Crêpe Expectations

by Sarah Fox

  “Good morning,” I greeted as I pushed through the swinging door.

  I received a cheerful hello from Tommy and a nod from Ivan. The chef was in the midst of slicing up a log of dough with cinnamon and sugar swirled inside. Even though the maple pecan sticky rolls weren’t cooked yet, my mouth watered at the sight.

  “Isn’t there someone else who can judge the competition?” Ivan asked, tearing my attention away from the sliced dough.

  “The amateur chef competition?” Tommy asked.

  Ivan gave a grunt of confirmation.

  “Sid Michaels from Scoops Ice Cream was supposed to be on the judging panel, but he’s had to leave town unexpectedly, so Patricia’s in a bit of a lurch,” I explained. “She’d really appreciate it if you could help out, Ivan.”

  He spared me a brief glance, his dark eyes settling on me only for a second before he returned to his work. A year ago I would have been intimidated standing there before the muscular, tattooed chef, but I now knew that beneath his burly, imposing exterior was a good heart.

  “The competition starts next Saturday afternoon,” he said as he sliced the last piece of dough in half. “I’ll be working.”

  “If you leave right after we close, you’ll be able to make it in time.”

  “I’ll still have work to do after closing.”

  “I can handle the cleanup and next day’s prep,” Tommy offered. “I don’t mind staying a bit later than usual.”

  “Thanks, Tommy,” I said with a grateful smile.

  Ivan glared at us before placing the sliced sticky rolls in a baking dish and passing it to Tommy. He wiped down the counter next, all the while leaving me in suspense.

  Finally, his eyes met mine again.

  “I’ll help with the judging.”

  I couldn’t stop another smile from spreading across my face.

  “Thank you, Ivan. Patricia will be so relieved.”

  I hurried out of the kitchen and fetched my phone from the office so I could text Patricia the good news. With that done, I started my workday, and an hour later the first customers had arrived, hungry for breakfast.

  “This weather is a welcome change, isn’t it?” Eleanor Crosby said as I delivered a plate of blueberry crumble pancakes to her.

  “That’s for sure,” I said, sliding a plate of marzipan pancakes in front of her dining companion, Marjorie Wells. “Did either of you have any trouble with flooding?”

  “Not us, thank goodness,” Marjorie replied. “But my nephew had a couple of inches of water in his crawlspace.”

  “I’m sorry to hear that,” I said. “So many people have been left with a mess to deal with.”

  Eleanor took a sip of her coffee. “At least the river level’s going down now.”

  I agreed that was a good turn of events and left the ladies to eat. While the aftermath of the flooding was a hot topic of conversation that morning, many diners were also chatting about the amateur chef competition and the upcoming garden party at the Wildwood Inn.

  “Brett’s working on the gardens up at the inn, isn’t he?” Gary Thornbrook asked.

  He was having breakfast with his buddy Ed, as he did at least twice every week. Ed and Gary were The Flip Side’s most frequent customers, and they rarely strayed from their usual selection from the menu—blueberry pancakes with bacon and sausages on the side.

  “He is,” I said as I topped off Gary’s coffee. “It’s a lot of work for him, especially since he’s got all his regular clients to deal with as well. He’s thinking of hiring someone to help him, at least part-time.”

  “He’s done well with his business,” Ed said.

  “He has,” I agreed with a rush of pride. Before moving on to the next table with the pot of fresh coffee, I paused and asked, “Are you two going to the garden party?”

  “If we can still fit into our suits,” Gary said with a laugh, patting his generous stomach.

  I smiled and continued on to the neighboring table.

  The last diners of the day left the restaurant shortly after two o’clock, and I locked the door behind them, flipping the “open” sign to “closed.” Leigh Hunter, The Flip Side’s full-time waitress, untied her red apron from around her waist. Patricia Murray’s daughter, Sienna, did the same with her apron. Sienna was seventeen and still in school, but she worked at the pancake house on the weekends.

  “Did you know that Logan’s entering the amateur chef competition?” I asked Sienna.

  “Yep. He’s a really good cook. He got into watching cooking shows about three years ago, and now he can make some really amazing stuff.”

  “I hope he does well in the competition,” Leigh said.

  “He will,” Sienna said with confidence. “My friend Ellie Shaw’s entering too. She didn’t really want to, but her mom thought she should.”

  “Why didn’t she want to?” I asked.

  “She’s kind of shy. I don’t think she likes the idea of cooking in front of an audience.”

  “Maybe she’ll forget anyone’s watching once she gets cooking,” Leigh said.

  “I hope so. She’s really talented, especially with desserts.” Sienna headed for the break room to fetch her jacket, and soon she and Leigh had left the pancake house for the day.

  Talking about cooking made me wonder if Brett would be finished work by dinnertime. I sent him a text message asking him how things were going. I tidied up the pancake house while waiting for his response. It came about half an hour later. He figured he’d have to work until six o’clock, but he hoped he wouldn’t have to stay at the inn any longer than that.

  Hungry? I wrote in another text. I can bring you a snack.

  I love you, was his quick response.

  Smiling, I finished up my remaining tasks and grabbed a can of soda from the kitchen before heading out. I walked to Marielle’s Bakery and picked up two doughnuts and half a dozen chocolate chip cookies. From there, I set a course for home. The Wildwood Inn sat on the outskirts of town, and making the trip on foot would have taken a while, so I decided to make a quick stop at home to pick up my car.

  After checking on my cat, Flapjack, and Brett’s dog, Bentley, I set off in my hatchback. When I reached my destination, I followed a long driveway toward the beautiful white Victorian mansion and continued along the branch that led around the house to the large detached garage, built in the same style as the inn. I parked my blue hatchback next to the cube van Brett used for his lawn and garden business.

  With the paper bakery bag and soda can in hand, I wandered around the garage until I could see clear to the back of the inn’s property. An expanse of green lawn stretched from the mansion to a white gazebo—a new addition, Brett had told me. Beyond the gazebo, flagstone pathways wandered around numerous flower beds. Brett had been working hard to add some color before the garden party. He’d already transplanted numerous types of flowers in a variety of hues and would add more over the coming days. Some of the flower beds farther back in the garden were home to recently planted rosebushes, which would bloom in a few weeks’ time.

  As soon as I started across the lawn, I spotted Brett near the back of the property, working away at one of the last flower beds, only a stone’s throw from the woods that bordered the garden. There was a small cottage in the back corner of the lot, but I couldn’t see anyone else around. The garden was peaceful, the only sound the chirping of birds in the trees.

  I followed the flagstone pathway past the flower beds, raising a hand in greeting when Brett looked up and saw me approaching.

  “I come bearing food,” I said as I reached him.

  He grinned and drove the spade he was holding into the soil so it would stand upright on its own. “Best news I’ve heard all day.”

  I glanced around the garden. “You’ve made a lot of progress since the last time I was here. It looks great.”

&nb
sp; “I need to work at a couple of other sites this week, but hopefully this job will be done in the next two weeks.” He pulled off his work gloves and tucked them into the back pocket of his jeans. “How was your day?”

  “Great. Everything went well at The Flip Side. A lot of people were talking about the garden party. They’re going to love what you’ve done here.”

  “Hopefully Lonny and Hope will love it too,” he said.

  “They will,” I said without any doubt. “They like what you’ve done so far, right?”

  “So far so good,” he confirmed.

  I held up the paper bag and can of soda. “Your snack.”

  “Thank you. You’re the best.”

  “I can’t say I was disappointed to have a chance to see you before tonight.”

  He grinned. “I’m definitely not disappointed either.”

  He led me to a stone bench at the end of the garden that faced the flower beds, the mansion visible in the distance. I sat with him and snacked on one of the doughnuts while he devoured the other one along with a couple of the cookies. When I’d finished eating, I rested my head against his shoulder.

  “It’s so peaceful here,” I said, listening to the birdsong coming from the woods behind us.

  Brett took a long drink of his soda. “It’s definitely a nice place to work.”

  I raised my head. “Speaking of which, I should probably let you get back to it.”

  He eyed the rosebushes sitting in pots near one of the flower beds, waiting to be transplanted. “Another two hours or so and then I’ll be heading home.”

  I got to my feet and set the paper bag on the bench. “I’ll leave these here in case you want more.”

  Brett set down his soda can as he stood up. He took my hands, pulling me in close. “Thanks for stopping by, Marley.”

  He gave me a lingering kiss that I reluctantly pulled away from.

  “See you later.”

  I was about to set off along the garden path when something small and black streaked toward the tree line. I spun around to follow its progress.

  “A kitten!” I exclaimed. “Did you see that?”

  The tiny black cat paused at the edge of the woods, its green eyes wide, one ear twitching while the rest of its body remained frozen.

  “Does it belong to Lonny and Hope?” I asked.

  “I don’t know,” Brett said. “I caught a brief glimpse of it earlier today, but that’s the first time I’ve seen a cat around here.”

  I took a careful step toward the kitten. It dashed beneath a bushy fern and hunkered down, out of sight except for the tip of one black ear.

  “It looks way too tiny to be out here on its own,” I said.

  “We can take it up to the house and see if that’s where it belongs. If we can catch it, that is.”

  As if it had heard Brett’s words, the little kitten darted out from its hiding place and zipped away, deeper into the woods.

  “Catching it might not be possible, but I don’t want to leave it in the woods. Maybe we can at least get it to run back this way.”

  “We can try,” Brett agreed.

  We moved off in opposite directions, planning to circle around into the woods and hopefully herd the kitten back to the garden. I tried to move quietly as I entered the woods, not wanting to scare the cat farther into the forest. Despite my efforts, twigs still snapped under my feet and the underbrush rustled as I picked my way through the trees.

  I could hear rushing water somewhere nearby and realized we were close to the Wildwood River. My concern for the kitten shot up. Although the water level was on its way down now, the river was still higher than usual and could be dangerous for anyone who got too close to the slippery, unstable banks. I didn’t want the kitten going anywhere near the water.

  As I moved deeper into the forest, the dirt beneath my feet became soggier. Through the trees, I caught sight of the river, still swollen and muddy, hurtling its way toward the ocean. I swept my gaze from left to right, desperately seeking out any sign of the kitten.

  “Can you see it?” I called out to Brett when he came into view. We were almost to the river now, and I had to talk over the sound of the rushing water.

  “Not yet,” Brett called back.

  At the sound of his voice, something moved slightly a few feet away. I peered at a small, hollowed-out cavity at the base of an old tree. It was dark inside the hole, but I was certain I’d seen movement. I crept closer to the tree, moving slowly and cautiously.

  I was about to crouch down in front of the hole when the kitten darted out of the hollow tree. I dropped to my knees and grabbed at the kitten, ending up flat on my stomach, my arms outstretched ahead of me. A fallen tree branch poked at my ribs, cold moisture was seeping through my jeans, and I had a face full of ferns, but I also had a wriggling kitten in my grasp.

  “Are you okay?” Brett asked as he hurried over to me.

  “I caught it!” I said through the ferns.

  I couldn’t see too well, but I heard Brett reach my side. One of his hands brushed against mine.

  “I’ve got it. You can let go now.”

  I released my firm but gentle hold on the cat and climbed to my feet, brushing pine needles and clumps of mud from my clothes. I smiled at the sight of Brett holding the little kitten against his chest, but when I reached down to brush a clod of mud from my knee, my smile slipped away.

  “Brett…”

  “Are you hurt?” he asked with concern.

  I shook my head and stepped back before pointing at the ground.

  Next to the patch of ferns I’d landed in, a partial human skull poked out through the mud.

  Chapter 3

  I couldn’t tear my gaze away from the skull, even though the sight of it sent an uncomfortable chill creeping up my spine. The empty eye sockets gaped at me, and everything around me suddenly seemed more sinister—the shadows, the rustling of leaves, the roar of the nearby river.

  I shivered.

  “Are you okay?” Brett asked.

  I nodded.

  The kitten let out a squeak of a meow. Finally, I managed to look away from my unsettling discovery. The little cat was a welcome distraction. He’d struggled at first but was now settled against Brett’s chest. I didn’t know why I’d started to think of the cat as male, but I figured I had a fifty percent chance of being right.

  I marked the location of our find with one of Brett’s work gloves, sliding it over the end of a spindly tree branch. We gave the partially exposed skull a wide berth, even though we’d already trampled over the surrounding area. When we emerged from the woods, Brett handed me the kitten and pulled his phone from the pocket of his jeans.

  “I’ll call Ray,” he said, waking up the device.

  Ray Georgeson was the sheriff of Clallam County and Brett’s uncle.

  I held the little kitten close to me, and he settled in my arms with a purr. He seemed too comfortable with me to be feral, so I thought there was a good chance he belonged at the mansion.

  “I’ll take you up to the house soon,” I told the kitten as I half listened to Brett’s side of the conversation with his uncle.

  He was only on the phone for a minute before he hung up.

  “Ray is on his way, but he’s in Port Angeles so he’ll be a while. Deputy Mendoza might be able to get here sooner, though.” Brett tucked his phone back in his pocket and picked up the bag of cookies. “He wants us to wait up at the house.”

  “We can ask where this guy belongs while we’re there,” I said, running my hand over the kitten’s black fur, his purr growing louder in response.

  As we walked along the flagstone path, I tried unsuccessfully to stop a shiver from working its way up my spine. “I guess that skull’s been there a while.”

  “It must have been,” Brett agreed. “And it might have
stayed there a lot longer if not for the flood.”

  I knew what he meant. The skull was located within the area that had flooded recently, and had likely been exposed as a result of the river water flowing over it and carrying away the top layer of dirt.

  “Do you think there’s a chance that whoever it is died accidentally?” I asked, trying to hold on to that hope, even though it already seemed like a faint one.

  “I guess a homeless person could have been camped out in the woods and died there without anyone knowing,” Brett said. “But then…”

  “The skeleton wouldn’t have been buried,” I finished for him.

  “Although, maybe it was the passage of time or an animal that buried it. We don’t know for sure that there’s a full skeleton. It could just be the skull.”

  “And it could be from some ancient burial ground.”

  “Could be.”

  We fell silent, all the possibilities running around and around in my head. We passed by the garage, and Brett set the bag of cookies on the hood of my car before approaching the back of the mansion. Three steps led up to a large covered porch that stretched the entire width of the house.

  Still holding the kitten, I glanced down at my muddy clothes. “I’d better stay here.”

  I waited at the base of the steps while Brett scraped some mud from his boots and climbed up to the porch. He knocked on the back door, and several seconds later a petite woman with straight brown hair opened it. I guessed that she was in her late twenties. Although I’d never met her, I’d seen her from a distance before and knew she was one of the owners of the house, Hope Barron.

  “Hi, Brett,” she said with a smile. “How’s the garden coming along?”

  “Really well,” he replied, “but we came across a problem in the woods.” He gestured my way. “Have you met my girlfriend, Marley?”

  “No.” Hope smiled and waved at me.