“I can go talk to John with you,” I offered.
Hattie stuffed her phone in her bra and said, “Nah, I got it. I need to act like a grown up and face my mistakes.”
“Mistakes?”
“If you repeat this, I’ll post horrible comments on all of your blog posts and social media,” Hattie warned.
“Like that’s not childish.”
“Try me.”
“Okay, I believe you, now what?”
Hattie wouldn’t even look at me. She fiddled with her gray hair she wore in a braid on the right side of her head. “I should never have asked John to take a break from being us.” She glanced up at me through her bangs. “I’ve been a miserable mess since November.”
I bit my tongue at what I wanted to say. “Then own up to your mistake and tell him. He’s probably miserable, too.”
Hattie shook her head. “I’ve heard he’s been seen around town with a woman his own age lately. And that’s exactly why I broke it off. As fun as it, and he is, there’s a lot of years between us.”
I tried not to nag, but I said, “That’s bullpucky, age is just a number. Your mental and physical age is probably less than John’s. You’re smart, funny, and fitter than most people half your age.”
I was pretty sure I’d never said anything like this to Hattie in the years I was married to her son. She didn’t need any fuel added to her ego fire.
“That’s one hundred percent true, and I think it might intimidate him.” Now she looked me in the eye.
There’s my Hattie. Cocky and self-assured.
“Successful women are always intimidating,” I said.
“How would you know?” Hattie said.
Oh, snap!
I decided not to let her get under my skin. “I’ve been around you for more than twenty years, haven’t I?”
“True dat.”
I held back from laughing at Hattie’s response. What woman her age says true dat?
Hattie pulled her phone back out. “I’m going to call John now.”
She quickly found his name in her contacts and walked out of my studio as someone answered on the other end.
Hattie and John made me think of Valentine’s Day, and I hoped they got back together.
Speaking of Valentine’s Day, I needed to put together some recipes so Jacob and I could make them and photograph for the blog.
I knew for sure I wanted chocolate mousse. In my mind, chocolate mousse and Valentine’s Day were synonymous.
But I had another brilliant thought. So many people had champagne to celebrate. I’d also write a blog post on champagne alternatives. I would sing the praises of Moscato: sweet, bubbly, and perfect for lovers.
Lovers, please. It had been ages since I’d had a proper Valentine’s Day. The entire time I’d been married to Peter, he’d spent the day at the restaurant, and the week leading up to it was filled with recipe tests. Vendredi loved to offer a special “dinner for two” menu for the day. Since we’d been divorced, I’d spent it with Tommy. But this year, she’d probably want to go on a date with Jacob.
Instead of feeling sorry for myself, I dove into my list of chocolate recipes.
Around two o’clock, my stomach started growling, so I got up and fixed myself a can of soup. I had an entire kitchen full of groceries, but none of them were for me to eat. They were all designated for a client or a blog recipe. After I ate my soup, I logged onto the ‘net to purchase some Peruvian chocolates for a specific recipe. This would be my prima recipe for the seven-day blog sequence leading to the day of hearts.
I had just finished my soup when Jacob walked in.
“Do I have some wicked ideas for Valentine’s Day!” He seemed pretty happy with himself.
I got up from my desk and walked over to my work station, where Jacob had spread out several sheets of paper with photos.
“Do you think I’m rich? You know we have to make all of these, then photograph them?”
The photos he’d spread on the table included recipes for passion fruit coconut ganache, cranberry white chocolate truffles, raspberry wasabi cups, chocolate brownie lollipops, chocolate mint meltaways, gourmet s’mores, and chocolate champagne truffles.
“Well, we don’t have to make all of them. And I figured you’d want to make a chocolate mousse recipe, since you’ve been talking about it since Christmas.” He moved the photos around, putting them in some sort of order, I guessed.
I pointed at the chocolate champagne truffles. “This is a keeper, since we can sub out Moscato or Prosecco for the champagne.”
“Oh, that’s brilliant. And maybe even mention Vendredi’s label in the recipe.” Jacob went around the work table and opened a drawer. He pulled out a black Sharpie and marked the truffle recipe with a star. “Only five to go.”
“Five? I only picked one,” I said.
Jacob looked at me like I was missing something. “The mousse makes two.”
“Oh, yes. Well, I’d picked out a few recipes too, but these look much easier to make than mine. Especially the meltaways.”
Jacob marked the meltaway recipe with a star. “What about the brownie bonbons?”
I moved the paper closer and looked at the photo. “I like this, but,” I pushed the raspberry wasabi truffle away, “this one is a no go. Too exotic for most tastes.”
“What about the cranberry truffles?” Jacob pushed the paper toward me.
“This is perfect. Red for Valentine’s and chocolate. The perfect combination.”
“I think the passion fruit recipe is good too, passion and valentines go together,” Jacob argued for his ganache.
“I can’t argue there.” I looked at the gourmet s’mores. “If people can get around making their own marshmallows, this is a fun recipe. We can call it S’mores for Two.”
“Can we make a batch that small?” Jacob frowned.
“We can try. We’re going to have to make small batches of everything. I’m not a rich woman. I’d planned on including Peruvian chocolates, but that may be over the top.” I really wanted Jacob to argue with me on this point.
“I agree. It’s not in most people’s budgets, and where would they get the chocolate?”
I acquiesced. “You’re right, darn it.”
“Do you want to put all of the recipes up at once? Or are we going to post them over seven days?” Jacob asked.
“I thought we’d start posting them on the seventh. That way we have the last recipe go up the day before Valentine’s Day.”
“Good plan.” He gathered up his photos.
“And I want to have a post for alternatives to champagne for V-Day,” I added.
“Before the chocolate series? Because I don’t think you want to interrupt the series.” Jacob’s brain worked different from mine.
I considered what he said. We were pushing the envelope with just now starting these recipes. We had a little over a week to get them made and added to the blog. “Maybe I’ll post the first chocolate and the champagne on the same day.”
Jacob shrugged. “I’d do it the day before.”
Maybe he was right. I didn’t have to make anything for the post, just take a few great photos. “We’ll have to pour some Moscato that day, can you handle it?”
Jacob grinned. “I’ll have to make sure we do that shoot when I’m not working at the restaurant afterward.”
I laughed. “I’m not sure who Peter would kill first.”
By the time Jacob and I finished making the grocery list, I got my bookkeeping done, and organized my schedule for the next week, it was already dark outside. Actually, it had been dark for hours. I looked at the time in the top right corner of my laptop. Almost ten o’clock. Time to call it a night.
Chapter Three
I awoke to a text message from Saylor.
Cupcakes and coffee?
I could hardly believe my eyes. I texted back right away.
No rain check?
Her response was a series of kisses.
I shook
my head and sat up in bed.
Meet me at 9
Her thorough response was, K.
I jumped out of bed, went to the bathroom for my morning duty, then brushed my teeth and forced myself to put on my running clothes. I’d gotten so lazy, I didn’t even have to tie my laces. I had the pull string thingy, like you see on North Face jackets, to tighten everything.
I’d barely gotten a mile when Hattie jogged up beside me.
She slowed way down to match my pace and said, “John stopped by last night.”
I smiled. I couldn’t really say much, because I could barely breathe, much less talk.
“He stayed all night,” she said, and took off at a sprint.
I nearly choked as I watched her floral-patterned butt jiggle as she ran. Good for her, but did she really need to share that with me?
I barely got back to the house, took a shower, and arrived at The Bent Fork before nine. Saylor was already seated and had a coffee cup in front of her.
I wore khaki shorts and a white T-shirt with Birkenstocks, and my wet red hair was in a messy bun at the top of my head. Saylor wore black slacks and a fitted tiny polka dot print sleeveless shirt. I could see she’d worn pink pumps to match the polka dots on her shirt. Her makeup was flawless, and her short brown hair perfectly coiffed.
I looked like the redheaded stepchild next to her. I’m telling you, Saylor even looked good when she just got out of bed. The girl didn’t need makeup, but it enhanced her natural beauty.
She looked at her Rolex watch. “You’re almost late. That’s not like you.”
I scooted into the seat across from her. “Traffic was a bear.”
We both laughed. Pear never had any traffic.
“I stayed in the shower too long after my run.” I fessed up.
Saylor reached across the table and grabbed my hand. “You’re still running? You poor dear.”
I had to run to work off the food I sampled. “We can’t all be naturally thin.”
She sipped her coffee and said, “I stopped being naturally thin in my twenties. I just don’t ever talk about exercise. I work my ass off for two hours a day, five days a week. I go to a gym. Not a club, but a real gym. They only work with boxers.”
I was jealous. “Boxing? All this time I’ve known you and you never told me?”
“Talking about exercise is boring. Besides, everyone thinks their program is better than yours.” She played with the napkin under her cup.
“Not me. I want to box,” I whined.
“I guess I should have told you about it years ago. We could have punched the crap out of each other in the ring.” She was dead serious.
I wanted to ask if I could go with her sometime, but it was obviously her private thing.
Vicki rushed up to our booth. “What’ll it be, ladies?”
“Where’s Becca?” I asked.
Vicki practically growled. “No show. No call.”
I felt for her. I’d worked in the restaurant business long enough to know what a pain in the butt this was. “Sorry. I’ll have a flat white and a white chocolate chip cupcake.” I wanted to try something new that I knew I’d like.
“Got it.” She looked at Saylor. “For you, honey?”
Saylor lifted her cup. “Another one of these and one of those chocolate cupcakes with the raspberry filling.”
Saylor just gave me another idea for a February recipe.
Vicki left the table and I leaned in close to Saylor.
“Yesterday when I was here, Becca stormed out. I wonder if her no show has anything to do with that?” I whispered conspiratorially.
“Could be. And if it happened around you, she’s probably dead.” Saylor was nonchalant and definitely kidding.
“That’s not even funny to kid about. Shame on you.”
Saylor put her hand over her heart. “Bless my heart, I should know better.”
“I’m serious. She had words with someone at the back of the store and stormed out.”
I looked around. Bob! He wasn’t in his usual booth. Something creepy and crawly ran up my spine. Bob had hightailed it out of The Bent Fork after Becca left. Had he caught up with her? Followed her? I wondered if she was okay.
I told Saylor all about the guy who’d been a regular in Becca’s station for the past few weeks, and how I’d made up all kinds of stories about him while I was sitting and observing.
“Who’s the bigger creeper here, you or him?” Saylor asked.
I shrugged as Vicki was back at the table.
As she approached, a good-looking boy who looked to be in his late teens walked close behind her, tapped her on the shoulder and smiled.
She set the tray down on the table. As she placed our respective orders in front of us, she looked behind her and laughed. He gave her a shoulder hug before he walked away.
“New employee?” Saylor asked.
“Sort of an off and on employee. My son, Austin. He helps out once in a while. I need him today, so he’s skipping school to help me out.”
The boy was more like a man, at least six feet tall and muscular. Almost too bulky, as far as I was concerned. He had the same tousled blonde hair Jacob had, only several shades lighter, and his tanned face showed off his hazel eyes. His only flaw was a bit of acne on his cheeks and back. He was wearing a blue tank, so it was very visible. Poor guy. Tommy had been through her bout with acne and all of the side effects from the drugs to combat it.
“He’s a cutie,” I said. “He goes to high school here?” I knew he was older, but I wanted to see what she said.
“Oh, he’d die if he heard you say that. He’s twenty and a half. He plays football for Santa Rosa Community College. He’s hoping for a scholarship so he can transfer to a good university. Football is his life.” She looked so proud.
I wanted to tell her it was a good thing he was getting an education. Football was a one in a million chance for most players. It did explain his bulky physique.
“You know, I’d never have expected this from Becca, of all people.”
I knew Vicki would never say this to just any customer. We’d known each other a long time. I felt bad that I didn’t recognize her son. In my defense, I hadn’t seen him in years.
“Did you try to call her?” I asked.
“I did. She doesn’t have a landline. Her cell phone goes straight to voicemail. She must have turned off her phone. I’m beside myself.” She picked the tray back up. “I’ve almost gotten past mad, now I’m worried. This isn’t like her.”
“Willa said she was talking to someone yesterday, then stormed out,” Saylor said.
I wanted to smack her. I’d told her in confidence.
“And what about Bob? Was he in today?” she added.
Vicki frowned at Saylor. “Bob?”
“I’m not sure that’s his real name. She’s talking about the guy who’s been in everyday for a few weeks.” I turned to point at the booth with the family of four sitting in it. “He always sits in that booth.”
“You gave him a name?” Vicki said.
I shrugged.
“Her sister just showed up out of the blue yesterday, and they had a fight. Becca left right after that. Something has been brewing between them for weeks. And as for this Bob guy, I don’t know anything about him, but Becca was his favorite server for sure.” She looked around. “Weird, I haven’t seen him today.”
With those puzzling words, Vicki walked away from the table.
I called after her. “Vicki.”
She came back to the table. “What’s up, hon’?”
“I know it’s against all rules, but why don’t you give me Becca’s address? I’ll run by her place after we finish our cupcakes,” I offered.
Vicki smiled and said, “I couldn’t do that, but thanks. Besides, I think Austin stopped by on his way here this morning.”
When she walked away, Saylor said, “What’s wrong with you? That’s a violation of stalker laws.”
I stuffed a piece of cupcake
in my mouth as an answer. I knew she couldn’t give it to me, but I was worried. If Becca was so responsible, she’d never be a no-show.
“Was this her only job?” Saylor asked.
I swallowed. “No. She said she waited tables somewhere else and took online classes.”
My phone buzzed. It was a text from Peter, asking me if I wanted to have lunch. I sent back a text, asking what time. In the end, we decided on noon.
Vicki dropped off the ticket and Saylor grabbed for it before I could.
“My treat. I never get to have breakfast with you anymore,” I said.
“I’m paying to apologize for all of the rain checks.” She placed a twenty on the table. “Now let’s talk about more juicy things. Like I heard John was out at the property last night.”
“Holy smokes. Do you know absolutely everything?”
Saylor grinned. “I still hook up with Deputy Ballic now and then. Last night was one of those nights.”
I drank the last of my coffee. “Hattie called him about someone who has been on the property. I’m not sure why, but she didn’t want to approach the guy herself.”
“So who was the guy?”
“I have no idea. Though Hattie caught up to me when I was running and let me know John stayed all night.” I blushed just telling Saylor.
“Go Hattie. That girl has herself a catch.”
“She’s a cradle robber,” I said jokingly.
“No, not the age thing, I mean money. John Waters is loaded.”
“Again, why do you not share this stuff with me?” I felt like Saylor had been holding out on me for months.
“Sweetie, I just tell you what I know when I know it. Alan said he’d come into some money before Christmas. His grandmother, who was like a thousand years old, died. Apparently, she was filthy rich and no one knew it. She was like the guy in that book, The Millionaire Next Door. She saved and saved because she was afraid there would be another depression.”
“John was her favorite grandson?” I asked.
“How the heck should I know? I just know she left him a tidy sum. And before you ask, I have no idea how much a tidy sum is.” Saylor pushed her coffee cup and half of her cupcake to the edge of the table. “Walk me to my car?”
Mousse, Moscato & Murder Page 3
