by Jerri George
“I was thinking Le Cordon Bleu in Paris but my uncle twisted my arm so I'm going to Johnson and Wales University in Miami, right near where I grew up, and not far from our place in the Key’s.”
“Pretty far from Colorado,” he commented.
I’m fine with that. I think it’s pretty cool that Johnson and Wales were women who founded the school in the early 1900’s. How forward thinking was that? Anyway, I think he'd rather I stay close and take short trips abroad to study my craft every summer. When I'm trained, he's promised to help me open a restaurant or something, If I didn't know better, he's afraid he'll miss me.” She snickered.
“I can see why,” he said agreeably.
Her heart skipped a beat.
“I'd miss your cooking if I were him,” he winked quickly and easily as if it came automatically.
She blushed and bent over to gather the platter and napkins to hide her embarrassment. Tripp got up to help. “May I walk you back to, uh, wherever?”
“You may.” She curtsied ever so slightly, making fun of his formality. Her family had always been jokesters, not nearly so stiff.
“Harrelson James Long, the third, at your service, ma'am.” He clicked his heels lightly. “But everyone calls me Tripp.”
“The third? Wow, how nice for you. Tripp, hmmm. That’s cool. I'm Candace. Candace Kane.”
“Candace Kane. Wait a minute…Candy Kane?”
“Not if you want me to answer you. My friends call me CJ. My full name is Candace Jo.”
“Well nice to meet you, CJ.”
Dropping off the tray and emptying the trash was a prelude to taking a walk on the lush commons lawn that pre-fall evening. Removing his jacket, Tripp made a place for them to sit in front of the college’s gothic Old Main building. Under the moon and stars, they peeked through the poplar, maple and willow trees that blanketed the campus. The night sky was clear for miles and rivaled any planetarium. Like wisps of fireplace smoke on the wind, their thoughts about life were propelled to the stars. They discussed dreams that had materialized, remunerated those gone unfulfilled, and contemplated those yet to come to fruition.
When it seemed as if they could no longer communicate with words, they sat holding hands, fingers intertwined like shoelaces snuggly crisscrossed together. Candace gazed at the stars, her back against his chest.
That night, in the beauty of that moon, he told her things she had never heard before. He complimented her beautiful eyes, her high cheekbones and delicate nose as he let his finger follow the pattern of freckles that danced across it. He told her she had luscious lips then kissed her. Their playful banter extended beyond conversation. She welcomed his tongue.
Time escaped them both until he was forced to rush back to the frat house to collect his books as the grandfather clock in the foyer struck two.
The following night, they snuggled by the fire while he studied. The late September coolness and the age of the building gave a chill to the air. Candace had produced a meal of chicken Marsala, angel hair pasta and sautéed asparagus from a single burner hot plate and microwave.
“What are you studying?” she asked.
“Something not in my engineering curriculum, but I’m getting a head start on my law degree.”
“What is it?”
“Torts.” He chewed on the end of his glasses.
She let loose a teasing laugh. “No silly, it’s me who studies torts.”
“No, really. Torts are what they call broken laws, crimes—what people go to jail for.”
“Oh. Well, the only ones I know about are pastry shells filled with fruit or meat.”
Tripp hugged her closely. “That’s what I love about you...you are so innocent and untarnished by life. It scares me how perfect you are,” he said.
She just smiled. She felt the same way.
It had only been two weeks, but Candace felt comfortable and secure in his arms. It was as perfect as a well-made béchamel sauce. His touch was gentle. She wondered if this could be the way her mom had felt about her dad. As he talked, she absorbed every word. For the first time since her father died, she felt completely safe. His breath drifted against her cheek. She caught his gaze, his eyes devouring her features. His kiss was slow and purposeful, steadily and rhythmically lulling her into another dimension.
An unfamiliar tingling, a longing, crept through her body and made her heart beat rapidly. She wrapped her arms around his neck and brought him closer while feeling her independent nature peel away like layers of skin off an onion. She could love this man more than anything or anyone. She was surprised.
The next day, Tripp buried himself in his books. Law was a jealous mistress, he told her fleetingly when they crossed paths on the same campus green where their lips first touched. He seemed cold and distant. She felt the rug fly out from under her, and felt that other shoe drop. Tripp’s classes usurped him. Out of the blue, he pulled away, and she wondered if he too could see his well-organized future disappear into obscurity like one of the dried and tattered leaves upon the wind.
Without another word between them, Candace began her formal transfer early to Johnson and Wales. Instead of starting the next year, she arranged to transfer late into their fall term. Better late than never she told herself.
Chapter 11
Juggling hospital visits, the running of two businesses, both hers and the day-to-day responsibilities of the ranch was taking its toll and trying to piece together facts vs. theory about what happened to Uncle Dan was difficult. Candace screened what felt like a hundred calls this morning from his associates, clients, other brokers, even newspaper and tabloid reporters who jumped into the fray. Although semi-retired, Uncle sat on the board of several companies, and they wondered when he could return to the boardroom. The hardest queries to answer were from concerned former employees and his close friends. When would he be well? Next week…next month…ever?
Her own concerns, the typical inquiries about events, operational issues within the world of catering, and her problem-solving talents were put on the back burner. Thank God for Anton. He was ready and willing to handle brides, event planners and even the vendors while Candace read emails and accepted condolences from friends frantic with worry. They questioned her relentlessly but she had no answers. “No change,” was all she could say.
This, the third morning of the ordeal, was no different except for the fact the 48-hour critical window had come to a close, and there were no signs of increased danger. She drove the distance into town, coordinating a mind full of details as the miles clicked away on the odometer. If people only knew what it was like to be a caterer, they might come to realize their cost could never really begin to compensate for the hours invested, not just the physically demanding on-the-job hours, but the mental jumping jacks necessary in preparation as well. She really needed to be home and on top of things but with Uncle still unconscious, she didn’t see how.
Today would be the culmination of specifics painstakingly noted to files or stored on her computer like dates, times, tastings, site visits, information on the bride, groom, attendants, contact phone numbers, seating charts, table placement and vendors galore. Rentals, cake, flowers, photographer, and music all need to be confirmed. Checklists were made, staffing scheduled, and inventory all ordered days, even months ago.
This was the magical timeframe before an event when everything started to pop. Anton said he found it exhilarating and compared it to a space launch with all systems “go.” The menu took on a life of its own, causing them both to shift into high gear and her performance anxiety to peak.
Today a new bride and her mother were expected to go over linen and dish ordering, a fundraiser was scheduled for Friday night, and a brunch wedding reception on Sunday rounded out the week. All of the preliminary work done months before could be for naught if she was kept from holding the reigns. However, that had never happened before. She performed through weather, fever, hangover, broken bones, even surgery, once in a wheelchair, another time
hopped up on pain killers, but she always attended her events.
Hands-on involvement was critical, especially when food stuffs were delivered. The storage of groceries and perishables, refrigerated and frozen items, dairy products and fresh herbs, left little if any margin for error in the handling process. Proper temperatures both in cooking and preserving food were an absolute must. Fresh fruits, vegetables and dry goods, each with a different shelf life had to be protected or the company’s bottom line would suffer. Throwing away spoiled or questionable items made it impossible to control the ever-elusive culprit–food cost percentages. Tomorrow prepping would be set into motion without her. Food would be chopped, diced, mixed, seasoned, beaten, blended and tucked away safely, she hoped, until the big day.
Candace pulled her car into the hospital’s now familiar parking lot, turned the steering wheel with one hand, held her cell in the other, and squinted against the sun. Today, she needed to get in and out in a hurry. She was no less worried about Uncle but felt compelled to return to Denver.
Thankfully, Anton had answered her call on the first ring last night and did his best to convince her to stay where she was.
“I can handle this, CJ. You don’t need to worry. I've got this, as you Americans say.” He was teasing her but she could hear the concern in his voice.
“I know you can, Anton, but I have some appointments I hate to cancel, and I can't do anything here with Uncle, except watch him breathe.” Her voice caught on the last words. “Besides, you can always use another pair of hands.”
“Well, take your time. We finished prep on the lamb last night and made all the sauces and dressings ahead. So, we are good to go,” he said confidently.
“Oh, how did the recipe for the new rub come out? I was afraid that not using mint would make it flat.” She easily switched gears reversing into her comfort zone. Work had always been a haven.
“The rub turned out great. I seared off a piece for dinner last night with the shallot and mushroom sauce. It was perfection. You've trained me well, master Yoda.” She could hear him grin. He loved Star Wars, sometimes calling her Princess Leah, and she would refer to him fondly as her Darth Vader.
She was comforted by the satisfaction in his voice. “Good, that's good.”
“I will see you tomorrow then?” Anton asked.
“Yes, yes around three. Bye, Vader!” She hung up before he could even ask how Dan was.
Sheriff Solodad's squad car was parked at the emergency entrance again. He was certainly making a habit of appearing at the hospital like clockwork. Freshly shaven, his skin smelling of the sea breeze and glowing from a recent shave, the sheriff would either be in the parking lot or ICU corridor dressed in his standard issue tan uniform, pressed, creased, and crisp against his toasted-coconut tan body. Today he met her at the elevator.
Two insulated cups of strong-smelling espressos in a take-out holder were balanced in his hands along with one pineapple and one guava pastry. She wasn’t sure which one was his favorite, but he brought both, so she took the Guava. “How are you feeling this morning Ms. Kane?” he asked with proper formality when she joined him in the elevator. The sliding doors shut out the hospital lobby. “I hope you were able to get some rest.”
“I did, but I still had trouble staying asleep. And please don’t call me Ms. Kane, Sam.”
With the Sheriff in tow, her high heels clacked on the linoleum floor as she made her way to ICU purposefully looking at her reflection instead of peering in at the patients. Her freshly washed hair was clasped back, but without makeup she looked a bit drawn. Sheriff Sam pulled open the door to Dan’s room with two fingers, and Candace dropped her briefcase, newspapers, magazines and date book on the only chair in the room before approaching Uncle Dan's bedside.
She reached out tentatively, touching Dan’s forehead, gently brushing back a few pieces of soft gray hair. She surveyed his face for any sign of life. His eyelids were still. The only movement in the room for the past two days was that of his breathing, forced by the respirator. He was pale, almost ashen. She held his hand and dropped her chin against her chest.
“Who could have done this to him?” she mumbled softly in despair. Collecting herself, she asked, “What have you found out, Sheriff?”
“That's one of the reasons I'm here. I came to tell you the fingerprints lifted from the door and the house all belonged to your Uncle, the maid, the ranch foreman, you and some friends of your family, no one else.”
“Sheriff, Jesse is not a maid. What's the other reason?” She turned off the continuously vibrating phone on her hip.
“Excuse me?” His brow furrowed.
“You said, one of the reasons you're here. What are the others?” she asked quietly, taking a small bite of her pastry. She loved guava. She had eaten it many times before after being introduced to it in the Caribbean as a child.
“Uh, well, before you left for Denver, I wanted to make sure you heard it from me personally, and I wanted to check in on him,” he said, nodding toward the bed respectfully then lowering his eyes.
She felt small. “I see.”
So, his visit was two-fold—an update on developments in the case, making sure she understood there was little evidence of wrongdoing and to find out about Uncle Dan's condition. She didn't care whether he believed her or not, she knew the injury wasn’t an accident.
“Did you find any other weapons? Could he have been hit with that poker?” She blinked away tears to focus her eyes. The entire room was bleak and chilly.
“No, no ma'am, we didn't. He could have been picking up the poker off the floor and hit his head on the stone mantle as he stood, knocking himself out. We are still waiting to hear from the doctors to see what seems most likely. Since they had to perform surgery at the site of impact, we may not be able to prove he was hit with the poker or not.”
“Oh Sam, don't ma'am me,” she snapped. “I’m sure someone hit him with the poker!”
“I’m beginning to agree with you, but I wish I had something more to go on...anything. We did get some impressions of fresh tire tracks coming up to the house, but they were run over by your car and then the ambulance.” He grabbed the Danish and took a big bite.
“So, someone else was there. Could I have disturbed the only clue we had?” She turned to look at Uncle, a man she would protect with her own life. Now she could barely help him.
Sam shrugged. “I suppose so, but they could belong to anyone.”
“I’m sure someone was with him, and they just left the door open after he was—” She choked. “—after they hit him.”
“We didn't find anything missing and his money and credit cards were still in his wallet, so we're not thinking robbery, but—”
She interrupted him. “Maybe he scared them, tried to fight them off. After all, he can be quite imposing you know.”
“He sure can be.” He took another hefty bite of his pastry, chewed, swallowed, and then continued, “We’re not done, CJ. I’m still looking into what happened to the dogs. So far we have no leads but I'm sure we'll get to the bottom of this.”
“I hope so, Sam. I just want him to wake up and talk to me, to tell me that I'm sweating the small stuff.” Candace looked at Sam with pleading eyes. “I can't lose him, too.”
Sam’s face showed genuine concern. He’d known Dan and Candace for a long time and it was no secret how much he admired her uncle. It must have pained him to see Dan’s large frame diminished by the mechanized hospital bed covered in bleached white sheeting and his form draped in a pastel green gown. The tubes running out of his body were nothing compared to the wires that hooked him up to various machines.
Sam shifted his weight and placed the pastry and coffee on an empty rolling cart to his side. He took off his hat and tucked it under his arm, revealing his short-cropped jet-black hair. He stood erect, almost at attention, his stance reminiscent of a matador at the ready should a bull try to run him through.
“I hate to be the one to ask this, CJ,
but did you and your uncle have any problems, any disagreements?”
“What?” she turned to face him.
“Look, it’s standard in this type of situation to question the person or persons who made the initial discovery. It’s nothing personal, it’s my job, Candace. My understanding is that your uncle let you borrow quite a large sum of money for your catering business. Did you ever argue over that?” He looked at her evenly and waited for a response.
“I really can’t believe you’re asking me this,” she said. “Uncle and I have never had any problems, and he didn’t loan me the money. I had to arrange to pull some money from the trust fund my parents set up for me before they died. I’m not entitled to withdraw funds until I’m thirty, and my uncle is the executor of the estate.”
“Oookaaay.” He drew the word out as he thought on his feet. “Is there anyone that you can think of that would want to harm him?”
“Everyone loves him. You know that,” she said, shaking her head.
“Well, let me know if anything or anyone comes to mind,” he said officially.
“So, you don’t think this was an accident either? It’s about time. Maybe we can finally get something done around here.”
Sam was noticeably uncomfortable with her present demeanor and took a longer than normal pause.
“What Sam? What’s going on?”
“Nothing really,” he said, scratching the back of his neck. “I was just thinking about how generous and kind your uncle is–all the BBQ’s he would host on the Fourth of July. I was remembering how he always called you ‘one of the brightest stars in the sky.’ He really loves you, Candace, and I don’t want you to be offended. I’m just doing my humble sheriff’s job.”
Candace sighed. She didn’t mean to be short with him. She wasn’t the vibrant and happy young girl who led her friends on shopping expeditions around town. She wasn’t the Candace he remembered who brought decorated holiday cookies and chafing dishes full of food to the senior center. Life had a way of changing all that, and what mattered now was to get to the bottom of the situation.
