“Excellent idea.”
“Good night, Detective Broussard.”
“Good night, Ms. Kramer.”
CHAPTER TWENTY
Sadie eyed the box of truffles on the kitchen counter. Would it hurt to have just one little nibble with her morning coffee? It was a dilemma she often faced in the presence of chocolate. But this was different. These were intended for the food bank. Gathering every available ounce of willpower, she dropped wheat bread in the toaster and turned away from the temptation.
A yip from Coco served as a reminder that she wasn’t the only one expecting a nibble of something to start the day. Reaching into a cupboard reserved for dog food and treats, she pulled out Coco’s favorite kibble and poured it into an artsy bowl they’d acquired at the French Market in New Orleans. Setting it down with a second bowl of fresh water alongside it, Sadie turned back to the toaster just as the golden slices of wheat toast popped up.
Spreading an ample amount of butter on the toast—after all, she had to compensate for foregoing the chocolate—she took a seat at the kitchen table and sent a text to Amber. “Happy Valentine’s Day,” she typed between sips of coffee and munches of toast. She reminded Amber that she’d be at the food bank when Flair opened but would return in plenty of time to cover the shop while Amber went on her lunch date with Dylan.
Dressing for holidays had always been a tradition for Sadie, even when she was a child. This had often been a source of embarrassment for her poor mother as well as teasing at school. But festive occasions called for festive wardrobe, as far as Sadie was concerned. It was one fashion tradition she’d carried on since those early years.
“Come, Coco,” Sadie said after setting her toast dish and coffee mug in the kitchen sink. “Let’s see what we can come up with for today.”
Sadie’s walk-in closet was a universe unto itself. Truth be told, it was intended by the architect to be a bedroom situated next to the master bedroom. But a simple addition of a door between the two rooms during a remodel turned it into a closet fit for… well, an eccentric, fashion-crazy boutique owner.
Two walls featured long racks for hanging clothing, each at different levels to accommodate clothing of varying lengths. Low dressers flanked the wall with a higher rack above them for blouses, jackets, and other items that didn’t require a length of space below.
A third wall sported shelving and cubbyholes for folded sweaters and shoes. And more shoes and, in days gone by, even more shoes: high heels, pumps, and upscale footwear appropriate for social events that she and her late husband had attended. Sadie had taken to preferring flats these days for comfort and practicality. This simpler approach to footwear had kept her assortment of choices down to a mere four dozen, enough to include most colors, animal prints, metallic tones, and a sizable collection of fluffy slippers—some, but not all, with bunny ears or other frivolous designs.
The fourth wall’s fixtures split off to two sides, the door to her bedroom situated in the middle. One side consisted of a dresser for scarves and a conglomeration of fixtures above for jewelry and accessories. The other, of course, was reserved for Coco’s own wardrobe and accessories: coats, collars, leashes, and bows, all assorted by colors and stored on hangers and shelves shaped like dog bones. A fluffy pink dog bed rested on the floor below the assortment, a doghouse shaped mirror next to it. This allowed Coco a place to contemplate her preferences and to approve or veto options.
Sadie’s counterpart to Coco’s fluffy dog bed was a circular Victorian sofa that she picked up at an auction. The burgundy velvet and walnut bench graced the center of the room. Sitting there now, she patted the seat, and Coco hopped up to sit beside her. Together, they debated options for the day.
“Whatever we pick must be very sweet,” Sadie mused. “After all, it is Valentine’s Day. We must dress accordingly.” Coco yipped in agreement. “And cheerful,” Sadie added, thinking the food bank patrons would appreciate a festive touch, as would her own boutique’s customers when she arrived at the store. “Red, I think,” Sadie said. “You have a red collar, Coco.”
Coco jumped off the velvet bench and trotted over to her mini-closet area. Sadie followed and watched as Coco pawed through a basket of accessories. Knowing dogs didn’t see colors the same way humans did, she knew “collar” was the word Coco was following.
“This one is perfect,” Sadie said as she reached into the basket and pulled out a sparkling red rhinestone collar. “And you have a matching leash for that one too. All you’ll need is a heart-shaped bow on your head.” Coco tilted her head to the side and looked quizzically at Sadie. “Up to you,” Sadie said. Coco let out a sound resembling more of a huff than her usual yip. “Okay, just the collar and leash it is,” Sadie said. The day promised to be full of challenges as it was; there was no use starting it by arguing with a Yorkie.
She replaced Coco’s regular pink collar with the sparkling red one and set the matching leash aside for when they went out. “Coco,” she explained gently, “we’re going to leave your hot pink iPod Shuffle home. You can get by without your favorite salsa playlist for today. I promise you can wear it for Cinco de Mayo as well as some nonholiday excursions between now and then.”
Moving to her own wardrobe section, Sadie considered her options. Normally she would pick something fanciful for the boutique ambiance. But she’d be at the food bank for the first part of the morning. With her luck, she’d end up spilling something on herself. She did tend to be clumsy on occasion. This was yet another reason she’d given up the less-practical and balance-altering shoes.
“Let’s go with this,” Sadie said, pulling a red chenille sweater from one of the cubbyholes. It was just elegant enough to fit the holiday, and she hadn’t worn it since Christmas. “And how about pink slacks—not exactly practical but appropriately festive for the holiday, don’t you think?” She looked to her sidekick for a second opinion. Coco simply licked her paw and smoothed back a wayward strand of fur.
Sadie donned the two main wardrobe items and then rummaged through a drawer of accessories specifically for holidays. Bypassing a giant pumpkin brooch and an electric garland of holiday lights, she pulled out a strand of large heart-shaped beads. She’d been delighted to find them at a local craft fair. Each bead was designed to look like a Valentine’s Day heart candy. “Kiss me,” “Hot stuff,” “Cutie pie,” and “Be mine” were among other traditional sayings. One bead with the words “Text me” served as a reminder that time marches on. She never would have seen that in a mixture when she was younger. Two matching candy-heart-shaped earrings—“True love” and “Yours 4Ever”—picked up the theme of the necklace. She put the whimsical accessories on along with red metallic flats. Standing in front of the dressing room’s full-length mirror, she felt assured the outfit was complete.
Returning to the kitchen, Sadie found a text from Amber on her phone. Arrived at the shop early. Strange note on the door. Thought I should warn you.
Sadie frowned and typed back. “Mrs. Jacobs? Her order will be in next week. I explained that to her. Always impatient.”
Setting the phone down on the counter, Sadie pulled a jacket from the hall closet and returned to check for another text.
No, unfortunately.
“Coco, what could be more unfortunate than a disgruntled customer?” The Yorkie simply blinked.
What then? Amber was already typing her answer, as indicated on the text screen, but Sadie felt impatient. She needed to get to the food bank in time to scope out the situation. She expected at least one, if not all three, of the women to show up.
Back off.
Sadie paused. That didn’t sound at all like Amber. Oh, wait.
The note said that?
Afraid so, Amber answered.
What kind of writing?
No writing.
Well, that didn’t make sense. Unless…
Typed?
Little dots on the phone indicated Amber was typing back.
Cutout letters, like from
a magazine.
“You have got to be kidding,” Sadie said out loud. “Coco, someone has definitely been reading too many detective novels.” Coco, ever happy to please, simply looked at Sadie, head tilted. It didn’t matter that Coco didn’t understand the words. She was always willing to back Sadie up. An admirable canine trait that Sadie never took for granted.
Sadie sighed. Leave it on my desk, she typed. Thanks. She placed the phone in a side pocket of her tote bag and helped Coco settle onto the velvet cushion inside.
“Let’s go, Coco,” she said. “We’ll deal with the note when we get to the store.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
Parking spaces near the food bank were nonexistent, as was typical for San Francisco. She paid the necessary fee at a lot a block away and slung her tote over her shoulder. Holding the box of truffles carefully, she headed for her destination.
The one-block walk to the food bank was an eye-opener, even though Sadie was well aware of the varied neighborhoods in the city. The row of check-cashing storefronts, boarded-up shop windows with glass below them, and liquor stores with flashing neon signs gave her pause. She knew she led a privileged life and didn’t take it for granted. But the scene that surrounded her as she maneuvered the trash-ridden sidewalk was a reality check.
She found the entrance to Free Harvest situated next to a bar with the mixed sounds of billiards and blaring music flowing from the door. A man in his fifties leaned against the wall outside, lighting a cigarette. His clothing looked decent, but his voice was ragged and harsh.
“Can’t smoke inside,” he said. Taking a drag, he coughed as he waved Sadie toward the door. She nodded and stepped inside.
The interior of Free Harvest was nicer than she expected, although it occurred to her that she hadn’t known what to expect at all. The space was fairly large, adequate to house several long rows of tables that ran the length of the room. A well-meaning attempt had been made to decorate for the holiday. Construction paper hearts dotted the center stretch of the tables, and streamers of red crepe paper dangled off to each side at periodic intervals.
“Over here.” Sadie turned toward the voice, which was coming from the direction of a length of tables that ran perpendicular to the others. Aluminum pans rested end to end. A few large baskets sat at one end. Large drink dispensers loomed near the baskets. Several hairnet-wearing women—none that Sadie recognized—busied themselves bringing food from a kitchen just behind the serving tables.
“I’m Nora,” the woman said. “Looks like you brought in a donation?”
“Yes,” Sadie said as she approached.
“Pastry maybe?” Nora said, eyeing the pink box. It was a reasonable assumption, seeing as it was a breakfast event.
“Not exactly,” Sadie said. She lifted the cardboard edge so the woman could see inside.
“Ah! Quite a treat!” Nora exclaimed, peeking inside. “I dare say we should save that for tonight’s dinner. Chocolate and scrambled eggs might be a strange combination.”
Sadie had to agree. As much as she felt chocolate was appropriate for any occasion, this could very well be an exception. “Where should I put these? I can help as well, if you can use me.” Why not? Detective work and volunteering did not have to be mutually exclusive.
Nora nodded toward the kitchen door. “In there will be fine. And we’re short volunteers today if you can stay. Go on back. Luke will give you an apron.”
Luke? No, it couldn’t be. There were plenty of Lukes in the world, right?
Stepping sideways to make way for a platter of sausage coming through the door, Sadie waited until the way was clear and then entered.
The kitchen was small but functional. Shelving covered the left wall, two ovens and a range top stretched across the back wall, and a basic sink stood off to the right. The center of the room featured a spacious prep table where a man was pouring maple syrup from a large plastic jug into a serving pitcher. Even dressed in jeans, T-shirt, and an SF Giants baseball cap, rather than his professional attire, Sadie knew it was Luke Manning.
“Sadie Kramer,” Luke said after looking over his shoulder to see who had entered. “What a nice surprise to see you here.” He eyed the distinctive Cioccolato box she carried, but just as with the fishing conversation, he didn’t seem to react oddly. “It looks like you’re dropping off some pastries for today’s breakfast?”
“Yes. I mean, no,” Sadie said. “Not pastries, but truffles. Matteo, my next-door neighbor, makes amazing chocolate. My business neighbor, that is.”
Luke nodded as he twisted the lid on the gallon maple syrup container. “I recognized the logo. I’ve used his shop to send gifts to clients on occasion.”
Clients? Sadie took a mental double take as she set the box of chocolates down on the center table. Was it possible Sue Bennett was a client of Manning Property Holdings? Not a romantic interest? She felt like kicking herself. That hadn’t even occurred to her. What kind of amateur detective was she anyway?
“That’s a great gift for clients,” Sadie said, at a loss for anything else to say.
“Yes. Personal, but not too personal,” Luke said. “My fiancée suggested it.”
Sadie nodded. “I might just drop a hint to my financial advisor. An excellent suggestion by your fiancée, I might say.”
Luke laughed. “She’s addicted to that place. I’ve never been there. I’m not much of a chocolate fan myself. She’s busy today but will be here tonight to help with dinner.”
“Speaking of helping, I met Nora out front. She said I could get an apron back here. I thought I’d stay and help out. And… where could I stash my bag?”
Luke grabbed an apron off one of the shelves, handed it to Sadie, and tilted his head toward the back of the kitchen. “There’s a closet in that corner. Your bag will be safe in there.”
Sadie thanked Luke for the apron and proceeded to situate her tote bag in the closet, whispering to Coco that she’d be back soon. She closed the door securely, returned to the center table, and put the apron on.
“We’re short volunteers this morning, though we’ll have plenty tonight,” Luke said. “That pitcher of syrup goes in the middle of the buffet table. I have trays of pancakes keeping warm in the oven. He glanced at a clock. “People will start showing up soon.”
“How many do you expect?”
“We could have anywhere from fifty to two hundred,” Luke said. “We never know for sure. If we have too much food, we send some home with people. If we run out, well, there’s nothing we can do. But the regulars know to show up early.”
Sadie glanced around the kitchen before heading to the door. “It’s amazing you can manage this by yourself.”
“Oh, I just volunteer one day a week, plus an occasional holiday like this. And I’m not usually alone back here. I sometimes have one other person to help in the kitchen, but…” Luke’s voice trailed off, and his face clouded over. “She’s not with us anymore.” He cleared his throat and moved to the range top, where a large kettle simmered. “Could you see if Nora’s ready for this pot of oatmeal while you’re out there? Thanks.”
“Of course,” Sadie said. She scooted out the door, set the syrup pitcher on the table, and looked around. A few early birds had shown up, undoubtedly the regulars Luke had mentioned. They’d staked out places at the tables and were drinking coffee from institution-type mugs.
“We always put the coffee out first,” Nora explained. “It’s something warm for them, plus it gives us time to set up the serving area without the crunch of a line.”
“A very respectful crowd,” Sadie said at the same time noting a familiar figure entering. It had only been a hunch that the women would show up, but so far her hunch was… dead on? No, poor use of the phrase, whether applicable or not.
“Absolutely,” Nora said, nodding. “More respectful than some crowds I’ve seen at a few fancy restaurants.” She checked plates and silverware beside a tall stack of trays.
“You’re right about that,”
Sadie agreed, recalling more than one scene where demanding patrons chastised servers for errors that weren’t their fault or slid money to maître d’s in attempts to be catered to over others. There were times she and Morris had been embarrassed to be in the same room with hoity-toity customers behaving like that.
“I almost forgot,” Sadie said. “Luke asked if you’re ready for the oatmeal.”
Nora looked up. “Oh, great, Lila’s here! Yes, he can bring the oatmeal out now. There are two of us to serve—actually three, counting you.”
“Happy to help,” Sadie said, realizing it was true. Ulterior motives or not, she was participating in something worthwhile. It felt good.
“Sorry I’m late,” Lila shouted without looking over. “It was a late night, as always. I’ll be right out.” She zoomed into the kitchen and reappeared a minute later, tying an apron around her waist. The pale floral print was an odd match for her Led Zepplin T-shirt.
“I’ll get the oatmeal,” Sadie said, returning to the kitchen. She grabbed two hot pads and carefully lifted the pot of oatmeal off the stove.
“Wait. I know you,” Lila said bluntly as Sadie returned.
“Maybe,” Sadie said evasively. “You look familiar too.”
“At Flair,” Lila said. “You were working there the other day.”
Sadie nodded. It was both intriguing and informative that Lila seemed to think she was just a shop employee.
“And you were at Zany Z’s recently too, weren’t you?” Lila continued. “I thought you looked familiar when I saw you at Flair. That’s why.”
“Guilty as charged,” Sadie said. She set the pot of oatmeal down in the serving area, ignoring Nora’s raised eyebrows at the mention of the sleazy bar.
Luke appeared with a rectangular metal serving tray of pancakes and then made a second trip with another batch. Scrambled eggs followed. As the food built on the tables, so did the line of hungry customers, who eagerly held out trays and plates as Nora, Lila, and Sadie served up the hot breakfast of pancakes, eggs, and sausage. One by one, grateful men and women passed through the line until only a few remained.
A Flair for Truffles (The Sadie Kramer Flair Mysteries Book 4) Page 10