She didn’t have a lot of hope that the police were going to pull out all stops for this investigation. Since there was no evidence of a break-in, at least according to the police officer who’d written up the report, she suspected they thought she was behind this act of destruction, though for what purpose she had no clue, since her insurance wouldn’t even cover the cost of most of her equipment. She’d only been able to afford the skimpiest policy, telling herself that when she was established, she’d get a new policy with better coverage. Fortunately, what little cash she had had been in her backpack, so robbery for financial gain couldn’t possibly be a motive. She crossed her fingers that the culprit of such mass destruction would be apprehended and punished according to the law.
Loving the feel of the Land Rover, Jamie smiled again. Her entire world was a brighter and much better place because of a kind and generous woman who liked her pralines. Who would’ve thought? Somehow, she knew her grandmother was looking down on her, giving her that silly little wink she’d been so well known for.
She was going to spend the day helping Pete and the crew he’d hired to clean the bakery. It was the least she could do, especially now that she had a partner who had virtually given her carte blanche to do as she pleased. Yesterday Jamie had ordered the new ovens and the mixer, along with a new display case that she’d gotten for half price because it was a return. She would cut corners in any way possible, except on the quality of her ingredients. She’d lost a couple of hundred pounds of flour, which was easily replaceable from her local supplier, but fortunately the vandals had left her large array of spices, flavorings, decorating tools and materials untouched. The fondant used for elaborate decorating remained in the large walk-in refrigerator. Jamie was grateful, as those ingredients, at least the top-of-the-line brands she insisted on, didn’t come cheap.
When she arrived at the bakery, a team of professionals had already removed all the mess from the floor. The smashed mixer, along with the useless ovens, was piled in the back of a large truck.
She spied a man in his early fifties, wearing a cap that read GARDENERS DO IT ON THEIR KNEES. Smiling, knowing this had to be Pete, she went to introduce herself.
“I’m Jamie, owner . . . half owner of this catastrophe. You must be Pete,” Jamie said, holding out her hand.
He took her hand, his grip firm enough without being painful. “You’re the one staying in the guesthouse, aren’t you?” Pete asked.
Worried that Pete might think she was taking advantage of Toots, she nodded. “Yes, and I really can’t tell you how much she’s done for me. That’s why I came today. I want to pitch in wherever I’m needed.”
Pete expressed his agreement with a quick nod, then pointed to what used to be her baking sheets piled high in a corner. “I was going to take those to be recycled. You know where the recycling center is?”
“No, but if you tell me, I’ll find it. The Land Rover has a GPS.”
“You driving Toots’s car, too?” Pete asked.
Jamie felt uncomfortable under his scrutiny. It wasn’t like she’d asked for any help. “Yes, I have her car, too. She insisted I use it since it’s gathering dust in the garage. I always heard it was better to drive a car now and again. Letting one sit idle too long causes all sorts of problems.”
“That’d be Toots. Has that Lincoln. Likes it better than the Rover. You need it gassed up, you just let me know. I keep the cars ready just in case.”
She wanted to ask, “In case of what?” but refrained. Jamie supposed this was Pete’s way of an apology of sorts. Not wanting to interfere in his relationship with Toots, Jamie spoke up. “I’ll be sure to do that, though I won’t be driving unless I have to pick up supplies. I have my bike. That’s my personal preference in transportation as far as travel goes, but I like the exercise.”
“Can’t move heavy-duty stuff on a bike,” Pete said. “Back that Rover up over there.” He pointed to the alley behind the bakery. “I’ll load this up, and you can be on your way.”
Jamie returned to the car and made fast work of backing the Land Rover into the alley. Within minutes, Pete filled the back of the Land Rover with four dark green construction bags. Removing a stubby pencil from his shirt pocket, he scribbled the address for the recycling center on a business card. “You plan on coming back when you’re finished?” Pete asked, handing her the card.
“Of course,” Jamie said, shifting the gearshift into drive.
“There’s really no need. The drywall guys are gonna patch the walls. They’ll need to dry overnight. Ain’t any reason for you to be here,” Pete said, nodding in the bakery’s direction.
Biting her tongue, Jamie said, “I suppose I could go back to Toots’s and bake cookies all day. Maybe I’ll make a strawberry shortcake.” She tapped her finger against the steering wheel. “The possibilities are endless. I don’t suppose you or the guys”—she nodded just as he had—“would want an afternoon snack, maybe something to take home for dessert tonight?” Pressing down on the accelerator just enough to move the vehicle an inch, Jamie let off the gas when she saw the change that came over Pete.
“What kinda cookies are we talking about?” he asked.
Jamie smiled. It worked every time. That old adage saying the way to a man’s heart is through his stomach is so true, she thought. “What’s your favorite?”
Please not oatmeal-raisin. Not that she didn’t like oatmeal-raisin cookies, but she had just baked six dozen for Toots’s friend in California and really wanted to try a new recipe she’d seen in a magazine.
“Anything, as long as it don’t have raisins,” Pete said.
Jamie wanted to kiss the man but knew that if she did, he’d think her more strange than he did already. “I’ll surprise you. And I promise, no raisins.” She pushed on the gas, inching down the alley until she reached the main street. At a traffic light, she quickly punched in the address on the back of the business card. The female drone told her she had 6.8 miles to her final destination. Jamie hated these impersonal voices. Why didn’t someone come up with a GPS that you could program with your own voice rather than just the typical aggravating male voice or the stern female? The light changed, and Jamie pictured the woman, or rather the voice from the GPS, as a strict schoolmarm type. When you made a wrong turn, she definitely let you know.
Jamie arrived at the recycling center. A guy who was probably close to her age removed the dark green bags from the rear of the vehicle, gave her a slip of paper, and told her to go to the office if she wanted to collect her money.
“Money?” Jamie inquired.
“Money. You know, the green stuff? Scrap metal. You get money for it.” The guy stared at her like she was from another planet.
“Actually I thought I was disposing of a bunch of broken pans.” Should she take the money? Of course she should. It could be used to replace the baking sheets. “Point me in the direction of the office.”
The guy told her to drive back the way she came in, but, instead of taking a right, to take a left. She would see the small brick building where the word office was spelled out in giant aluminum letters.
She thanked him, found the office, where she gave the slip of paper to an older woman engrossed in a soap opera on a small black-and-white portable television set. The woman, unhappy at the interruption, smacked two twenty-dollar bills, a five, and three pennies in the palm of her hand.
“Thanks,” Jamie muttered. She left the office, leaving the woman to her afternoon addiction. Counting the money in her hand, she stuffed it in her pocket, realizing it would cover only half the cost of one good baking sheet. Back in the car, she thought she should’ve sprung for the better insurance coverage. It was too late now.
Heading back to the guesthouse, as she referred to it, she made a quick stop at Publix, where she purchased the makings for the recipe for the cookies she’d seen in a magazine, grabbing three pints of fresh strawberries to top the shortcake. She guessed Toots and the girls wouldn’t mind a dessert. It was the l
east she could do. No, it isn’t, she thought when she remembered that the reason she was here now was because Toots adored her pralines. She raced back through the store for ingredients to make pralines.
She arrived back at the guesthouse and unloaded her groceries. She removed three plastic mixing bowls from the kitchen cabinets, a handheld mixer, and got to work. Mixing butter, cream, and pecans with her grandmother’s secret ingredient completed the prep for the pralines. Secondly, she mixed the new cookie concoction, and for the next two hours, with only two small baking sheets, she alternately used them for the cookies and the pralines. When she finished, she made shortcake for the strawberries for later.
Using one of the leftover Rubbermaid containers Toots had purchased, she packed up the cookies, tucked a few pralines in foil, then drove back to the bakery. By the time she arrived, Pete and two men, whom she assumed were the drywall guys, were cleaning trowels and mud buckets.
“I was about to think you’d run out on me,” Pete said.
“Never.” Jamie gave him the container of cookies and the foil-wrapped package. “This should keep your sweet tooth satisfied for another day or two.”
“Hmm, I suppose so. We’re about finished for the night. Toots gave me her key, so I can lock up if you want me to.”
“No, actually I wanted to stick around for a while. I need to go through what’s left of my inventory. So go ahead. I’ll close up. And, Pete, thanks for doing the cleanup so quickly. Toots said I would be back in business in a matter of days. And she was right.”
“The lady is smart. If she says it’s so, then it is,” Pete said.
The two drywall workers had remained silent during their interchange. Packing up their tools, they called “See you later” to Pete; he gave them a quick wave, then turned to Jamie. “You sure you want to stay here after what’s happened?” Pete said.
Jamie truly hadn’t given much thought to her safety. Several other shops that flanked the bakery were still open, so she felt reasonably safe. And besides, it wasn’t that late. “I’ll be okay. It shouldn’t take me too long to make a list of what I have and what I don’t have. But thanks for asking,” Jamie replied.
Pete gathered a clipboard piled high with papers, gave his usual nod, then left through the one and only exit. As soon as the door closed behind him, she clicked the dead bolt in place. Even though it wasn’t quite completely dark outside, she ran through the front of the bakery, clicking on every light possible, just in case.
There was a small room in the kitchen, next to the giant refrigerator, that had, according to family history, always been used for refrigeration. Jamie knew from her grandmother that throughout the years, the place had been used for one line of business or another that required refrigeration. When it had come time for her to open her bakery, the refrigeration system was old and outdated but in working condition. Another item she had added to her list of updates as soon as she felt she was established financially. Giant refrigerators and walk-in freezers were not in her budget. Even though Toots had given her carte blanche, she wasn’t about to ask her to tackle an extra expense when it wasn’t needed. The small room where she kept all her baking supplies, or at least the intricate ones, might have been used as a butler’s pantry at one time. Floor-to-ceiling shelves lined three walls. A single light-bulb barely provided enough light for her to see. She’d had a couple of tall lamps, but those had been destroyed in the break-in, as well. A legal pad and pen were always placed on the bottom shelf. When she ran out of supplies, it would be her habit to jot down whatever she needed on this list. However, she hadn’t been in business long enough to need to do so. Tonight she wanted to inventory the stock, just in case there was something she had missed.
For the next thirty minutes, Jamie organized the shelves, taking each individual item and wiping it with a wet paper towel, since some of the spilled flour still clung to cans, jars, bottles, and plastic bags. Suddenly, out of nowhere, the small room, which was normally a bit on the hot side as there was no ventilation, turned cool. Chilled, she rubbed her hands up and down the length of her arms, shivering at the sudden change of temperature.
As she dusted the remaining flour off the shelves, an eerie feeling came over her. Alarmed, she stepped out of the pantry area and into the kitchen. That, too, felt extremely cold. An unnatural cold, she thought as she walked the length of the kitchen, searching for the source of the sudden gust of bone-chilling air. In front of the bakery, the area that was lit up like a lighthouse wasn’t cold at all. Weird, she thought.
She peered through the glass on the door, thinking maybe her creepy feeling had been from someone looking in the door out of curiosity. Looking left and right, she saw nothing to indicate that anyone had been in front of her store. Maybe she should have listened to Pete.
Trying to shrug off the inexplicable feeling of dread she suddenly felt, she headed back to the kitchen, where she did a final once-over, looking in nooks and crannies, making sure she was alone. In doing so, she felt stupid, like a frightened child who needed Mommy and Daddy to check for monsters under the bed. But something wasn’t right. And it wasn’t her imagination. She felt as though eyes were following her as she quickly paced the length of the kitchen, searching for an area where one might hide. She saw nothing, just as she expected.
Out of nowhere she heard footsteps stomping, as though someone were running up and down the stairway. Her heart raced, and her mouth was so dry, her lips stuck together. Paralyzed with fear, Jamie stood in the center of the kitchen, too stunned to move.
Out of nowhere, a rush of air passed her. She whirled around, thinking that someone had just walked through the kitchen, because that was exactly what the gust of air felt like. Jamie did not like this feeling. Eyes, unseen eyes, following her, maybe waiting, for what she didn’t know. Unlike the girls in the horror movies who always ran upstairs and hid in the bedroom, she wouldn’t make their mistake. Without another thought, Jamie grabbed her bag and keys and raced to the front door, unlocked the dead bolt, and yanked the door open. Her hands were trembling so bad, she could barely insert the key in the lock. Finally, on the third try, she was successful.
Frightened, Jamie raced to the Land Rover and broke all the speed limits to get home. She parked the vehicle in the garage. Her hands were still shaking as she entered the guesthouse.
A memory from her childhood suddenly overwhelmed her.
The building where she had so lovingly placed her hopes and dreams had been used as a funeral parlor at one time.
Chapter 30
You would have thought Bernice was Julia Child, the way she pranced around the kitchen, preparing the evening’s special Southern dinner. She had insisted that Toots and the others remain out of her kitchen, explaining that she didn’t need any distractions. As was the norm, Toots flipped her the bird. Then she and the girls took up temporary residence in the formal living room. They were all half watching Antiques Roadshow when they heard a car pull up in the driveway.
“I bet that’s Goebel. I hope to hell he found something. This waiting is making me nuts,” Sophie said.
A loud knock-knock-knock could be heard from the foyer, and Toots raced to answer the door, with Sophie, Ida, and Mavis trailing her like three baby chicks.
Toots opened the door, revealing a spiffed-up, slicked-back, and shiny Goebel. His thinning brown hair was neatly combed. He wore a pair of beige Dockers, a white polo shirt that clearly outlined the shape of his stomach, topped off with a navy jacket. There was no trace of the stubby, smelly cigar.
“Come in. We’ve been expecting you,” Toots said. “I hope you’re hungry, because Bernice is cooking up a storm in honor of your visit and has forbidden any of us to enter her kitchen.”
Goebel stepped inside, the aromatic odors from the kitchen bringing a grin to his chubby face.
“Are those biscuits I smell?” he asked.
Toots cupped his elbow and led him to the dining room. “I’m clueless. Like I said, Bernice wouldn’t allo
w us in the kitchen. Before you ask, she’s my dear friend and likes to call herself my housekeeper. For the record, none of us cook except Mavis. She doesn’t do Southern food, however. Consider this meal a down payment on whatever information you’ve dug up.”
“I’ll consider it after I’ve eaten,” Goebel responded smartly.
Bernice had decorated the formal dining room as though they were expecting royalty. She had set out the best china, the gold-plated silverware, and the cloth napkins from Scabal, one of the world’s top manufacturers of fine linen. From the looks of things, Bernice had prepared a feast that would make the editors of Southern Living salivate.
Shrimp and grits, a South Carolina favorite, accompanied by fried chicken, served as the main entrée. Fried green tomatoes, fried okra, collard greens, black-eyed peas, and mashed potatoes with sawmill gravy were the side dishes. Hot buttered biscuits and fresh corn muffins topped with pepper jelly completed Bernice’s Southern meal.
Now that the formal living room had been cleared of the four square tables and sewing machines, Bernice insisted they retire there—Toots almost fainted when she heard her use that word—where she would serve them coffee with real cream and her special dessert, which she made only when someone died, a Lady Baltimore cake. Toots wondered if this was an omen of sorts.
After they were seated, and coffee and dessert served, Toots asked Goebel, “Did you just eat my down payment or not?”
Goebel laughed, his large stomach shaking like the proverbial bowlful of jelly. “Another meal like that, and the rest is free.”
“I’ll keep that in mind,” Toots said. “Did you locate this woman, Nancy?”
“I searched everywhere possible, or at least within my database, and I came up with nothing. I cashed in a favor my former partner owed me, and he came across something quite interesting.”
Fern Michaels' Godmothers Bundle: The Scoop, Exclusive, Late Edition, Deadline & Breaking News Page 65