by Kate Bell
“Would you like a vase to put those flowers in?” I asked and moved over to the corner of the classroom. There was a cupboard and a sink there and I had seen a vase beneath the sink when we were packing. I pulled it out and showed it to him.
He almost smiled. “That would be nice.”
“Here, let me have them and I’ll take care of them for you,” I said, stepping toward him.
He looked at the flowers again and then handed them to me. I took them to the sink and carefully unwrapped them and arranged them in the vase.
“Josh, have you lived in Sandy Harbor all your life?” Alec asked pleasantly.
“Yes, I have. All my life.”
“Do I know your mom and dad?” I asked, turning the faucet on for the flowers.
“I doubt it. My mother doesn’t work and I have never met my father,” he said darkly.
“Oh, I see,” I said. I would have to ask Jennifer about him and his mother. He seemed nice enough, even if he was a little odd. “There, how does that look?” I asked holding the vase up for his inspection.
Josh beamed. “That looks really nice. You have a real talent there with flowers, Mrs. McSwain.”
I laughed. “I wouldn’t call it a talent, and you can call me Allie.”
He nodded. “I like this classroom. I remember it really well. I just wish she didn’t die.”
“I’m sure she was thrilled to see you again,” I said sympathetically. “You’re a good person for remembering her and wanting to catch up with her. I’m sure teachers love when that happens.”
“You think so?” he asked.
“I do,” I said.
He looked at me, smiling. “Well, I better get going. My mom’s expecting me home soon. Thanks for helping with the flowers.”
“You’re welcome. And I’m sorry for your loss, Josh,” I said.
“Thanks,” he said and walked slowly toward the door.
When the door swung closed, Alec looked at me. “You think Iris really was thrilled when kids turned back up?”
“Of course I do! Don’t you think it’s satisfying to see the kids you nurtured years ago, grow up and go to college? Look at him. He’s responsible enough to help his mom out and still keep up with his studies. That’s a fine young man right there.”
“But you’re going to ask Jennifer about him, aren’t you?” he asked picking up the box he had previously set down.
“Oh, you bet ya. I just know I’ve seen that kid somewhere, but I can’t remember where.”
He chuckled. “Come on super sleuth. We gotta get a move on. Richard is waiting for this stuff.”
“That’s Ms. Super Sleuth to you, sir.”
--9--
I looked at Lucy, sitting next to me.
“What if she doesn’t like them?” I asked.
“What?” she asked, buckling her seat belt. “She’d be crazy not to. Who wouldn’t like whatever you baked? I mean, seriously. It doesn’t matter what it is, it’s delectable.”
“That’s a big word for you,” I said, starting the car, and giving her a big grin.
“Watch it, Red,” she said.
I giggled. “What if it’s too much for me to do? I mean, I love baking, but what if it’s so much work that I can’t handle it? I can’t spend all my time in the kitchen. I have a life to live, too. Where will I find the time to spend with Alec?”
“Then don’t over promise. Negotiate. When you feel confident you can do what you’ve offered and you feel you can do more, then do more. But not until then.”
“Right. You’re exactly right,” I said and pulled away.
“What’s the latest on Iris Rose?” she asked, flipping the visor down in front of her and checking her makeup.
“Well, let me update you on the way over,” I said.
We were headed to Henry’s Home Cooking Restaurant to speak to Cynthia Hoffer. I had heard nothing but good things about the changes Cynthia had made down there since taking over after the death of her husband, Henry. I hoped she would take some of my desserts on consignment. She had nothing to lose if they didn’t sell and I knew they would sell.
I had brought iced oatmeal raisin cookies, apple pie, carrot cake, blueberry sour cream pie, and orange chocolate cheesecake. I packed each one carefully to keep them fresh and then put them into individual shopping bags to keep them from squishing one another.
When we got to the restaurant, we struggled to carry them into the restaurant, but we somehow managed it.
“Eileen, is Cynthia around?” I asked the waitress when she passed us.
She stopped and turned around. “Ayup, she’s in the office. You can go back, Allie. She don’t mind,” she said in between smacking her gum.
“Come on,” I said, leading Lucy back. No one knew it, but Lucy and I had broken into the restaurant one night, trying to look for clues to Henry Hoffer’s murder. We don’t normally resort to crime, but I was a suspect and no way was I taking the fall for the real murderer.
We passed the kitchen on our way back and the cook, Charles Allen, stopped chopping onions to look at me. I stopped in my tracks and narrowed my eyes at him. He had squealed on me and told Alec I had had an argument with Henry Hoffer the night before he was murdered. This was before Alec and I were dating, and I felt like I had been pushed up the list of suspects to the number one position because of Charles. I wasn’t over it yet.
Charles shook his head at me and went back to chopping onions.
“Come on, Allie, these are getting heavy,” Lucy whined from behind me.
“Yeah, yeah,” I said and headed to the office. I knocked on the open door.
“Hi, Allie,” Cynthia said, looking up from her laptop. “This is a surprise.”
I smiled. Henry had still been using a paper ledger and it was nice to see Cynthia had made major progress into the twenty-first century.
“Hi, Cynthia. I know this is kind of a surprise, but I was wondering if you had time for a delicious snack? Maybe a couple?” I asked. I stepped into the office and set my bags on the desk. Lucy followed suit. The desk was a nice addition. Henry had attached a piece of plywood to the wall as a desk. I took this as a good sign that Cynthia wasn’t afraid to part with a little money and that was good news for me.
“A couple?” Cynthia asked, eyeing the bags.
“A few,” I said and began taking the baked goods from the bags.
Cynthia’s eyes got big as Lucy and I uncovered each item. The scent of oranges and sugar began filling the small office and if Cynthia hadn’t been hungry before we got there, she was now.
“To what do I owe this pleasure?” Cynthia asked, eyeing the orange chocolate cheesecake.
I liked Cynthia. We had met after Henry’s death and she seemed like a nice person. She looked a little older than I was and her hair was a striking black color that caught glints of light.
I took a deep breath and gathered my courage. “Cynthia, I was thinking about a business proposition,” I said. “And a sampling of these lovely desserts will help explain that proposition. May I go and get some plates?”
“Of course,” she said and I trotted back to the kitchen. I stopped in the doorway and closed my eyes, willing my mind not to see the image of Henry Hoffer, dead on the floor with a knife stuck in his chest. That was something I didn’t need to see again.
I forced myself to move forward. “Charles, I need three dessert plates, three forks, and a pie server. Please,” I said.
Charles narrowed his eyes at me. “What for?”
“Now, Charles, don’t take that tone with me. I’m serving your boss some dessert. You don’t want to keep her waiting, do you?” I said sweetly.
“We have dessert here,” he said. “I make chocolate cake almost every day.”
“Almost every day?” I asked. “I bet your customers are excited about that when they happen to order it on the second or third day, don’t you?”
He snorted. “You think you’re so high and mighty.”
“Nonsense.
I know my desserts are high and mighty, but I’m not. And at least you’re no longer buying those horrid frozen pies from Shaw’s Market. I have to give you props on that.”
“There wasn’t anything wrong with those pies. They were fine,” he said, going back to chopping his onions.
“Charles. The plates,” I said. If I stood there much longer, I was going to reek of onions and I didn’t want Cynthia smelling onions when she tried that decadent cheesecake.
Charles slammed down the knife and gathered up what I had requested.
“Thank you,” I called as I hurried back to the office.
“Here we are,” I said, setting the plates on the desk. “Which would you like to try first?”
“They all look so good. I just couldn’t wait. I already sampled the cookies, and they are so moist, I can hardly believe it!” she said.
“Thank you. Wait until you try the orange chocolate cheesecake,” I said. “Would you like to try that first?”
“That sounds wonderful,” Cynthia said, nodding.
“I want some of that,” Lucy said. “Cheesecake is one of my favorites.”
I gave her a look. We were here to sell my goods, not sample them. I cut Cynthia a small piece of the cheesecake and then cut a sliver for Lucy.
Cynthia took a forkful of cheesecake, making sure to get some of the chocolate ganache on her fork and put it in her mouth. She closed her eyes and slowly chewed. “Oh, my. This is so good,” she said. “It’s creamy, and orangey, and yet not overwhelmingly orangey. The chocolate really sets the orange flavor off.” She took another bite and closed her eyes again, savoring the flavor.
“I worked on it for a while,” I said. “I love the flavor of orange and chocolate together. It feels so fresh, yet decadent,” I said, and cut a piece of the apple pie for her. “Now, try this apple pie. It’s my grandmama’s recipe. She taught me everything I know about baking.”
“Well, she knew a lot about baking, then,” she said. “But tell me, Allie, why are you bringing these lovely desserts for me to try?”
“Well, here’s the thing,” I started out, and glanced at Lucy for support. I knew my baked goods were good, but selling myself in a business setting was hard for me. Lucy nodded her encouragement. “As you know, I had my blog on grief. And it seemed after a while, that I needed to move on because it felt a little like I was reliving the whole grief process over and over as I wrote about it each week. So I ended the blog. And I’m thinking about starting a new blog. One on baking. And I need somewhere to try out the desserts I’m making, and I wondered if maybe, you might like to take some of my desserts on a consignment basis.”
“Consignment?” she asked, sitting back in her chair.
“That’s right. If the desserts don’t sell, then that’s on me. If they do sell, you get a commission.”
“What kind of commission?” she asked, licking her fork. “This is so good.”
“Let me get you some carrot cake,” I said, taking her plate from her. I wanted her to try several items. “We can negotiate the commission. And I can bring in some kind of display case for them.”
“Oh, and maybe you could get a dessert cart and the waitresses could push the desserts around so people could look at everything,” Lucy said. “You know once they lay eyes on your desserts, people are going to have to buy them.”
“That’s a good, idea,” I said, nodding at Lucy. I was glad I had brought her along. She was always quick with the ideas.
I looked at Cynthia as she dug into the apple pie.
“The crust on this apple pie is so flaky,” she exclaimed. Then she looked up at me. “You might have a good idea, here. Maybe even great. I wouldn’t lose anything if they didn’t sell. But if they do, and I’m sure they will, and word of mouth spreads about your desserts being served here, it will bring in more business. But I need exclusivity. You can’t sell your baked goods anywhere else.”
“I wouldn’t dare,” I said. “So is it a deal?”
Cynthia looked me in the eye. “It’s a deal. Commission to be negotiated.”
“Absolutely,” I said. Cynthia was a keen businesswoman. Her late husband Henry had only been a so-so businessman. He had been cheap and cut corners. Cynthia knew a good business deal when she saw it and she wasn’t afraid to act on it. I liked that.
--10--
Cynthia was sold on my desserts after tasting the orange chocolate cheesecake and we hadn’t touched the blueberry sour cream pie. After leaving the apple pie, oatmeal raisin cookies, and cheesecake for Cynthia, we put carrot cake and blueberry sour cream pie into the trunk of my car and I got behind the wheel. I turned and looked at Lucy and squealed. “We did it!”
Lucy laid her head back on the headrest of the seat and laughed. “You did it! You are about to embark on a new career!”
We laughed until we ran out of steam and then we sat for a few minutes. “I’m going to start a new chapter of my life,” I said with satisfaction.
“I’m so proud of you. You’ve been through a lot these past few years and you just keep going. Good work, you,” Lucy said, patting my hand.
I smiled at her. “I’m so glad I’ve had you by my side to see me through it all.”
“There’s no place I’d rather be,” she said. “And now that we’ve eaten far more sugar than we ought to, and spread it on pretty thickly here in the car, too, how about a nice coffee? It’s cold and I need something to chase that sugar down.”
“You got it,” I said and giggled. I had done it. I had convinced Cynthia to sell my baked goods. I wasn’t sure if that or the blog would be the proverbial icing on the cake for my new career. I had intended the blog to be the main show, but maybe putting desserts on consignment at Henry’s would be the main show.
The sky got darker as we drove to the Cup and Bean and I wondered if it was going to snow again. Alec would want his snow for snow cream and I hoped I could get home in time to put a bucket out because I was not going out into the woods to try to get some. I had had enough of that.
The Cup and Bean had the best coffee in town and the parking lot was more crowded than usual when we got there. I hugged my coat close to my body as we crossed the parking lot. The warmth of the building felt heavenly as we stepped through the door.
“Mmm,” Lucy said, inhaling deeply. “Mama needs a vanilla latte.”
“Me too,” I said and we got in line. There were four people ahead of us and I recognized the girl in front of me was Laura Linnley, one of Jennifer’s friends.
“Hi, Laura,” I said.
She turned around. “Hey, Allie, how are you? How’s Jennifer? I haven’t heard from her in nearly a month. We have got to get together and soon!”
“We’re both great. She’s here quite a bit since school isn’t far. You should come to dinner one night,” I said. Laura was a sweet girl. When she had come to spend the night during her high school years, I could breathe a sigh of relief because I wouldn’t constantly have to monitor what she and Jennifer were doing. She was just a good girl. Don’t get me started on her cousin Dawn.
“I’d love to,” she said. “I’ll have to give Jennifer a call so I know when she’s in town again.”
For a few seconds, I wondered if I should bring up Iris Rose’s murder. I glanced around to see who was close enough to overhear our conversation.
“Laura, did you hear what happened to Iris Rose? Wasn’t she your second grade teacher?” I asked. I figured I might as well see if she knew anything.
“I did hear,” she said, nodding. “What a terrible tragedy. I can’t imagine who would want to hurt poor Mrs. Rose. She was one of my favorite teachers.”
“Jennifer’s too,” I agreed. “I just can’t imagine who would do that to her.”
“You know, I ran into her a couple of months ago and she didn’t seem herself,” she said as we stepped forward a couple of feet in line.
“Oh? How so?”
“I don’t know. Just really down. I asked her how she was, but then she
perked up. I just kind of felt like she didn’t want to talk about it, so I didn’t press her,” she said.
“I don’t blame you. Some people are private that way,” I said, nodding.
“Well, I’ll see you soon, Allie,” she said as her turn to order came.
I looked at Lucy. “She wasn’t happy.”
“Being married to a cheater can make you unhappy,” she said.
“And having a crazy, controlling mother that butts into your marriage isn’t any fun, either,” I pointed out.
“No, it’s not. Having to look at your husband’s lover every day stinks, too,” she said.
We stepped forward and placed our coffee orders and looked for a table in the crowded room. When I saw Mr. Winters in the corner with his newspaper, I steered Lucy over to his table.
“May we sit with you, Mr. Winters?” I asked.
He looked up from his paper and nodded. “What do you ladies need to know?” he asked.
Lucy and I looked at each other, then back to him. He was onto us. “Mr. Winters, have you heard anything about Iris Rose?”
“Iris Rose? She was murdered,” he said confidently.
“Yes, we know that. But have you heard anything about the murder?” I tried to keep my voice low so no one would overhear, and we took a seat at his table.
He thought for a few moments. “No, can’t say as I have.”
That was disappointing. Mr. Winters was the best source of gossip in town. Gossip might be wrong, but it could get you answers sometimes.
“Oh, wait, you know, I seem to recall that she and her mother didn’t get along very well,” he said thoughtfully.
“We had heard that,” I said and sat back in my seat, stirring my latte. There had to be more information out there somewhere. Iris had a pristine reputation, and while it was most likely accurate, someone out there didn’t like her and there had to be a reason for it.
“And her mother lost custody of her when she was nine,” he said, and then went back to reading his paper.
“Wait. What?” I asked. “How do you know that? And why did she lose custody?”