“Wow. You’re ready for anything,” Donna said, taking in the supplies cluttering the kitchen island.
Tricia managed a weak laugh. “I just wanted to be prepared. Would you like coffee or tea or a soda?”
Donna shook her head. “Nope. Let’s get to work.”
Donna didn’t have the finesse of the cake decorators on YouTube videos, but she could make a nice-looking rose, and by the time they’d finished their first lesson, Tricia could, too. That, at least, gave her hope. As she stood over her cake and cupcakes with variously tinted ornamentation, she couldn’t help but smile.
“Thanks so much for coming over,” Tricia said as she handed Donna a check.
“Thank you.” Donna waved the piece of paper. “Every little bit helps me get closer to my dream.”
“And what’s that?”
“Opening my own candy shop.”
Tricia smiled. “Funny you should say that. So many people around here have told me they think Stoneham needs a candy store.”
“I wasn’t thinking of locating it here. I thought about opening one in Merrimack.”
“Why there?”
“Rents are lower than in Stoneham or Nashua. There’s a spot in a strip mall that I’ve had my eye on for a while.”
“We’ve got great foot traffic for almost eight months of the year. I think there’d be enough local support to keep you open during the slow months.”
“I don’t think so.”
“What if I knew someone who might give you a break on a lease here in Stoneham?”
Donna shrugged. “I’d have to see the agreement, but it would be closer. I live just outside of Milford. And I know my candy sells here.”
“What do you mean?”
“I have a contract with the Coffee Bean. The candy featured in one of their display cases is all mine.”
“Really?” The Coffee Bean did indeed carry some decadent-looking chocolates, but it was a very small selection and Tricia had never indulged in them.
Donna nodded. “As a matter of fact, I just bought a new candy mold the other day—of little opened books.”
Tricia’s eyes widened. “You haven’t yet made them for the Coffee Bean, have you?”
Donna shook her head. “I haven’t had a chance to try it out. I was thinking I’d make the pages with white chocolate, and then fill in the rest with milk or dark chocolate. They’d be awfully cute, and they’d probably be quite popular in a place known as Booktown.”
They would indeed.
“Would you mind holding off offering them to the Coffee Bean—just until after the Bake-Off?”
Donna positively grinned. “You want to top your cupcake with one of those little books.”
“It would look adorable—and might just give me the edge I need to win, or at least final. It would really help my charity. I’d be willing to make it worth your while.”
“As I understand it, you have to make everything that goes on the cupcake, save for sprinkles, et cetera, and right at the competition.”
Tricia nodded. It sounded like Donna had looked into the rules of the Bake-Off since they’d first spoken. “Pouring melted chocolate into a mold doesn’t sound all that hard.”
“It’s not as easy as you think, at least depending on the quality of the chocolate you want to present. The way I do it has many steps, like tempering the chocolate. But if you only want something the quality of those commercial sampler boxes of chocolate, you can use candy melts, but you won’t be a chocolatier. That takes time and a lot of experience. I’ve been taking classes for years, and I even have a degree in it.”
This woman was really serious about her chocolates.
“I just want to be able to produce a piece of candy that looks cute and will taste good enough to get by. They’re judging the cupcake, hopefully not just the decoration. Would you help me—please?”
Donna looked thoughtful, then shrugged. “Yeah, I guess I can teach you enough to get through the contest, and I can loan you the mold. But only if you promise to give it back right after the Bake-Off.”
“You have my word.”
“Okay. I’ve got time to come over tomorrow morning.”
“Fine, just tell me what ingredients I need to get and I’ll be ready.”
* * *
* * *
After showing Donna out, Tricia returned to her apartment and sent the domed cake plates down the dumbwaiter to her store. The customers never complained when there were free goodies available, although Pixie had mentioned finding a few paperbacks with sticky covers.
Once downstairs, Tricia transferred the cupcakes to the beverage station, setting out a thick wad of paper napkins.
“Yet more practice goodies?” Pixie asked.
“Yes.”
She took a gander. “Whoa! You’re learning to decorate?”
“Just in time for the Bake-Off. What do you think?”
Pixie grinned, her gold canine tooth flashing. “That they look good enough to eat.”
“Help yourself.”
“Don’t mind if I do—but my skirt might have something to say about it. With all this baking you’ve been doing, I’ve had to let a couple of them out.”
“Don’t be silly. You look fantastic.”
Pixie looked down at her vintage pink suit and the chunky white beads that hung around her neck. “I do, don’t I?”
Tricia laughed. “Now you’re beginning to sound like Angelica.”
“I’ll take that as a compliment,” Pixie said, and reached for the glass dome. She set it aside and picked up one of the cupcakes, setting it on a napkin.
“They’re not anything spectacular; just yellow cake, I’m afraid—I’m still trying to decide what recipe I’ll use for the Bake-Off.”
“There are lots of things you could do to make them look even prettier.”
“Like what?”
“Edible sparkles, maybe airbrushing them with different color glazes.”
“You sound like you’ve been boning up on decorating, too.”
Pixie waved a hand in dismissal. “Nah, I just watch too many cooking shows on TV.” She laughed. “Fred says I should stop watching them and get in the kitchen and actually cook for a change.”
“So why don’t you?”
“It would cut into my reading time.”
Which seemed a perfectly reasonable explanation—at least to Tricia.
“I have a quick errand to run. I’ll be back in a few minutes,” Tricia said.
“I’ll be here all day,” Pixie promised.
Tricia left the store, waited for traffic, and then crossed the street, heading for the Coffee Bean. If she was going to ask Angelica about rental space for a candy store, she figured she’d better have a taste of Donna’s product. Apparently, anybody could melt chocolate bits, but making a delectable product was something else. From the sound of it, Donna had the knowledge and the experience. Now to taste test the results.
Only one other person waited to be served when Tricia arrived at the coffee shop, which gave her time to study the chocolates on offer. Each shiny morsel sat in a little brown glassine candy cup. As she’d observed before, there were only eight different kinds of dipped chocolates, half made of milk chocolate and the rest of dark. She’d try them all—or at least buy one of each and share them with Angelica.
It was Alexa herself who was behind the counter that morning. Tricia always enjoyed hearing her Russian accent and thought of her as a friend.
“Tricia, velcome. Vhat can I do for you today?”
“I’d like to buy a box of your chocolates.”
“I vish I could take credit for them. They’re wery nice.”
“I met the woman who said she makes them for you.”
“Yes. Donna North.”
“That’s her.”
“Ve been carrying them for almost a year now.”
“But they don’t sell well?” Tricia guessed.
“Oh, they do. But more people vant cupcakes, brownies, and scones. I vill give her a bigger order closer to the holidays. How many do you vant?”
“One of each, please.”
Alexa donned plastic gloves, withdrew a flattened box, and popped it into its upright position before opening the back of the display case and selecting the chocolates with a piece of baker’s tissue. “I heard you found another one,” she muttered.
“Yes,” Tricia admitted with a sigh. There was no mistaking what Alexa had meant.
“I heard she vas mean to Joyce the day she died.”
“Vera was certainly angry with her on Monday,” Tricia said.
“Joyce could be in serious trouble,” Alexa said, then set the box on top of the counter and tucked in the tabs, closing it. She sealed it shut with a foil sticker that said SWEET AS CAN BE CANDIES. Was that what Donna hoped to call her future shop?
“Wera alvays seemed nice to me. She vanted me to bake doggie treats in bulk. She vent to the Patisserie first; Nikki vas insulted—so Wera came to me before the holidays last year.”
“Did you bake them for her?”
“But of course. Catering is part of our service—people, dogs—who cares? Money is money. She decorated them herself to make them pretty for the pooches at the animal rescue place vhere she wolunteered.”
“I heard about that—I mean, that she volunteered for Pets-A-Plenty. I guess she was well liked there—by most.”
“The director did not like her. They never got along.” Alexa shook her head.
“Oh?”
Alexa nodded knowingly.
“Sounds like you knew Vera quite well.”
“She vas a regular customer. I am wery sorry she has died. It’s newer good to lose a repeat customer.”
Tricia could second that. “How much do I owe you?”
Alexa rang up the sale and Tricia paid. “Are you looking forward to the Bake-Off?”
“I vould like to vin—if only so that I could show off the framed certificate and deprive Nikki of the pleasure.”
No love lost between those competitors.
“I wish you all the luck in the world,” Tricia said.
“It vill be stiff competition, but I am hopeful.”
“See you at the Bake-Off—if not before.”
“Good-bye,” Alexa called.
As she crossed the street, Tricia wondered if she should share the chocolate bounty she’d bought with Pixie and Mr. Everett, but she decided to wait until after Angelica had had an opportunity to sample the chocolates. She had a discerning palate and would be the best judge of its quality. Tricia would buy more if they were as delectable as they looked.
But when she entered Haven’t Got a Clue, Pixie picked up on her purchase thanks to the bag with the store’s logo prominently displayed. “Hey, been over to the Coffee Bean? Checking out the competition?”
“Excuse me?”
“Cupcakes.”
“Uh, no. Chocolates,” Tricia admitted. “They’re made by a local candy maker. I wanted to see if they were good enough for . . .”
“Are you going to invest in a shop?” Pixie asked hopefully.
“Not exactly, but I wanted to get Angelica’s input on the product.”
Pixie nodded. Tricia wasn’t sure if her employee knew about Angelica’s secret life as Nigela Ricita, but if she did—and the same with Mr. Everett and Grace—they never said a word or hinted they suspected the truth. Tricia preferred to keep it that way.
Tricia’s ringtone sounded and she pulled her phone from her pocket, checked the number, and smiled.
“Hello, Beauty,” Marshall said.
“Then you must be the Beast.”
“Only in bed,” he said with a laugh.
“Ha-ha. What’s up?”
“Are you free for lunch?”
“I could be. What did you have in mind?”
“It’s been ages since I had anything even approximating ethnic food. Care for some Mexican or Chinese?”
“Chinese sounds wonderful.”
“I’ll pick you up in ten minutes?”
“I’ll be ready.”
“See ya.”
Tricia hit the end-call icon and smiled.
“Someone’s got a date,” Pixie sang.
“Yeah, and I’d better let Angelica know I won’t be showing up for lunch.” Tricia quickly sent a text.
Not to worry. Will ask Randy to join me. We can talk more about the spa. See you tonight at my place.
Tricia shook her head. “She’s already replaced me with the spa’s new manager.”
“Angelica’s already got a manager?” Pixie asked, sounding surprised.
Tricia nodded. “He sounds extremely competent. They may actually do a soft opening before their official date. They’ve been interviewing nail techs, too. Angelica comes home with a different color polish every day.”
Pixie nodded, looking thoughtful.
“I’d better go grab my purse. I don’t want to keep Marshall waiting once he gets here.”
Tricia found herself smiling as she headed up the stairs to her apartment. A lunch invitation out of the blue was just the thing to perk up her day.
And she wondered if Marshall might have another reason for suggesting a lunch date, too.
FIFTEEN
Marshall’s car appeared right outside Haven’t Got a Clue’s door on time, and Tricia practically hopped in. “So, where are we going?”
“I thought that little place in Merrimack would do,” he said as the car eased away from the curb.
“Oh, yes. I’ve been there before with Angelica.”
“In addition to the regular menu, they have a secret one for authentic Chinese food.”
“I’ve heard some places do that. I guess I’ve never had the real thing.”
“Once you’ve been to China and eaten what the regular person eats, you can’t stomach the Americanized crap anymore, but you’re free to peruse that menu if you wish.”
Tricia glanced askance at her date. “That sounds like a challenge.”
Marshall merely smiled.
The restaurant was located in a mundane strip mall, and Tricia wondered if one of the empty storefronts might have been where Donna had originally anticipated locating her candy operation. They walked through the entrance and were greeted by a giant, gold, smiling Buddha. A young Asian woman led them to their table at the far side of the restaurant. As Tricia sat down, she looked to her left to take in the big saltwater fish tank she remembered from her last visit. The fish swam back and forth and she felt sorry for them. They may have been born in the endless sea, only to end up in what for them was a tiny tank—man’s inhumanity to fish on full display. It reminded her of the beagles in those terrible metal cages at Monterey Bioresources.
“We won’t be needing the menus,” Marshall told the hostess. “We’re going to order something a little more authentic. But we would like to start off with some tea.”
No two-martini lunch for Tricia.
The woman smiled. “Very good. Can I recommend the chicken feet?”
Tricia couldn’t help the involuntary grimace that passed over her features.
“Fantastic. Thanks.”
“Your server will be right back with your tea.” The hostess turned and walked away.
“Chicken feet?” Tricia asked uncertainly.
“Oh, yeah. They’re delicious. They cook them for half of forever so that they’re almost gelatinous. They’re served with a ginger black bean sauce that’s out of this world.”
“I’ll take your word for it,” Tricia said, chagrined.
“Really? You’re not going to
try them?”
“Why don’t we order two dishes and we can share,” she suggested.
“And what were you thinking of getting?”
“Something vegetable based.” Definitely.
“Do you like bok choy?”
“I do, actually.”
“That’s acceptable,” he said in a rather condescending tone.
Oh, really?
The waitress arrived with their tea and some crispy noodles with sides of the usual duck sauce and Chinese mustard. At least Tricia was familiar with those items. Not that she was nervous about trying something unique. Marshall had never steered her wrong when it came to tempting her with new-to-her foods.
Marshall ordered for them, including stir-fried bok choy. Once the waitress had departed, he launched into another subject.
“I had another meeting with Milford Travel this morning. They’re going to let me tag along on one of their guided tours as an unpaid assistant. If I like it, we’ll negotiate some kind of longer-term association.”
“Who’s going to take care of the Armchair Tourist while you’re gone?” Tricia asked.
“I didn’t get a chance to tell you before now, but I’ve decided to hire an assistant manager. I’m going to interview a third candidate today. What do you think?”
“Pixie’s a wonder. I don’t know what I would do without her.” But Tricia could remember when Pixie was just an assistant—and not the assistant manager of her store. Oh, how she missed those days. “If you travel, where will you be going?”
“Ireland. They want to stick to English-speaking countries, at least at first. I would have preferred something a little less pedestrian, but there will be a learning curve, so it makes sense.”
“Uh-huh.”
Tricia listened politely, alternately dipping noodles into the sauce or mustard and sipping her tea while Marshall gave her an in-depth report on his meeting. His enthusiasm made her smile, and she wished she felt that same zeal.
A Killer Edition Page 13