by Amber Crewes
“Who is here?” Rebecca asked her daughter. “You said someone is at the door?”
“It’s a lady,” Mandy told her. “She has brown hair and wire-rimmed glasses. She says she was expecting you, but you were late? She seemed mad.”
Rebecca’s eyes widened. “It’s Thelma,” she muttered. “Thelma Barrington is here.”
4
“T helma Barrington?” Mellie shrieked. “We have to let her in!”
“Did we miss our appointment time?” Rebecca wondered as she looked at her watch.
“You did,” a woman’s voice declared. “You missed our appointment, Rebecca Truman, which was rude. If there are any more issues, I will drop out of this event.”
They all turned to stare as the bespectacled woman walked in. “Thank you for coming to our house,” Rebecca cried. “I am so sorry we missed our appointment at your cake shop. My sincerest apologies.”
Thelma scowled. “Apologies mean nothing,” she snarled. “I am a busy woman, and my wedding cakes have been purchased by the best of the best! I’ve baked wedding cakes for Madonna, Jennifer Lopez, Sir Elton John, and the Prime Minister of Canada. Sir Elton fondly calls me Queen of the wedding cake, and that is what I’m known as in celebrity circles. I rarely make house calls, as you know, but given the exposure this wedding…”
“Exposure?” Meghan asked. “What do you mean?”
Thelma peered at her. “And who may you be? I know Mellie and your mother, but are you the Truman girl who is off at college? Or the one in high school?”
“Neither,” Mellie answered for her. “Though her messy outfit may lead you to believe she is in college, Meghan is actually the bride.”
“This girl is the bride?” Thelma asked. “This girl?”
Rebecca nodded and placed an arm around her shoulder. “This is the future, Mrs. Jack Irvin.”
Meghan’s heart raced in her chest. “What do you mean by exposure?” she asked Thelma again. “I am a simple girl marrying a simple guy. Why are you bothering to make my wedding cake?”
She saw her parents exchange glances. “What’s going on here?”
Mellie’s eyes widened. “They didn’t tell you?”
“Tell me what?” Meghan demanded. “What else have you not told me about my wedding?”
Rebecca sighed. “Why don’t we do this elsewhere?” she hissed to Meghan. “You’re causing a scene.”
“Tell me now,” Meghan said firmly.
“Your wedding is going to be televised!” Mandy exclaimed. “Good Day Dallas, the news station, wanted to do a special on your wedding, and Mama agreed. They think it will make for good TV; with Mellie’s fancy wedding a few years ago, Daddy getting out of jail, and your job as a famous baker up North, they wanted to film your special day.”
Meghan’s jaw dropped in horror. “Mama? Seriously? Is this true?”
Rebecca scoffed. “They’re sending a small crew to film your reception and a few minutes of the ceremony,” she told her daughter. “It really isn’t a big deal. Your father and I thought it would be good publicity; he wants to get back into politics now that our family scandal has ended, and his attorneys agree that some good publicity would help us win over the hearts of Texans.”
Meghan turned to her mother. “I have to get out of here,” she hissed. “This is insane. All of this is insane.”
Rebecca took her daughter by the elbow, her long, red nails digging into Meghan’s skin. “Put on a happy face,” she ordered. “Or you will be sorry. Put on a happy face for Thelma, or your father and I will not give you our blessing to marry Jack.”
Her face grew hot, but as she yanked her arm away from her mother, she pasted a smile on her face.
“Sorry for the misunderstanding,” Rebecca told Thelma. “Let’s go into the parlor and chat. Meghan, please come along.”
She followed her parents into the parlor with Mellie and Mandy following behind. They sat down on the white leather couches in the parlor, and two men joined them. “My assistants,” Thelma said off-handedly as the men stood behind her. “They’ll be bringing in cake samples for us to try.”
Meghan was frustrated, but she wanted to make the best of the situation. Her parents were being generous by hosting her wedding, and she wanted to make a good impression on Thelma, someone who had baked for the stars.
“I’m a baker too, you know,” she commented as she caught Thelma’s gaze. “I own and operate a bakery in the Pacific Northwest. We haven’t done a celebrity wedding before, but we do a lot of events and corporate orders. It’s a fun business, isn’t it?”
Thelma narrowed her eyes at Meghan as the assistants wheeled out a silver cart filled with tiny cakes. “I wouldn’t call it fun. Baking is an art, Morgan.”
“It’s Meghan,” she corrected, but Thelma waved her hands.
“Enough chatter about your cupcake stand,” she commanded. “Come to my shop for your appointment next time; that’s a real bakery. And now, it’s time to try a real cake. Henry? You should go first. I want you to try my very best cake.”
The assistants placed small plates and napkins in front of the Trumans and Thelma. “This first cake is a blood orange cake with citrus frosting,” Thelma grandly declared. “It was a favorite of Sir Elton John.”
Rebecca took a small bite. “Delicious,” she declared. “Meghan?”
Meghan could hardly speak. Thelma’s remarks had stung her, and she felt her face grow hot with anger. How dare Thelma speak to her like that? Hadn’t she once been a young upstart herself? Meghan balled her hands into fists; she could feel her fingernails cut into the flesh of her palms, and she resisted the urge to say something snarky.
“Meghan?” Rebecca repeated. “What do you think?”
“It’s... nice,” Meghan replied weakly.
Thelma led them through the other cakes, and at the end of the tasting, she smiled flirtatiously at Henry. “So, have you chosen what you would like?”
Henry shrugged. “They were all delicious.”
Thelma batted her eyelashes. “Thank you, Henry. But what did you prefer?”
Mandy interjected. “Don’t you think the Bride should make that decision?”
Meghan glanced at her mother. Rebecca’s beautiful face was dark with rage.
“I think we will discuss the matter and get back to you,” Rebecca answered curtly. “Thank you for coming, Thelma.”
Thelma raised an eyebrow. “You aren’t going to make a selection now? What about a deposit?”
Rebecca shook her head. “We will let you know at our earliest convenience.”
Thelma scowled. “Fine,” she replied. “Good day, Mrs. Truman. Good day, Henry.”
Meghan’s jaw dropped as Thelma and her staff packed up and left the Truman household.
“What was that all about?” Henry asked as Rebecca’s lips settled into a thin line. “I thought you insisted on Thelma’s cakes?”
“Did you see the way she was looking at you?” Meghan’s mother hissed. “She couldn’t keep her eyes off of you during that whole tasting! It was wildly inappropriate.”
Henry chuckled. “I don’t think that is the case, my dear,” he assured his wife. “Thelma just seemed... passionate about her work.”
“I don’t think that’s what she was passionate about,” Rebecca remarked. “Well, I was certainly set on her services, but I think we should look elsewhere. There’s been another baker on my mind; he lives a few towns over, but his cakes have been receiving rave reviews. I wanted to go with a well-regarded baker, but perhaps exploring a new option would be best... and perhaps this is the sign I needed that it’s time to visit this other bakery.”
“Mom?”
Rebecca smiled at Meghan. “We’ll go right now.”
Thirty minutes later, the Trumans arrived in Lemon Tree Valley, a nearby town. “Why did we have to make this drive?” Meghan grumbled in the back seat of her parents’ gold Cadillac. “I just got to Texas. I want to lie low and hang out with my sisters.”
They exited the car. “Isn’t it adorable?” Rebecca gushed. “Look at the black trim around the windows and doors. It’s so trendy! I’m sure this place will be even better than anything Thelma could come up with.”
They entered the bakery, and Meghan’s eyes widened. The aesthetic was modern and tasteful, with a high ceiling, white and black marble countertops, and an array of desserts displayed in a case shaped like a giant ivory birdcage.
“This certainly differs from my cutesy cafe,” she compared in her head as they wandered. “All the desserts look so elegant.”
Rebecca grinned. “This place is just as gorgeous as I thought it would be. It was featured in Southern Home Style magazine last month, and I had a hunch that I needed to come in…”
“Can I help you?”
A handsome dark-haired man appeared behind the front counter. He had dark eyes and wavy hair that was brushed to the side, and he was immaculately dressed in a white button-down shirt and khaki slim-fit pants. “I’m David, the owner. What can I do for you today?”
Rebecca’s eyes twinkled at the sight of the attractive young man. “We’re looking for a wedding cake,” she explained. “My daughter, Meghan, is getting married, and we’re looking for a cake.”
David turned to Meghan. “Congratulations,” he said as his eyes flashed to the ring on her left hand. “When is the wedding?”
“In two weeks,” Meghan replied as she took in the colors, designs and lovely smells in the shop.
David wrinkled his nose. “That’s soon,” he told them. “What did you have in mind?”
“Something elegant, classic, but unforgettable!” Rebecca told him.
David laughed good-naturedly. “I was asking the bride,” he winked at Rebecca. “Though I am quite amused by the enthusiasm of the Mother-of-the-Bride. What are you thinking, Bride-to-Be?”
Meghan shrugged. “I want simple,” she told him. “Something easy and simple.”
“Our Meghan has never been a fuss,” Henry announced proudly.
David smiled at Meghan. “I can do simple,” he promised. “Any other requests?”
Before she could answer, they heard a shriek. “What is going on here?” a woman’s voice cried out.
The Truman family gasped as Thelma strode through the door, her face livid. “Thelma? What are you doing here?” Rebecca asked in shock.
Thelma glared. “I had a feeling that you might show up here,” she accused the Trumans. “David was my protégé; I taught him everything he knows about baking and business, and then he stole it all from me! He stole from me to open this trash pit of a bakery. He’s been getting acclaim far and wide for his work, but little does the world know that he stole his ideas from me!”
David furrowed his thick brows. “This is ridiculous,” he declared. “I was her apprentice, and she treated me terribly. I saved up my own money to open this bakery, and as soon as I started getting more clients, she started harassing me.”
Thelma narrowed her eyes. “Tell them whose recipe you are using for your banana creme scones. Tell them! You stole my recipes, and I’m sure you stole my money.”
David placed both hands on the counter in exasperation. “I’m calling the police,” he warned her. “This is the fifth time she’s shown up here and harassed my customers,” he told the Trumans. “I stole nothing from you, Thelma! I modified your recipe-that is true. But I would never deliberately copy a recipe from anyone. I am an artist. I can make my own recipes without you.”
Thelma turned to face the Trumans. “You treat me so rudely in your home, and then you run over here? This is disgraceful.”
Rebecca put her hands on her hips. “Did you follow us here, Thelma? Are you stalking us now? This is just strange behavior.”
Thelma’s eyes grew large. “I just happened to be driving in this direction when I caught sight of your gaudy gold car. I had a hunch that you would do me wrong, so I followed you. Is that so wrong?”
David glowered. “Get out of here,” he repeated. “Or I will phone the police.”
Thelma turned on her heel, but before she could go, she plucked a medium-sized dark chocolate cake that would be one of the tiers in a wedding cake from the birdcage display. “Put that down!” David ordered.
“Fine,” she winked as she purposefully dropped the cake. The Trumans gasped as it hit the floor, exploding into a mess of chocolate, icing, and blood-red cherries that had been inside.
She turned on her heel and marched out. “You will pay for that!” David called after her. “That cake took hours to make. You will pay for making me look like a fool, Thelma!”
---------
That evening, Meghan recounted the events of the day as she prepared for bed. The scene at David’s had been utterly bizarre; she could not believe how terribly Thelma had acted, and she felt bad that her behavior had embarrassed the young baker. David had apologized profusely to the Trumans, his face pale and worried, and Rebecca had assured him they thought no less of him because of Thelma’s intrusion.
Meghan squeezed her tube of toothpaste and frowned. The tube was nearly empty, and she could not get enough of the blue paste onto her toothbrush to adequately brush her teeth. She put on her bathrobe and ventured to her parents’ bedroom to ask her mother to borrow toothpaste.
Before she could knock, she heard a guttural sob. “Mama?” Meghan whispered as she pushed the door open. “Are you okay?”
Rebecca was sitting cross-legged on her four-poster king bed. She was staring down at two business cards.
“Where’s Daddy?”
“He’s in his office working,” Rebecca told her daughter as she wiped her eyes.
“What’s wrong? Mama, don’t worry about the cake,” Meghan whispered. “It isn’t a big deal to me. I don’t care if Thelma or David bakes it. I know you really like David, but Thelma’s cakes are famous, and I know that is important to you…”
Rebecca sniffled. “Thelma won’t be making your cake,” she announced as she brushed a tear from her cheek.
“Ok, great!” Meghan said brightly. “David it is.”
Her mother shook her head and looked up at her. “It isn’t that easy,” she whispered. “Thelma won’t be making your cake because she is dead. She’s been murdered in cold blood.”
5
T he next morning, Meghan crept downstairs before daybreak; she had slept fitfully after her mother had shared the news of Thelma’s death, and now, after a long six hours of tossing and turning, she needed some breakfast and coffee. She hoped to find something delicious in the refrigerator, but she was surprised to find her mother in the kitchen. Rebecca was dressed in a beige athletic skirt and matching polo shirt, a diamond tennis bracelet sparkling on her right wrist. Her hair was tied back in a low ponytail, and she sported a full face of makeup.
“Mama? You’re up early,” Meghan commented as she met her mother’s gaze. “What are you doing awake?”
“The early bird gets the worm,” Rebecca said cheerily. “I always wake up this early. Today, your sister and I have an early date to play tennis at the country club. Would you care to join? It will be a fun little girls’ day.”
Meghan raised an eyebrow. “Are you sure you feel up to it?” she asked. “I sure didn’t get a lot of sleep after yesterday…”
“Why wouldn’t I feel up to it? Mellie and I always enjoy playing an early game of tennis when she is in from Dallas.”
Meghan stared at her mother in disbelief. “Mama, yesterday was a bit... chaotic. The phone call you received last night about Thelma seemed to really upset you. Are you sure you feel up to running off to play tennis right now?”
Rebecca held her head high. “Meghan,” she began. “We are Southern women, and Southern women are not only elegant, but they are strong. Thelma’s untimely death is tragic and disturbing, but I won�
�t let it stop me from enjoying this beautiful morning.”
Meghan bit her lip. “That sounds a bit callous, Mama. Thelma Barrington just died, and you are running out to play tennis?”
Rebecca shook her head. “We barely knew her,” she told her daughter. “Life and death are just part of life. If we let every cranky woman’s death shake us, we would be flustered all the time! Relax, dear. Is this about your cake? Are you worried your Mama won’t make arrangements for your cake? You can rest assured that I’ve already made a deposit on a beautiful four-layer cake from David’s bakery.”
