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

by M K Scott

  Unlocked. That never happened when her father was alive. She’d heard numerous times about sneak thieves who robbed while the family watched television in the den or cavorted in the backyard. Maybe her mother left in a rush and simply forgot? Della sucked in her lips, hesitating about pushing the door open. Tony’s nails clattered on the wood floor as he danced in excitement. There was no way anyone could get past the needy dog. Feeling confident no strangers lurked inside, Della pushed open the door.

  Apparently, Tony had been waiting for such action and shot past her. “Great!” She pivoted and yelled, “Tony, come back!”

  Tony ignored that order. He just kept running. Della watched the leggy dog run, torn between whether to chase him or retrieve the collar. If her mother made a habit of leaving the house open, the collar needed to be relocated before it vanished.

  In the distance, Tony barked, and then laughter sounded. Maybe Tony had already located Prince Purrfection. If nothing else, her mother knew her pampered pooch was on the loose. Della padded into the kitchen and opened the cabinet where the flashy choker resided. She held it up, watching how the jewels sparkled in the sun. Rhinestones never looked so good. It could be real or a decent fake. The cat had probably tried to rid itself of the heavy collar, which might explain the tear. She tucked it into her jacket pocket and headed out, pulling the door closed.

  The fire truck roared to life and slowly backed up. Residents, including Mabel with a strong grip on Tony’s collar, watched the fire people leave.

  Della picked her way to her mother’s side. “Any luck?”

  “Fleeing cat but it moved much too fast for his highness.” Mabel cut her eyes to Vanessa as she continued. “Still searching. Sorry I’m sending you off single-handedly.”

  “No problem.” Della patted her pocket. “I’ll call you tonight.”

  Chapter Fourteen

  THE CAR RADIO blared the news as Della deftly dodged traffic. The digital dash clock reminded her of the decreasing time window she had. All would have been well if they hadn’t made a side trip to pick up the collar. Her eyes cut to her oversized tote lying on the passenger seat, containing a broken cat collar that could make her financial woes go away forever.

  Forget about Lacey’s Sweet Treasures bakery. With enough money, Della could buy her out, which seemed to be the common business practice. After all, Lacey would lose interest, just like she did with her modeling and dance school that hadn’t stayed open for over six months. It may have closed since no one ever scored a modeling contract, or Lacey discovered running a business required hard work. You’d think that experience would have discouraged her nemesis from opening a bakery, but it hadn’t.

  Daydreaming about bettering her rival with funds received from selling the collar amused her for a few blocks, but then the pleasure disappeared. Her mother didn’t raise her to be dishonest. Besides, she knew nothing about fencing jewels. From her father’s work with an interstate larceny taskforce, she understood criminals specialized in certain areas. Expensive jewels couldn’t be unloaded by your usual snatch and grab thieves. There had to be underworld connections. Often the thieves inhabited the same world as the very rich, which made it that much easier to lift the items.

  An old television show her mother favored featured a suave and handsome jewel thief attired in a tuxedo charming all the wealthy women. No one ever accused him, choosing not to believe they’d allow a thief to access the family jewels.

  Della wrinkled her nose. Maybe the wealthy cat heiress experienced something similar but refused to talk about it.

  Her lips firmed into a determined line. The sooner she got rid of the collar the better. Just lugging it around made her uncomfortable. She’d never owned anything more valuable than a birthstone ring her grandmother gave her. Unfortunately, that lasted an entire week until a girl at school asked to borrow it and somehow lost it.

  Eight-year-old Della never suspected anyone and freely gave her prized ring over. It never occurred to her to show off the ring while on her finger or even refusing a closer examination. She’d been way too trusting and polite. She didn’t even make a fuss when the girl lost it. After all, they both searched for it together. Would a thief help her to look? A couple of decades smarter, she recognized a smart thief would help search to throw off any blame. Della remembered feeling ashamed and not wanting to confess she’d lost the ring. It never occurred to her until later that she’d been tricked by a devious primary school student.

  Traffic stalled, forcing her to sit through a green light. Cars from the perpendicular lane forced themselves into the intersection on a stale green light. The impetuous motorists blocked cross traffic, causing harried drivers to honk and possibly questioning the parentage of the offending drivers. Della sighed. It was a fairly common practice in Owens. New neighborhoods increased the population past the point the roads could support.

  Hubert’s offered a delivery service, which would have been handy, but the cost of the service depended on the price of the order, not the distance from the store. It would have been close to sixty dollars for delivery. Although right then it felt tempting, she didn’t have an extra sixty floating around.

  There was not much to do but wait for the traffic to inch forward. A colorful sign to her right announced Sweet Treasures would be opening soon. A delicious-looking fudgy brownie cookie, a nut studded muffin, and a flaky apple turnover sat on a bone china plate, implying the bakery would be classier than most. Della’s eyes narrowed as she clicked her molars together. Who owned the house where the sign resided? Certainly not the Dankworth family. They would never be associated with such a modest, older, brick ranch home on the main thoroughfare.

  The sign bumped up her blood pressure, and she tightened her grip on the wheel. Cupid’s Catering Company had no such signs. They cost money. While the appearance of the sign irritated like crabgrass, what bothered her was the goodies displayed came from her own bakery. Someone else would insist it was a stock photo, but a baker knew her creations. It also explained two visits in a row from her nemesis. What was with the grownup mean girl? Shouldn’t she have moved away to a bigger, more glamorous locale? Why hadn’t Lacey married some senator’s son in a big splashy wedding? Maybe she had, but it hadn’t worked out, which explained why she was back in Owens stirring up trouble.

  To distract herself, she glanced to her left where a shabby strip mall existed. A local discount store anchored it. Small businesses came and went with the regularity of the seasons. Everything from a shop featuring glass animals to a video rental place vanished after a while. Della had even looked at a space there. Her eyes naturally traveled to the empty restaurant next to the Vape and CBD shop. Instead of brown papered windows to keep people from peering inside, there were words stenciled on them. Before Della could read what it said, a loud honk from behind her signaled her need to drive.

  Her foot goosed the gas pedal as she checked behind her to see who had the nerve to honk. A black and white local police SUV waited behind her. Thank goodness she never resorted to rude hand gestures—another thing she should thank her mother for.

  There was not much farther to go and having the needed items already pulled helped. Driving the speed limit, she made it to Hubert’s with about ten minutes to spare. A helpful employee grabbed a couple of carts and went back to retrieve her order. As she waited, she slung her oversized tote on the checkout belt and retrieved her wallet. The Bat Mitzvah might be out of her comfort range, but the family had approached her. The children would be happy with the make-your-own taco bar, and the parents were paying a bartender to make the children mocktails. As for the parents, they were surprisingly content with chicken breast, potatoes, and asparagus. The father had joked they would save the lamb for when their daughter married.

  One wall inside served as a type of community bulletin board to which any customer could add their announcement, be it a vacation rental or an upcoming yard sale. Right in the center, another Sweet Treasures Bakery poster gleamed. A paper announ
cement covered the plate of goodies. Very curious. Della crept closer, wondering about the effrontery of a person to ignore all the open space around the sign to attach their announcement to another sign. The smaller announcement had a border of truffles, which gave a definite hint of who the owner might be. Details of the Truffle Competition jumped out at the viewer in extra bold script. STRUT YOUR BAKING SKILLS loomed in the announcement, all cap letters. In smaller letters, it read free to the public and the date two weeks from now. Goodness, they must have been too busy to mention the date to her.

  Fourteen days to either improve on her spicy, dark chocolate truffle or to come up with something else altogether. Maybe there will be classes for different truffles, and she could enter more than one. Della pulled her phone out of her pocket and snapped a picture of the information. A squeak of grocery cart wheels had her turning back to the cash register as a man entered the store. She only noticed him out of the corner of her eye. Brown hair, average height, looking down at his phone, wearing a bomber jacket. There was something familiar about him.

  The grocery clerk, with her two loaded carts at the register, waved at her. Della scurried back, giving a backward glance and seeing no one. Tall warehouse-type shelves loaded with every type of party and catering supply along with food blocked her view. She shrugged and turned to pay the clerk. “Okay, what do I owe you?”

  “That will be two thousand one hundred seventy dollars and forty-nine cents today. Have you tried our rhubarb pies? We just got in the oversized pies, and they go fast. A pie would make a nice addition to the meal.”

  Della ran her credit card through with a grimace. Fortunately, she had enough to cover it since the deposit didn’t even cover the entire cost of the supplies. She made a mental reminder to up the deposits. If someone did stiff her for whatever reason, she’d still have the food and not any extra debt.

  Nearby she heard a woman’s voice coming from an aisle closest to the checkout. “Could you help me reach the chafing pan? It’s too high for me.”

  A masculine voice answered, “Glad to help.” A pause sounded as Della put her card back into the wallet and strained her ears. “There you go.”

  “Thank you so much. There aren’t too many helpful folks around. I appreciate your assistance.”

  The man laughed. “Call it my good deed for the day.”

  Wait, she knew that voice—her helpful tire changer. Her head swiveled in the direction of the voices. Anytime he would pop out, and she’d be able to confirm the possibility. In the dark and the rain, Della couldn’t say much more about Guy other than he topped her own modest height of five-foot five, but not by much and he was possibly a similar age. It was hard to say since some men maintain a youthful appearance while others aged fast, giving the appearance of being older than they were.

  The squeak of the cart wheel drew her attention to her very expensive order heading out the door. The helpful clerk threw over his shoulder. “Just direct me to your car.”

  She gave a last glance over her shoulder and trotted after the clerk with her wallet in hand. Normally, when she picked up supplies, she lugged everything out to the car herself. Today, she gets not only a helper but a determined one, too. Maybe she should tip him.

  After loading everything in the car, the clerk refused a tip and told Della coming back again would be enough. Agreeing to the possibility, she slipped behind the wheel and headed to the bakery while wondering if the man who changed her tire in the rain was the one in Hubert’s. Her lips twisted to one side as she weighed the possibility. Even if it was him, it didn’t mean he wanted to see her. All she wanted was to give him a proper thank you or maybe an offer of a free cup of coffee and a treat of his choice—nothing more, she assured herself, but if something should happen…

  Images of a shared conversation and laughter filled her mind as she maneuvered the familiar streets.

  Her phone chirped in her back pocket, making her twist to reach it. With a recently passed ordinance promising a ticket for any cellular phone use other than hands free, Della answered the phone, thumbed on the speaker, and placed it on her lap.

  “Hello?”

  “It’s your mother.”

  “I know. I recognized the ringtone.”

  “Funny. Vanessa is at home. I managed to get Tony back home, and all is well.”

  For a moment, Della had forgotten the incident in her mother’s neighborhood. She debated dashing through a yellow light but chose not to chance it. “Anything missing from the house?”

  “Hard to say. Vanessa’s so upset about the cat. I put Tony on a leash and had a look. Maybe I just saw a cat this morning that looked like Prince Purrfection. It got along with Tony, which means it’s probably a different feline.”

  “Hmm…” Della acknowledged as she shot through a traffic circle. “How about your house? Unlocked front door and all.”

  “That was peculiar.” A small snort carried over the phone line. “You know me. Your father trained me better than that. I’ve had the girl down the street looking in on Tony. Called her and she sheepishly admitted she may have left the door unlocked Nothing missing as long as you’re the one who took the jeweled collar.”

  “It was me. Got it,” Della cut her eyes to her passenger seat where her orange wallet lay without the oversized tote.

  Her heart stumbled as she caught her breath. An image of her bag on the check-out belt formed. Her overly helpful clerk, along with the appearance of her possible rainy night tire changer, messed with her routine. She had chased the clerk with her wallet in hand and left the bag.

  “Ah, Mother, I need to call you back.” Della checked her mirror, found the street mercifully empty, and executed a U-turn.

  Chapter Fifteen

  THE TIRES SQUEALED as Della swung a tight U-turn on the street normally crowded with vehicles. Streetlights cast golden circles of illumination in the early winter darkness. It was almost seven in the evening, and most families either had had dinner or were preparing it. Her stomach growled at the thought. There’d be no chance to eat until she located her tote with the collar.

  What if someone took her tote? She blew out a breath through rounded lips, hoping to calm herself. According to the yoga instructor, it served to put the individual into a meditative state faster. With any luck, it might keep her from freaking out.

  The battered, striped, canvas bag came from a thrift shop, making it both cheap and used. All the same, its sturdy construction held everything she shoved into it. No one would covet her bag. Its appearance wouldn’t shout valuable jeweled collar inside! A hopeful thief might paw through it in search of a cell phone, wallet, or possibly an electronic tablet. If their larcenous fingers encountered the broken collar, they’d dismiss it as costume jewelry. After all, who totes around an expensive piece of jewelry or worse, leaves it at a grocery store?

  Her father told her part of police training included divorcing yourself from your emotions. An officer needed to follow protocol and think logically. Della didn’t think any protocol existed for a lost bag, but maybe she should call the store and let them know.

  The number remained in her phone log. She stopped for a light, swiped her phone on, and scrolled through recent calls looking for Hubert’s. About the time she found it, the light turned, forcing her to go. A quick glance in her rearview mirror showed three cars behind her, holding three individuals or possibly families who would not be a fan of missing the light.

  Maybe she could get it on the next light. The neon sign of a drugstore caught her attention, sparking an idea. She signaled and pulled into the parking lot. It might take a little extra time to make the call, but it might keep someone around waiting for her arrival, too. The phone rang.

  “Hubert’s,” a live masculine voice announced. “If you are calling to see if we are open, we’re not. We close at seven.”

  The digital dash clock glowed 6:58—not seven, but close enough for the employee probably rationalizing anyone calling would not be close. “Ah yes. This is D
ella Delacroix. I was just there and picked up an order.” She made a point of not saying purse because it might trigger a little peeking inside. “I may have left my tote bag.”

  “Yeah. Someone did leave one of those shabby boho bags. Figured whoever it was would come back.”

  “Yes, that’s me. I’m on my way back. Maybe five minutes away.” It was probably more like ten, but she felt saying so wouldn’t help her cause. “Would anyone be there to possibly hand me my bag?”

  A long pause ensued, making Della check her phone to see if the call remained active. It did. Then the voice returned. “Um, are you the cute, chunky chick who I pushed out the groceries for? I prefer curvy gals.”

  Chunky sounded spot on. Cute depended on who you talked to since both her parents thought her beautiful, while close friends stated she had a wholesome, girl next door look. No one ever mentioned cute. “I don’t know. Did you assist many women with their orders today?”

  “Just one.”

  Della could imagine the oily smile on his face. Why did he have to be the person still at the store? “Well, I guess that was me. Maybe you can ask whoever closes tonight if they would wait for me, and you can hurry home.”

  “No worries, I’m closing tonight. You got lucky. It’s me.”

  Luck is not what she’d call it. Luck would be not forgetting her bag at all. Still, she needed to get it back. “Thank you. I’ll see you in a little bit.”

  No one ever accused Della of being eye candy, and the fact the employee checked her out icked her out a little. Did he think saying he preferred curvy gals would make her go all gooey inside? Probably.

  “Get the bag. Get gone.” The words echoed inside the car as Della prepped herself for her task. If possible, she avoided confrontation. That particular trait made her father give up any hope she’d follow in his footsteps. For some bizarre reason, she’d thought catering and baking would be relatively free of confrontation. Somehow, she’d missed out on all those reality shows with demanding bridezillas. Following her father’s expert witness advice served her well with her demanding clients. Say as little as possible, allow them to rant, then restate what you said previously.