colleen? Dead? I just saw her. Talked with her. I stood right in front of her. How could she suddenly be dead?”
“We don’t know much yet. Bobby says she grew ill near the end of the night and left to go to the bathroom. There was a miscommunication, and ever
yone at her table assumed that someone else had seen her home.”
“They just left her there?” Ashley’s hand rose to her forehead, “and no one found her till morning?”
“I know. Bobby feels terrible,” the sheriff said, “but by all accounts, it seems it was an honest mistake.”
She felt guilty about her harsh tone, knowing that Mr. McCay would be a million times harder on himself. Her eyes were welling with tears.
“I know this is hard, but there’s some things I need to ask you.” Mueller hesitated. “Please understand, I’ve gotta ask these questions. It’s my job.”
Ashley wiped her eyes with her sleeve. “Okay.”
“Now, by all accounts, Colleen was a healthy young lady, but who knows, it coulda been a heart attack or something.” He placed his hand on her shoulder again. “Still, I gotta ask. You made the dessert, right?”
“What?” Ashley was confused by the question. What did she have to do with any of this?
Mueller grimaced. “They said all Colleen had to eat was dessert. And then—well, she got sick. I need to know what ingredients were in the cream puffs, and you need to confirm that you used proper food safety protocol to make them.”
“What kind of question is that?” She could feel the heat rising up her chest into her neck. “Of course I did. I am trained by a world-renowned chef, you know. She’s the best in the business.”
She knew that it wasn’t Mueller’s fault, yet she couldn’t help raising her voice. It didn’t matter how good the food was; any murmurs of a sick guest could cripple a catering business, not to mention a baker’s reputation. She took a deep breath.
“What I mean—what I mean is that my food safety standards are among the highest you’ll find.”
“Even so,” said Mueller, “I just need to get this information in order to rule it out.”
Ashley rattled off the recipe from memory. “Flour, eggs, butter, sugar—” You couldn’t get any more basic than the standard pastry and cream filling recipe. The decorative flowers came from an organic grower, free of all pesticides and herbicides, and double washed with her own hands. It couldn’t be her fault, could it?