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

by M K Scott

  “Glad you called. I’m trying out truffles for the truffle contest.” Della realized she could segue her sentence into a burning question she had. “Did you sign up for the contest?”

  “I’m doing a small sponsorship, but no truffles. Bread is my thing, along with pizza dough. I make a mean chicken alfredo pizza if you’d like to try it.”

  Despite working all day, Della twirled and grinned. Guy wasn’t in the contest. Her delight over this made her miss whatever he said after that, until he spoke again.

  “Interested?”

  He must have asked her a question. “I’m sorry. It’s very loud in this kitchen.” She made sure to bang the metal mixing bowl against the stainless-steel counter. “I can’t hear you. Could you repeat it?”

  “Never mind. It’s not important. I’ll have your bread ready in a day. How about those cookies?”

  “Ready by tomorrow. I can bring them around three when everything slows down.”

  “No need. I can send Zac by to get them.”

  Something had changed. Della couldn’t put her finger on it, but Guy sounded flatter, less energetic. Maybe his day had just caught up with him. It sounded like he didn’t want her to come over. Perhaps she assumed way too much. She swallowed, and it felt like a large rock fell down into her belly.

  “Sure. Any time after two, but we close by five.”

  “Got it.”

  “See ya.” She waited for him to say bye before hanging up, then stared at her phone for a minute, pondering the conversation. At first, the conversation remained upbeat, despite the fact that Lacey had put up signs at a storefront near Guy’s restaurant. When he told her that he’d chosen not to enter because he made bread better than anything else, he said something about a chicken alfredo pizza she might like. Her mouth gaped. Had he offered to cook for her, and she blew past it in her delight that he wasn’t in the truffle contest?

  Della placed her phone on the counter and moved. She banged her head lightly against the wall. How could she have missed responding appropriately? Then again, it might have been one of those things people say and mean nothing by it, like we should do lunch sometime.

  Maybe while she cleaned up the kitchen, she’d get some great inspiration on what to do next or how to undo any damage she might have done to a possibly budding relationship. Maybe her fairy godmother could fly in and make things right. Mercy, Della must be at the end of her rope if she kept hoping for intervention from fairy tale characters.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  THE DAY OF the truffle contest arrived sooner than expected. Della lay in bed as her alarm softly chimed. If she didn’t shut it off, it grew slightly louder and a tad harsher, rather like an impatient parent. There was no reason to rush to the contest that wouldn’t start until ten with the winners announced at noon.

  Della had delivered her blind box with just the number thirty-eight written on it along with the name of her truffles: Irish Delight. If any of the judges were expecting coffee or whiskey in it, they’d be disappointed. She listed the ingredients because of any allergies she didn’t know about. A four-leaf clover decorated each truffle. The extra flourish could prove lucky.

  With the blind judging, her mother’s friends wouldn’t even know which truffles were hers. Even if all three voted for her out of loyalty to Mabel, three didn’t make a majority. She’d prefer to win on her own truffle superiority anyway. Della snorted at the sentiment. Losing never attracted business. No one said let’s go visit that place that didn’t win any awards.

  As predicted, the clock grew louder and more discordant, forcing Della to shut it off. She stretched and contemplated what to wear. Wintry weather dictated an inside venue for the contest. Somehow, Mary managed to convince the Optimist Club to host the event. Possibly they hoped attendees would vote for the various Christmas trees decorated by local businesses. It cost a dollar to vote and all the money went to the Optimist Club, who used it for various community events, such as the Santa Drive that provided toys and clothes for struggling families.

  Mary made it known that after the event she expected help cleaning up. It wasn’t enough to create delicious truffles. Della had to clean up, too. Oh well, she couldn’t begrudge the task since the contest’s sole purpose centered on promoting Cupid’s Catering Company and Bakery. Like many ideas, once created they took on a life of their own. At last count, fifty individuals had entered. Weren’t people supposed to be busy getting ready for Christmas or Hanukah?

  None of the entrants were Lacey Dankworth as far as she’d heard, which gave her one less thing to worry about. She assumed Mary would have told her mother, who’d relay the information to her. Instead, she could worry about Guy. She snapped on the light and blinked at the sudden brightness. She hadn’t seen or spoken to Guy after the phone call where she may have fumbled a possible date. Still, it could have been nothing. Just patter, meaning nothing.

  All the same, why not look her best? Not for Guy, but for when she took the stage like an actress accepting an Oscar. Instead of a slinky, glittery gown, she’d be wearing her black catering outfit. The apron might be too much. After all, who runs around in an apron out of the kitchen? Della moved to the kitchen, mulling over the possibility of a dressy Cupid’s Catering Company outfit for events like this.

  After spending extra time on her hair and makeup, she added snowflake earrings as a nod to the season. Would wearing a Santa hat be too much? Probably. She abandoned the idea as soon as she thought of it. How should she act when her name was announced? Della stared back at her reflection, trying to act surprised and jubilant at the same time. A simper, wide eyes, and a hand on her chest conveyed, “Who, me?”

  Her mother, who would be there, would burst out laughing. No, she needed to be more authentic. Her eyes closed as she tried to imagine the sheer delight of being called to the stage. Would they have trophies or ribbons, something she could display at the bakery? Fifty people were a lot of folks to best. Taste varied from person to person, too. While a few hard-core chocolate fanciers preferred chocolate so dark it tasted slightly bitter, others insisted only creamy milk chocolate would do. Adding in the ones who preferred their chocolate with a fruit pairing such as orange or raspberry would result in having a difficult time coming up with a clear winner.

  By the time she arrived at the bakery, she’d talked herself into accepting being one of the top three placers. Surely there would be a first, second, and third place to add to the excitement of announcing the actual winner. Many people may have entered to have something to do and for bragging rights. Technically, they wouldn’t be her business competitors.

  In that single moment, she wasn’t worrying about how the contest might turn out. She came up with the idea of taking refreshments. Business cards next to the cookies and sweets should serve. She’d even add some of the almost-ran truffles in the fridge. The oversized gingerbread cookies and sugar cookie Santas should please the younger set. A couple of travel thermoses of coffee along with sleeves of coffee cups would round out the refreshments. Stephanie greeted her as she entered.

  “Good morning. You ready, champ?”

  Della held both thumbs up, unwilling to say anything that might jinx her. “Thought I’d get some cookies and coffee to take with me for the event. Not sure who will be there. I can pop four dozen cookies in the oven, but I wanted to take some iced Christmas cookies. How many do you think you can spare?”

  Stephanie moved over to the display counter, examining the cookies she’d already put out. “Well, since we’re closing at eleven, we will miss the children that visit after library story hour. If you leave me a dozen, I should be good.”

  “Okay,” Della nodded and headed back to the kitchen to start another urn of coffee, grateful she’d purchased a second urn. “I appreciate it. Did you put up the sign about joining us at the Optimist Hall?”

  “I did,” Stephanie replied as she followed Della into the kitchen. “Something weird happened yesterday that I thought I should mention. You and Ma
bel rushed in to get the food for the tea, and then you were gone, and I never had a chance to tell you.”

  Had Guy come by? Had he asked about her? Della stopped in mid-stride and turned in the middle of the kitchen. “What?”

  “You remember you told me to keep my eyes peeled for mean girl Lacey?”

  Both Della and Mabel instructed Stephanie to discourage or disrupt any photos and not to sell Lacey or Rue any signature products. They could have as many chocolate chip cookies or snickerdoodles as they wanted, but nothing unique to Cupid’s Catering Company.

  “Lacey showed up yesterday?” Her excitement at her clever plan of bringing refreshments deflated a little as she braced herself for whatever trouble mean-girl extraordinaire could cook up. All the same, Stephanie would have told her if something horrible occurred as opposed to waiting.

  “No.” Stephanie shook her head and crinkled her nose. “Not her. Her sidekick showed up in a cheap black wig even my grandmother would refuse to wear. Granny owns a half-dozen questionable wigs. Anyhow,” she continued, “I recognized her from that odd walk she has as if she’s ready to shuttle off to the side, probably due to waiting on her highness while doing her best not to attract attention. Anyhow, she comes in and sees the leftover truffles in the case, and her eyes get all big as if she’s spotted a hundred-dollar bill on the sidewalk. Ding!”

  Oh my! It never even occurred to Della that anyone would buy her truffles and try to use them for the contest. All the same, they’d need quite a few for all the judges. “Could be she had plans on reverse-engineering my truffles. Did you sell her any?”

  “Please!” Stephanie placed a balled fist on her hip and gave a sassy chin jerk. “I wasn’t born yesterday. As soon I recognized her, I got out a bakery box and loaded it up with truffles for an online order. When I told her someone had just ordered the lot of them, she almost cried. I felt bad for her—just for a moment—knowing how Lacey would react, so I gave her a cookie on the house. Chocolate chip. Hope you don’t mind.”

  “I would have done the same.” She still felt for the girl. Getting tangled up with Lacey must be the equivalent of joining a cult—easy to join but almost impossible to leave. “I assume the bakery box is in the fridge?”

  “You got it.”

  “You’re a real friend. I need to do something nice for you. Any suggestions?”

  Stephanie laughed. “Most people would ask for a promotion. I’d settle for more help. After all, this is supposed to be a part time job. Maybe Elise could work an afternoon or two.”

  It was not what Della expected, but technically Stephanie had only agreed to work a couple of days a week. Once the catering took off, she sometimes ended up staffing the bakery on her own. Della needed to do something about that. “I’ll ask Elise today. For now, how about a truffle? I kept a few of the contest truffles behind. Interested?”

  “Always.”

  Inside the fridge rested a white bakery box of all the truffles that didn’t make it to the contest. Della retrieved the box, opened it, and offered it to Stephanie, who chose a truffle. She bit into it, closed her eyes, and sighed. “This is so good it should be illegal.” Her eyes popped open. “Since it isn’t, can I have another?”

  “Sure.” Della held open the small box. “I have to save one for mom and Elise, who will be at the event. There is another box in the fridge, too. Not my best truffles, plain with no decoration, but edible all the same.”

  “Yum.” Stephanie devoured the second one and peered into the box. “You have three left. Is one for you?”

  After spending a good six hours tweaking truffles, which included eating her share and more, her stomach rebelled at the idea of anything sweet. “As hard as it is to believe, I need a break from chocolate. I’ll save the last one for Guy if he’s there.”

  “Well, I was going to shamelessly ask for it.” Her lips turned down slightly, then she smirked. “Won’t now. I know he’s going to be there. Zac, his errand boy, mentioned it when he dropped off the buns and picked up the cookies.”

  “Oh really? That’s good to know,” Della said, unsure how she felt about it. “I’d better get busy if I want to get the cookies ready.”

  The front door jingled which resulted in Stephanie disappearing into the front. Just as well or she might ask Della all sorts of questions about Guy, ones she didn’t want to answer or even know the answers to. She needed to concentrate on the contest, not Guy or the fact the catnappers hadn’t been taken in by the substitute cat, and Prince Purrfection couldn’t be found. Maybe the thugs had succeeded in retrieving the cat. Somehow, she had a hard time believing they actually wanted the pampered feline. So far, no one had produced the right cat for the reward.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  A GOOD TURNOUT should benefit the Optimist Club. Cars crowded the parking lot despite the event starting at ten. Della crept through the lot in search of a spot for her compact car. The problem with her great ideas was she usually came up with them after the fact. She hadn’t taken into consideration getting her last great ideas inside. It didn’t help that she had to lug the heavy thermoses of coffee as well as cookies and cups. One of those portable wagons commonly used by Farmer’s Market shoppers to haul both their produce and goods would come in handy. Her mother could be here already. All she’d have to do is give her a call, and she could carry the much lighter items.

  An oversized news truck swallowed six spots by parking at an angle. Two men with Wake TV Crew jackets wrestled with the satellite dish tower atop the truck. It must be a slow news day if they were here. It made Della wish for something other than her plain catering outfit. Since it was all black, she could easily be mistaken for a hairdresser, a waiter, or a more mainstream goth. If her mother’s friends got the news to come, then it must be a feel-good story—something tacked on at the end of the news after covering mayhem, murder, and politics. When folks couldn’t feel any worse, a clip about a handicapped kitten finding a home demonstrated that goodness still existed in the world.

  For the truffle contest to fit into that category, there would have to be a twist to make the tale interesting. Former high school nerd harassed by mean girl could be almost anyone’s story. It might be a common man angle. Perhaps they might have an entrant who used to be homeless but collected cans to buy their cooking equipment. Della certainly hoped not.

  A white panel van blocked her view, and she tapped the brake to lessen her speed to a snail-like crawl. Just maybe an open space hid behind the bulky news truck. Aha! There was an open space, but no one had pulled in because the occupants of the van next to it were unloading their own stuff into the space: a folded craft table—so useful at pop-up events—folding chairs, coolers, and a couple of portable wagons. Maybe if she idled in place, they’d get the picture and move things, allowing her to park. The two men dressed in parkas with their hoods up, appropriate for the frigid drop in temperature, had their backs to her. It was hard for them to get the notion to hurry up if they didn’t see her.

  Even though it went against her core belief thou shall not honk, Della did anyhow—a light cheery beep beep. Besides, her compact’s high-pitched horn could never sound intimidating. Both men twirled around, stared, and then waved. No way! Guy and Zac grinned at her, which forced her to roll down her window and pretend she’d intentionally honked at them as a friendly greeting as opposed to being an impatient jerk.

  “Hey, Guy! Hey, Zac! Looks like you’re headed in,” Della commented with a smile and a hope they’d do just that, allowing her to park. If things were awkward between the two of them, parking beside his van wouldn’t be her best bet. So far, she’d spotted no spaces, and she needed to get her goodies inside.

  Zac lifted a cooler into the wagon. “That we are. Need to get set up to pass out the boss man’s famous buns. He’s rather known for his buns.” Zac chuckled and grabbed the other cooler.

  It was probably not the first time Guy had heard the joke. He grimaced, and then sighed a little. He turned and gestured to his h
elper to come closer. Obviously, they were talking, but Della couldn’t hear the low-voiced conversation. It resulted in Zac loading the table and chairs on a portable wagon and pulling it toward the hall. He waggled his eyebrows as he passed Della. Such a kid. Guy pulled the second wagon closer to the van and motioned for her to pull into the space. Another car coming the other way sped up, spotting the opening. Nope. Della tapped her gas, overshot the space, and backed in as if that were her original intent.

  When she stepped out of her car, she realized Guy had intentionally waited for her. Snowflakes slowly drifted down as she unloaded her thermoses of coffee. Guy found room for one in the wagon and insisted on carrying the other one, which left Della free to handle the cookies and cups. Perfect. Now the only issue would be what to talk about as they made their way to the hall.

  Should she try to explain why she ignored his invitation for chicken alfredo pizza or had the invitation been a matter of perception? When in doubt, pretend it never happened and see how he acts.

  Guy spoke first. “You nervous?”

  “In a way. It would be much worse if we had to cook in front of people. I cooked alone, then turned in my samples. All I can do is wait. I also thought it wouldn’t hurt to bring in some cookies and coffee from the bakery.”

  “People will love it.” Guy turned to glance back at their parked vehicles. “You brought a table?”

  “No.” Her sudden brainstorm of bringing cookies crumbled like one. “Um, I need a table?”

  “Well,” Guy started and then shrugged, “Maybe not. I called and asked about the facilities, and they told me I needed to bring my own table and chairs.”

  Calling and asking about stuff sounded like the smart thing to do as opposed to going off half-cocked, assuming there would be plenty of tables for the taking. Normally, she would have called her mother and asked. Nerves and a possible chocolate overdose resulted in forgetting practical things.