by Sandi Scott
13
Ashley was in a thoughtful mood when she arrived, freshly showered and in clean clothes that didn’t smell like a french-fry battle, at Ryan’s house.
Ryan lived in a tiny cottage with sky-blue siding and a wraparound deck. The base of the house was lifted off the grass by about eight feet, and underneath the deck were patio chairs and a cement pad.
The windows were huge, and he spotted her coming a mile away. He waited for her on the porch and said, “It’s almost ready.”
“Oh, good. I’d tell you I was hungry, but I just had a cookie.” She showed him the box and told him about meeting Coyote’s mother.
“I forgot he was looking at that house in your neighborhood,” Ryan said. “Small world.”
“Small town, you mean.” She grinned at him. He led her into the house, which smelled wonderful. She closed her eyes in pleasure as she crossed the threshold. She realized that he was wearing a button-up shirt with his blue jeans. In the world of computer programmers and hackers, it was the equivalent of a tuxedo — especially after business hours.
Fortunately, she was wearing a cute white V-neck blouse with her khaki shorts. They had both dressed up a little bit.
“Mmmm, salmon,” she said.
He snorted. “If I had wanted it to be a surprise, I shouldn’t have made fish, I guess.”
“I’m looking forward to it.”
He accepted the box of cookies and set them on the counter, then escorted her to the tiny dining room, where the table had been set up with two place settings, cloth napkins, and a bottle of white wine.
He had changed the décor a little since the last time she’d been in, putting a huge painting of a seagull on one wall and a decal of some octopus legs on another wall.
“Fancy,” she said. “New decorations and everything.”
“You know it. I bought that painting at the festival. It’s a local artist.”
The seagull seemed to have a wicked look in its eye, as if any second it would fly up and steal whatever was on the table.
Ryan retreated into the kitchen. “I’ll just be one minute.” She heard the frantic sounds of metal forks tossing something in a metal bowl, then a hiss as something was dropped into a hot pan. The oven door popped open, then slammed closed. Another minute of clinks, clanks, and bonks emitted from behind the kitchen doorway. All she could see was Ryan’s back bending down, then straightening up, then moving back and forth.
He straightened up, rolled his shoulders, and said, “It’s ready.”
“I’ll come and get a plate.”
“No, stay there, I’m bringing it.”
She raised an eyebrow, seating herself at one of the chairs and folding her hands in her lap, trying to suppress a giggle.
He emerged moments later with two plates. It smelled delicious; she was already salivating. He put hers down in front of her and said, “Voilà. Herbed salmon with fingerling potatoes and frisée with citrus dressing. And french bread—hang on, I forgot the bread—”
He disappeared back into the kitchen. Ashley laughed under her breath. If she so much as thought about pouring her own wine, he would probably give her a puppy-dog look.
In less than a minute, Ryan had straightened everything out. She sank a fork into the salmon; it was delicious and flaky and savory and juicy. “Perfect,” she said with her mouth full.
“I’m glad you like it.”
He seemed nervous, so nervous that he could barely eat.
“I’m so sorry,” he said suddenly.
“What is it?”
“I wasn’t able to track down anything about your account today. I wanted to be able to hand it to you on a platter tonight, information and meal and…”
“This is delicious,” she said. “And I didn’t expect you to be able to find anything right away, honestly.”
He swallowed, then took a drink of wine.
“The good news is that I did narrow it down, and if I had to take a guess, I’d say Sparrow Soulbrother was probably the one running the extra charges through,” he said.
“I thought you just said…”
“I can’t find out who took your money for sure,” Ryan said. “But I was able to track down that Sparrow had a lot of suspicious activity going on with his bank accounts. There were a lot more small transactions than you’d expect from his hemp business, unless he was selling drugs and funneling them through that account. There were also a number of international transfers going from his account to overseas. Not huge ones, but fairly large and regular. My guess is that the hemp business is just a front for everything else he has going on. He swipes your card with a reader that also records your PIN number and sells the information overseas.”
Ashley shook her head and speared one of the fingerling potatoes, which was cut in half and wrinkled across the skin. It was flaked with sea salt, crisp on the outside and meltingly tender on the inside.
Ryan’s eyes widened in horror. “Potatoes. I would have to feed you potatoes. I didn’t even think. You don’t need to eat them to be polite.”
“They’re delicious, and they are not fried,” she said, taking another bite. Poor Ryan. He obviously felt horribly awkward. “I think you’re right about Sparrow. I met Coyote’s mom today, and when I was telling her the story, the connection seemed so obvious.”
He smiled at her plate. “Uh, that’s good because there’s something I did,” he said. “I, um, broke into your accounts to check something. I hope you don’t mind.”
“What was it?” She had asked him to investigate, after all.
“Well, I can’t be a hundred percent sure it was Sparrow, because you also made a purchase from Betty around the same time.”
“All arrows point to Sparrow,” said Ashley. “I mean, the guy has done this before. Betty, well, Betty’s just a caterer. Like me”
“That’s what we think,” said Ryan. “But do we really have any idea? I know you won’t like what I’m about to say, but I’m worried about you doing the job with her tomorrow. She could be just trying to rip you off again.”
Ryan was right. She didn’t know Betty, any more than she could know anyone she had met just a few days ago. But in her gut, Ashley didn’t think Betty was the thief. “I’ll be okay, Ryan. But thank you.”
“Not to be overly dramatic,” said Ryan. “But there is still a murderer on the loose.” Ashley took a big bite of food so she would have a minute to chew and think before responding. But she really couldn’t think of anything to say. She let the silence hang in the air between them for a few minutes.
Ryan stared into space, a piece of salmon dangling from his fork.
“Earth to Ryan,” she said. “You should eat.”
He automatically put his fork in his mouth and started to chew. They had been on enough programming projects together that he probably didn’t even think it was weird.
Ashley smiled at him, then took a bite of the salad—bitter and sharp-tasting, a good complement to the rich salmon and salty potatoes. Ryan continued to eat on autopilot. Clearly his mind was on the theft case, trying to think if there was an easy way to track down the culprit.
After they finished eating, Ashley helped him clean up the kitchen, the two of them singing show tunes from Guys and Dolls. Afterward, they watched one of her favorite movies—Michael Caine and Ben Kingsley in Without a Clue.
She snuggled up against his side, a bowl of popcorn in her lap. After a minute or two, he put his arms around her shoulders, and they sat like that until the end of the movie.
The movie finished, and for a second she thought he was going to kiss her. After a long pause, he leaned forward and turned off the TV, then picked up the popcorn bowl and took it into the kitchen.
When he came back, he gave her a rueful smile. “I hope you weren’t too disappointed in the meal.”
“I thought it was wonderful,” she announced.
His face relaxed and he gave her a genuine smile. “Thanks.”
Closer. They were mo
ving closer… she could feel it. But it was so hard to switch from the kind of friendship the two of them had to something more romantic. She was terrified that she’d do the wrong thing and chase him away forever.
He probably was, too.
* * *
The next morning, Ashley checked in with Betty, loaded up the van, and checked the kitchen to make sure she wasn’t forgetting anything. The stainless-steel surfaces of the professional kitchen glistened. Everything was clean, washed up, and stored away.
She still felt like she was missing something, though. She walked through the area one more time, this time stopping to check the walk-in fridge, oven, and freezer.
The oven and fridge were fine. But when she opened the door to the freezer, she immediately spotted it: her shelves were empty. Smoke Daddy Lee’s shelves were filled with cases of meat—he normally used fresh meat and stored it in the refrigerator, but always kept extra on hand in case of emergencies—while Patty’s shelves were filled with tidy, flat bags of french onion soup, quiche shells, gratins. Plus, there was a solid wall of cardboard cases of precious American bresse chickens, and another of foie gras.
Ashley’s shelves were normally stuffed with cakes, cookies, macaron shells, and more. That’s why she felt like she was missing something—she had nothing to fall back on in case of an emergency.
For a second she thought back to Serge, and Paris, and the horrible weeks after he had betrayed her and she had turned over all his information to the police. She had sworn back then that she would never feel like that again, yet here she was looking at empty shelves and feeling the same hollow feeling in her gut.
The door to the entryway opened. “Hallooo,” Patty called. “Are you still here, Ashley?”
Ashley sniffed hard and came out of the freezer. She had been standing inside it so long that she was shivering.
“Still here,” she said. “You just caught me.”
Patty gave her a hug. “Good luck today.”
“You’re sure you’re not mad? Or jealous?”
“No, no.” She peered into Ashley’s face. “Are you all right? You look upset?”
Ashley gave an embarrassed laugh and explained about her freezer shelves. Patty looked in on them and, bless her, didn’t make fun of Ashley for it. “Oh, yes. I would be more than a little disturbed if I didn’t have my bresse chickens in their cases waiting for me. It’s like a savings account. You never feel right when it’s drained. What if something goes wrong?”
“I’m going to come in extra this week and stock up,” Ashley said.
“Do you need any help? I’ve got a relatively slow week.”
“No, I’ll be fine. But that’s sweet, and thank you.” Ashley looked at her friend. Her heart swelled because she knew that Patty’s offer was sincere. Despite her superprofessional demeanor and competitive nature, Patty was like family to her, and Ashley knew she would do anything to help her.
Patty paused, then made a face. “Just remember… all of this doesn’t need to be worked out right now. Enjoy today. Go show Betty’s clients the anniversary cake of their dreams. Then you’ll get your bank account sorted out and your freezer restocked.”
“I know,” Ashley said. “And you’re right.”
Now it was Ashley’s turn to pause. Suddenly she had a bad feeling about the party.
“I… don’t know. I feel like this is a terrible idea, suddenly.”
“Trust your gut,” Patty urged. “It’s not the end of the world if you call her and tell her that you’ve had an emergency.”
Ashley frowned. “I don’t want to look like I’m unreliable.”
“You also don’t want to get involved in something that doesn’t feel right.”
Ashley chewed on the inside of her cheek. “I’m going to go. The food has already been made, and those people are expecting dessert. Plus, Dizzy gets to come, which is a nice surprise. Betty told me the event is at the huge family farm, and the couple love dogs, so they actually asked if we had any dogs we wanted to bring.”
“Well, then,” Patty said, eyebrows raised. “I guess everything is coming together perfectly, then.”
14
When Ashley arrived at the country estate outside of Houston, she smiled. The main building was an old two-story, tricolored brick building with fake grass covering the two steps up to the double doorway. Two little kids about six years old were tying balloon strings on to the railings on either side of the steps. The boy had a bow tie on, and the girl was clearly wearing her best party dress. A woman in a pink dress with an enormous hat was taking pictures of them. A big marquee-style sign at the corner said, “THIS WAY TO THE BEST ANNIVERSARY PARTY EVER! – JOE AND EMILY 50 YEARS OF LOVE!!!!” More balloons were tied to the sign.
She drove around the building until she found the back door, where the Betty’s Bayou Cuisine truck was parked. A couple of teenage boys in white shirts and black pants stepped out of the back door as she pulled up and walked in the supercasual way of all “cool” teenage boys everywhere toward the van.
She parked and got out. “Hi, I’m Ashley from Seagrass Sweets. Are you here to help me?”
“Mom says you’ll feed us cake now if we help you unload,” one of the boys said.
“Sure,” Ashley said. They both perked up. “But not a whole cake,” she added quickly. “Two big slices each. That’s my best offer.”
“Done,” they both said.
The van was soon unloaded. The boys disappeared with their slices of cake, both of them holding their plastic forks in their mouths while carrying a plate in each hand.
Betty had taken over most of the kitchen and in fact had brought an assistant with her, a teenage girl who was dressed in black slacks, a white shirt, and a white apron.
“Good to see you,” Betty said. “Everyone’s starting to get hungry already. I told ’em we were ready whenever they were except for the desserts.”
Ashley checked her phone; it was only eleven. Lunch had been scheduled for eleven thirty and the desserts were supposed to be after that.
“All I have to do is set everything out,” she said. “That shouldn’t take long.”
A gray-haired woman in a flowing muumuu came into the kitchen and said, “Pair of boys didn’t just steal most of a chocolate cake off you, did they?”
“No, ma’am,” Ashley said. “Payment for helping me unload.”
The woman gave her a broad smile. “The two of them? Doing something useful? Maybe there’s hope for the world after all. I’ve come to check up on y’all and see how it’s going. We don’t have lunch scheduled until eleven thirty, but the natives are getting restless and the tigers are ’bout to attack. If you’re ready for it, we’d like to start early.”
“I’m ready,” Betty said.
“I just need to set out the desserts,” Ashley said. “If you could send me a couple of helpers, we could be done in no time.”
“I’ll do that,” the woman said. In half a moment, the reinforcements had arrived, and a few minutes later Betty opened a roll-up window that had been built into the side of the kitchen. A line of people was already waiting for them, plates in hand.
Lunch was an assortment of tea sandwiches—ham, pimiento cheese, chicken salad, cream cheese and cucumber salad—deviled eggs, Texas caviar, rotini pasta salad, two kinds of potato salad, fried chicken, a vat of shrimp gumbo, pulled pork, funeral potatoes, collard greens, crawfish dip, and more. Ashley’s respect for Betty rose a little—it was a perfect selection for the event, as was made obvious by people exclaiming over their favorite dishes and saying how much they reminded them of potlucks of years gone by.
Once Ashley had her desserts set out, she only had to stand in attendance, making sure that the desserts stayed neatly arranged and that the smaller kids didn’t take an armload of cake back to their seats. She did turn a blind eye to the teenagers taking multiple desserts at a time, as long as they were polite. She kept her ears perked, too, for any mention of Sparrow Soulbrother or the murder
case. Ashley knew that sometimes clues showed up in unexpected places.
The rush lightened, and people began to stand up and speak, describing the long, fruitful, and inspiring marriage of the anniversary couple, in words that sometimes made Ashley’s throat tighten.
When I look back on my life, what will I see? she wondered. Will it be a life of family and love, a life filled with success at baking sweets and making people happy, a life of dedication? She smiled inwardly. A life of curiosity and nosiness?
She hoped it would be all those things.
When she was finally able to step away from the dessert table, having arranged a solid supply of backup desserts for the family, she came back into the kitchen area and stretched. “I’m starving,” she announced. The clock over the service window showed that it was almost one thirty.
She looked over the remainders of the lunch and loaded up a plate with Southern food, then found a chair in the back by the sink, where Betty’s helper had already started cleanup.
“Where’s Betty?” she said.
The helper, a blonde girl with her hair pulled back in a ponytail, gave her a suspicious look. “Back out in her truck,” she said. “She’ll be right back.”
“Okay.” Ashley wondered why the girl had given her such a look—did she think that she might have to split her pay with Ashley or something? Or was there something else? The girl didn’t say another word, and Ashley let it go. If she had a chance after she ate, she’d say something nice to her and thank her for helping.
Just as Ashley finished her plate, Betty returned, trailing a cloud of smoke… and the all too familiar smell of pot.
“Your turn for a break, hon,” Betty told the girl, who wiped her hands on a wet towel and fled outside without a backward glance.
Ashley dunked her plate in the sink and washed it. Should she say something? Was Betty even trustworthy enough to confide in? Ashley was in unchartered waters here. Even though she didn’t know if she could trust Betty or her staff, she did know that she could trust herself.