Truffle Me Not: Baker by Day ,Sleuth on the Side (Cupid's Catering Company Book 2)

by M K Scott

  Her helper had one hand on her hips and a quizzical expression. “I said, how was the rehearsal dinner the other night?”

  “Sorry.” Della apologized and shrugged her shoulders. “I didn’t hear you the first time. I’ll blame it on not having any coffee yet. Speaking of that.” She made her way to the oversized urn and tossed over her shoulder. “You want a cup?”

  Laughter greeted the inquiry. “What do you think?”

  The rich scent of coffee expanded as Della poured two cups and handed one to her employee with a grin. “As for the rehearsal dinner, it went okay. No fistfights or yelling matches, which is always a plus. Since I was paid in advance, no squabbles about that. Can’t say anything memorable happened.”

  “Did you hear any hot gossip?” Stephanie waggled her eyebrows and took a sip of her coffee.

  “Ha!” Della glanced at the display case as she estimated what she had in the oven and what else she’d need to keep the case filled. “A rehearsal dinner is not the place to go for hot gossip. There was something though about a cat woman losing a bunch of jewelry or something. Rumors of it being an inside job.”

  “Oh, yeah,” Stephanie commented as she stepped behind the counter and opened the cash drawer. She counted out the change, quietly murmuring numbers to herself, and then wrote the total on a piece of paper, dated it, placed it under the twenties, and closed the drawer. “I heard about that.”

  The chime of the oven alarm set Della in motion. She hustled into the kitchen and yanked the oven doors open. A wave of heat blasted her along with the tang of hot cookies with a slight tinge of cream of tartar. “The snickerdoodles are just right,” she announced, donned mitts, and pulled out the fragrant cookies. “I’m surprised they’re so popular. I think of them as an old-fashioned cookie.”

  “Well, you know how it goes. Nothing really disappears. Not popular for a while, then another generation discovers it, and suddenly, it’s hip and new. Oh!” She held up one finger. “Did you hear they actually stole the cat woman’s cat?”

  “Can’t say that I did. Mother heard the gossip, or maybe it was Elise. By the time it came around to me, it was second hand.” She shrugged. “Not sure why anyone would be so interested in some pathetic female who hoards felines?”

  Talking about the dinner naturally brought back memories of the aftermath, including the flat and her unexpected hero. A wide smile bloomed as she considered Guy, but then she reminded herself that she needed to drop by Horace’s to get her tire fixed. Would it be weird with her mother having dated the man a few times and not wanting to see him again? Had she been clear about the not wanting to see him again, or would he try to pump Della for information? With any luck, maybe she’d talk to another employee as opposed to Horace.

  “She isn’t some elderly woman on a fixed income who collects strays. Old money. A smart female who held onto her inheritance by staying single. From what I read in the local paper, her informal title came from her hobby of breeding prize-winning Himalayan cats. She shows the cats, and hers tend to take top awards at the shows. Thus, the name. I heard from my hairdresser that nothing was too good for her cats. She sunk major money into them. One even had a jeweled collar with actual jewels in it. Could be the burglars heard about the collar and figured there had to be more where that came from.”

  The weight of Prince Purrfection’s broken collar returned to mind, but Della dismissed it. Vanessa had owned the cat for a while. At least, it had been around before her mother brought Tony home. Still, her father would say check everything. “You remember when the actual robbery took place?”

  “Not sure. It would be easy enough to look it up online. She has her own website. Helen’s Heavenly Himalayans. Not sure if she has any kittens for adoption right now.” Stephanie’s shoulders went up in a shrug. “You should check it out. I thought about a cat before getting Jethro, but then I saw the price for the kittens.” She shook her head. “Didn’t need one that bad. However, I doubt you’d find anything on her webpage about the burglary.”

  “No problem. Wasn’t going to look it up. I can ask my mom if I really want to know. She’ll probably come up with two or three other sources. Sorry they took her cat. That’s hard. I imagine it’s very valuable.”

  “To her, I’m sure. I heard she put out a reward. Couple of thousand or more. Not exactly sure, but more than you usually see for a lost cat.”

  What if Vanessa’s cat wasn’t found at the rest stop? Could it be the missing cat? If Della turned it in, that would help her bottom line but ruin the delicate balance between her mother and the neighbor. Still, if the woman stole the cat… Della had a hard time imagining the sixty-plus widow squeezing into a black catsuit and stealing a beloved kitty and a bagful of jewels. It was out of character for the senior citizen, who enjoyed her game shows and gnomes.

  “Sounds tempting. I wouldn’t be surprised if there isn’t a parade of folks with cats claiming it’s her cat.”

  “Me, either.”

  The back door opened, causing both women to stare as Mabel bustled into the place. Her first words were directed to Della. “What happened to your car?”

  What had happened to her car? Della dashed outside in the frigid temps to stare at her vehicle in the glare of the security light. It looked about the same to her. She entered the building chafing her arms. “I’m not sure what you’re talking about.”

  “The tire. You got the baby, donut tire on your back driver’s side.”

  For a moment, she had forgotten about that, caught up in the cat lady story. “I had a flat tire last night in the rain.”

  Mabel placed her purse inside a cabinet and cleared her throat. “You never mentioned this when I called this morning.”

  “It didn’t seem important.” No need to say anything about her mother calling in the wee hours to report strangers in the neighborhood. Younger people often complained about senior citizens being paranoid. There was no reason for her mother to be painted with the same brush, although, normally, her mother tended to be much more trusting than Della.

  Her mother slammed the cabinet door a trifle harder than needed. “Anything that involves you is important. Did you call the motor club?”

  Why didn’t her mother assume she had jumped out of the car and changed the tire herself? It might have been due to the time her father tried to teach her how to change a tire, and she tightened all the lug nuts as opposed to loosening them. Shortly after that, she remembered getting a motor club membership.

  “Well, I did, but this very kind man stopped and changed it for me.”

  Her mother, who had removed a stoneware mug with MOM stenciled on it in red, two-inch letters, practically spun on her heel. “A man?” Her mouth dropped open, and then she asked, “Anyone I know?”

  “No. I never met Guy.”

  “Interesting.” Mabel purred the words. “Don’t say anything until I get my coffee.” She darted out the door, and Stephanie asked, “Where did you break down?”

  “Where the defunct industrial park is.”

  Coffee sloshed on her mother’s hand as she hurried through the door. “I heard you talking. Now, what did you say?”

  “Just telling Stephanie that I broke down outside the old industrial park.”

  Her employee gave an all-over shiver. “Super creepy. Makes you wonder if he was hiding in the park just waiting for someone to break down. He may have spread nails over the road.”

  While she knew her mother could be a bit of an alarmist with her love of real crime television shows, Stephanie might be equally as bad. All the same, it would be curious to find out what caused the flat. “Ah, I doubt it. If he wanted me to be stranded, why change my tire?”

  “Good point,” Stephanie conceded.

  “Besides…” Della felt the need to defend Guy, which was weird, considering she didn’t actually know him. “…he had board games in his car. Not exactly the image of a serial killer.”

  “He could have robbed a hobby store or might own one. Murderers h
ave day jobs or at least some do.” Stephanie teased.

  Her mother held up her hand palm out as if halting the conversation. “I want the real facts. Is he married? Did you get his number?”

  “Mom…” She lengthened the word. Typical. Every man she met was either a possible son-in-law or not important. “It was raining, dark, and I was grateful the man wasn’t a serial killer. I don’t know if he’s married. I don’t even know his last name. He likes board games, coffee, and jazz. He’s one of the few kind souls that will change a tire for a stranded woman and expect nothing in return. When I tried to give him something, he told me to do something nice for someone else who needed help. Sounds like a decent guy.”

  Stephanie nodded. “He sounds like a good one.”

  The fact that Guy was a real sweetheart just made it worse. Della didn’t know if she should look at her mother, but she did anyhow. Mabel patted her chest as if she were having heart palpitations, and then stumbled back and grabbed onto the counter.

  Her helper shot a worried glance at Della, but Della waved it away. Her mother could be quite dramatic when she chose. Her father used to joke that she should audition for the community theatre, or maybe it wasn’t a joke.

  They both watched Mabel as she looked upward. “Did you hear that, Kenneth? Did you hear what our daughter did? I bet you sent her Guy, too. She didn’t even get his last name. Might as well tell everyone he lives in Canada. He’s probably just an imaginary Guy for all the good it will do us.”

  There was not much Della could say to that except, “Time to open up.”

  Chapter Ten

  THE BELL ABOVE the door jingled and bounced as the first customers of the day arrived, bringing with them the chill of the outdoors. Voices called out their requests as Della and Stephanie weaved around each other like goldfish in an overfull pond, filling cups and bakery orders. The first two hours of the day earned the most money.

  Not too long ago, Della could remember complaining about the lack of customers. For now, she’d smile and keep moving at double time to keep her customers happy and get them out the door. No one likes waiting. Fortunately, pastries and coffee involved little preparation.

  The volume rose as more folks poured into the door, energizing the atmosphere and pulling Mabel out of the kitchen. She called out to those she recognized while inserting herself behind the electronic tablet stand that served as check out. The addition of a third person moved the line faster but not as fast as two lines would have. For a hard twenty minutes, goodies went into white bakery bags while drinks were poured and payments rendered. The kitschy cat clock with the moving tail and eyes kept track of the minutes with a tail swish and an eye roll.

  Della kept an eye on the diminishing edible inventory, deciding what she should replenish first. Food as inventory could prove problematic. Make too much and it goes bad. Today, the lemon drop cookies turned out to be the big seller. Make too little and folks groused about not getting their favorites. Her lips pressed together. Figures, since she’d made extra chocolate chip and snickerdoodles—they were normally her best-selling products, along with her fudgy brownie cookies.

  Women near the back grumbled about waiting in line. Della jerked, recognizing their overloud voices or one in particular. If they thought someone would let them ahead of them, they’d need to think again. The beanie hats with the oversized pom-poms failed as a disguise for mean girl Lacey and her sidekick, Rue. As for their grumbling, Della inhaled, doing her best not to glare at her nemesis. The last thing she needed was for a real customer to get in the way of her shooting death rays. There was no way even a rich chick could have a bakery up and running in twenty-four hours. Her arrival meant either she was here to bash the place, steal ideas, or both.

  Let Lacey look all she wanted. Cupid’s Catering Company earned its keep. Better yet, Della did it on her own with some help from her mother. A puff of pride had her pushing her shoulders back. Hard work and determination paid off along with the town’s biggest employer recommending her. That last bit turned out to be a serendipitous stroke of luck.

  Her brief moment of contentment shrunk like a balloon losing air when she considered Lacey’s parents. Throwing money at everything served as their mode of operation, which worked most of the time. An overheard comment, made when Lacey naturally won homecoming queen in high school, hinted that the family hadn’t always been rich. The father had invented something like the cardboard cuff that slips onto a coffee cup that keeps it from burning your hand. This happened way before Lacey was born or maybe when she was young.

  What if Lacey’s parents lured a decent baker to Owens? Someone who could reverse engineer her goodies, so to speak. Even though many of her recipes were standards, such as chocolate chip cookies, she made sure to add her own personal twist. Most bakers would rather concentrate on their own personal touch as opposed to trying to figure out someone else’s.

  A couple of chattering women worked their way to the front of the counter still engaged in conversation. One of them held up her cell for the other to see. “I’m thinking of getting a fancy collar for my Snowball to wear. Not as big or ostentatious as the one that was stolen along with the cat.”

  The friend clicked her tongue. “Not sure if that is a good plan. What if your cat gets stolen, too?”

  “It’s just rhinestones. Besides, who’s going to steal Snowball?”

  “True.” The phone owner commented with a nod. “No one is standing in line for a one-eyed cat.”

  The conversation reminded her she needed to talk to her mother about Prince Purrfection. “How can I help you?” Della addressed the couple deep in the discussion of Snowball as a cat napping target. The women gave their orders for a cheese Danish and a bear claw to go. After bagging the requested items, it meant Lacey and crew moved to being the next customers.

  Her mother caught her eye and angled her head in the direction of the mean girl and cohort. The most she trusted herself to do was give her mother a short nod of acknowledgment as she handed her current customers their bakery bags. She’d never complained about any issues in school. The last thing she’d wanted was her mother, or worse, her father, running in and trying to fix everything. That would have been ghastlier than the problem, but Mabel resented being deprived of playing Mama Bear even if she understood Della’s reasoning.

  Most of the work crowd left, including her table folks. Two construction guys settled on black coffee and bear claws, possibly because they were the biggest item in the case. Once they left, it was only Lacey and Rue. The bell announced new guests as her former coworkers, dark-haired Jaime and tall Lori, swept in with a wave and a grin.

  Della forgot about her unease created by Lacey in her bakery, signaling her former coworkers from Lawson Industries. Even though her brief stint as a customer service representative provided a way to find out more about the missing software heir, she’d made friends with the opinionated Lori and the soft-spoken Jaime. It hadn’t been her intention to go all private eye to find Lawson, but her catering business depended on finding the paying half of the wedding-of-the-century couple. Even though there were a few stumbles out of the gate, she eventually found her footing and met the then security guard, Kyle, and Stephanie in the process.

  Her mother gave her a little nudge. “Go say hi to your friends. I got this.”

  The opportunity not to deal with the smug Lacey appealed. She’d step out only for a second or two. Sure, the rush ended, but that just meant she should be prepping for the lunch crowd or going over the menus.

  “Hey, you two! Why aren’t you at work?” she called out.

  Lori laughed and said, “Love you, too.”

  “It’s because of you,” Jamie added with a wink. “I don’t know what you said to Lawson, but it’s all about the employees lately. We now have flex time. Today, we’re going in later, but we have to work later, too.”

  Memories of the phones ringing off the hook came to mind. “Won’t your boss have a cow if no one’s around to take ca
lls?”

  “I can answer that,” Lori announced, holding up one finger. “When we dropped Glamorize software, we lost a ton of complaints. Todd has moved to our department, too. I hate to say it, but some customers are chauvinists. I send those to Todd. He repeats whatever I said before and everything is fine. It’s like when the answer is delivered in a masculine tone, it is somehow profound and better.”

  “Yeah,” Jaime agreed and grimaced.

  “I hear you,” Della said and gestured to a nearby, clean table. “What can I get you?”

  Both women gave their orders, and Della turned to fill them and witness her mother waiting on Lacey. Her counter helper, Stephanie, must have stepped out—not that the woman couldn’t take a break. She could. It felt more like her mother deliberately chose to wait on them, which in itself smelled off.

  Della grabbed a tray, placed three stoneware cups on it and carried it to the coffee urn, close enough to overhear the conversation, even though Lacey’s shrill voice could have cut glass easily. “I said I wanted the fudgy brownie and the lemon drop cookies!”

  “Sorry, we’re out.” Mabel delivered the news in a casual fashion, never mind that there were a few lemon cookies left along with the brownie ones in the display case. Even more resided in the kitchen waiting to go out.

  The words must have awakened the dragon in Lacey. She glowed red as if ready to spit fire. “Look, old woman!”

  Della gulped. Her mother didn’t take kindly to being called old. Realistically, sixty wasn’t really old. The coffee cups filled, Della needed the asked-for cookies and moved around her mother to obtain them. She placed two brownie cookies and one lemon drop on a plate while refusing to make visual contact with Lacey, even though the temptation to slap her reared strong for talking to her mother in a snide manner. Mabel Delacroix spent a good part of her life teaching in a school for delinquent boys. One spoiled socialite she could handle.