Star, Gran, and Wanda were dressed in uniform—black leather flats, black hose, black skirt and white blouse with a ruffled white bib apron monogrammed in black cotton thread—Star’s Bakery.
Additional drop-ins mingled with the by-invitation group. Star spotted Benny off in the corner talking casually with a man she surmised was a businessman stopping by after work. He was dressed differently than the usual people along the Daytona Beach strip—a light-weight wool blazer tailored of a distinctive weave, gold emblem on the pocket Star didn’t recognize. His black bow tie reminded her of Tyler, bringing a sudden tug to her heart.
Tyler’s parents, Cindy and Tony Jackman, strolled in, giving Star and Gran a hug. Star caught them whispering in Gran’s ear, the three exchanging devilish grins.
Star had made it a point to follow up on the invitation to the News Journal, asking if they could write an article on her grand opening. Maybe include a picture? Nothing more had been said so her eyes opened wide when not only a reporter but also a cameraman swept in and immediately began snapping photographs. The reporter spoke with Star who steered him to Gran and the special guests for background stories, as well as Benny and the man he was conversing with.
But nothing surprised Star as much as when Superman strolled into the shop.
Superman!
He was the real deal dressed in a red cape draped over a dark-blue, long-sleeve shirt, with a huge crimson S on a yellow diamond-shaped patch covering his chest. A yellow patent leather belt circled his waist, drawn through loops of the dark-blue trousers. The pant legs were caught inside knee-high red boots.
It was Tyler, her superman, standing with his hands on his hips. Running to him, Superman circled her with his muscular arms, twirling her in the air. Her shoes almost hit the man in the patterned wool blazer, walking with a wobbly gait through the merriment and out the door.
Tyler Jackman had bulked up. The red cape pulled back over his shoulders revealed biceps flexing like ticking time bombs when he strode around the little bakery hugging his former diner friends.
Private Eye, Liz Salinas, very pregnant, her baby due about Christmas, held out her hand and was rewarded with another handful of quarters from her husband to feed the Wurlitzer, keeping the Wurly rocking.
The News Journal team had their picture for the front page of the Sunday paper: Superman visits new bakery on Atlantic Avenue.
Chapter 3
WITH THE WURLY belting out another jazzy song, Superman embraced the new bakery’s entrepreneur with a full-on press, dipping the smiling woman, snapping her up straight, dancing around the cases of cookies, cakes, and pies, finishing with an under-the-arm twirl. Laughing, they both bowed to their delighted audience.
It was then Tyler who was on the receiving end of the hugs. The Butterworth sisters jabbering like magpies at the change in Tyler. Black-rimmed glasses exchanged with contacts. At least that’s what they thought. Surely, he still required help to see what he was drawing. But it was the muscles—where had they been hiding? His shock of dark brown hair was the same, a lock brushing his right eyebrow—definitely movie star handsome.
Star had enough of all the falderal fiddle de dee. Grasping Superman’s hand, she drew him through the swinging doors to the kitchen. Gran immediately nudged over the bistro-order table blocking the entrance to the kitchen. Wanda, channeling Gran’s move, stood next to her. No one was passing them, giving Superman and Star’s reunion a little privacy.
Superman quickly enveloped the blue-eyed blond in his arms, lowering his lips to her plump pink smile. With a quick hug, he stepped back, his eyes grazing over her head to toe.
“Miss Bloom, you look beautiful as ever,” he said grinning.
“Well, Superman, you, on the other hand, have changed. No glasses, which, by the way, I found rather charming.”
“Oh, then they will be back … what else?”
“You’re taller, I’m sure.”
“Not so, Miss Bloom. What else?”
“How did I ever miss those muscles, the shoulders, the washboard abs rippling under your shirt?”
“Ah, you noticed. The men in California, and the women looking them over, are obsessed with their physique. The small building the company is leasing has a gym and a coffee pot. A small counter-top refrigerator. We sign up for time slots in the gym to work out, tone up.”
“But … in three months—”
Superman silenced her, wrapping his red cape around her, kissing her perky lips. With a sigh he released her, checked his watch. “Can you take me to Orlando? I have a flight back to Burbank in less than three hours. We should just be able to make it.”
“How long have you been here?”
“Not quite five hours. Mom and Dad picked me up at the airport. We had an hour to swap stories, another hour or so for dinner. I swore them to secrecy but couldn’t stop them from whispering to Gran when they saw her.”
Star gaped at him. “You came all this way for my opening?”
“That’s right, Miss Bloom. I borrowed the outfit from one of the studios. Do you like it?” Hands on his hips he turned around slowly ending with a peck on her forehead.
“You must be exhausted.”
“Adrenalin. I couldn’t sleep on the flight, but the return flight … let’s just say I will have fond memories of your shocked face when I walked in the door.”
“Okay. Let’s get going. We can talk in the car. Speaking of car, wait until you see my traveling red billboard—a certain cartoon character painted on both sides.”
“Hmm, a billboard. I have to say goodbye to Mom and Dad, then we can leave. They have my duffle bag. Is there a bathroom or a freezer I can change in?”
Giggling, Star stepped quickly to the catch-all water closet—supply shelves and restroom—nodding at the open door. She didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. He was here, but he was leaving.
• • •
TYLER DROVE. Star’s nerves were a jumble. Her reaction at seeing Superman was instantaneous, shocking him, flinging her arms around him. Now, she felt like she was going to hyperventilate as she peppered him with questions.
“What are the people like, the people you work with?”
“You’d love them. They’re so excited about the project. We laugh a lot, showing our drawings to each other. We each have a piece and then at some point—hours, sometimes days, we put them together.”
“Your day? I mean Southern California must be beautiful.”
“When you grow up in Florida, you kind of expect the sun every day. The ocean is different. I can’t explain it—beaches seem wider. There are high banks in places with mansions perched on top facing the ocean. You’ve seen news clips when pieces break off, sometimes the houses falling with the landslides. I took a drive up State Route 1 … exploring. We don’t have banks like that in Florida, but the palm trees look the same.”
“So you like the people you work with? Are they from California, or are they transplants like you?”
“Most of us are not from California—from all over the states. Like I said, we laugh a lot. Star, they’re so talented. I’m learning so many tricks of the trade as they say.”
“Girls? Pretty I bet.”
Tyler smiled noting a tinge of jealousy? He reached for her hand, kissed her palm. Something that he heard from a co-worker makes a woman’s blood run hot. “No one can hold a candle to you, Miss Bloom.”
“Are you still planning on coming home for Christmas … I mean this trip cost you … and there will be parties out there, and—”
“Yes, Star. I’m definitely coming home. In fact, they’re closing the project down from Christmas through New Year’s day.”
“Promise?”
“Promise!”
• • •
DRIVING, DEFLATED, Star fumbled for her cell lying on the passenger seat, tapped the numbers.
“Gran, I just dropped Tyler off and I’m heading home. I’m sorry I left you alone to close on our first day, but—”
&nb
sp; “Nonsense. Don’t you even think such a thing. You and Tyler had such a short time to see each other. Were you surprised he came to your opening?”
“Totally. Now he’s gone again … Gran, I’m having trouble with his leaving. I miss him already, but he promised me he’ll still come home for Christmas.”
“Star, with the orders I wrote up, I’m thinking that after the Thanksgiving rush we should move. You know, get a place with walls.”
Laughing, Star replied. “What, you don’t like my one room studio, your mattress bed, and me on the futon? Yes, Gran, I think we’ve earned some walls. But let’s wait until after the holidays. Cash is a bit tight right now.”
Star said goodbye and burst into tears. “What’s wrong with me?” she whispered to the woman in the rearview mirror. Tugging at her apron, loosening it enough to reach her eyes, she wiped away the tears, but they kept coming. Then she began to hiccup. She laughed. More hiccups, more tears. “Good thing Tyler’s not here, missy, he’d go crazy drawing a cartoon of the little baker girl, big tears rolling down her face.” She laughed harder thinking of him and his cartoons which brought on another bout of hiccups and tears.
Chapter 4
AT 10:42 P.M. Detective Fred Watson, Daytona Beach Police Department, was about to turn off his computer for the day when he received a call from the morgue. A John Doe, age sixty-five to seventy-five, was found dead near the Daytona Beach Ferris wheel.
A foot patrolman and his partner found the body. Their initial assessment—the man died of a heart attack. However, he was picked clean—no wallet, no jewelry. Clothing was worn but of high quality, very expensive.
“No identification? No name?” Watson asked.
“That’s right.” The morgue technician was hoping for a quiet night. “What do you want us to do?”
“So, the patrolman thought heart attack. What’s your assessment on how he died? Any foul play? Wounds? Drugs?”
“No wounds. I can’t tell about the drugs unless we pump his stomach, order a workup on his blood.”
“Okay. Go ahead with the usual routine—blood and stomach. I’ll be over at … when do you think you’ll have the results?”
“Depends on the lab. This time of night, well, maybe by early morning, four.”
“I want to see the clothes. Bag them. Are you still on at 5:30?”
“Yup. Here till six.”
• • •
STAR TOSSED AND TURNED, glanced at the clock glowing on the floor beside the futon-couch—2:32 a.m. Tyler should be in California. She sighed, a long puff of air over her lips. The grand opening was a big success. She thought of Superman. Once again Ty had raised the event, punching up the excitement. She glanced over at Gran, heard her rhythmic breathing.
Her eyes misted with the visions of everything Gran had done for her over the last two months … and particularly the opening—sitting at the little table, carefully writing up the orders, fearful she was going to transpose a digit on a telephone number. An enormous wave of love flooded through Star. Her Gran was so special.
Ping!
Star grabbed for her cell.
A text from Ty.
• • •
“Just landed. Waiting in line to exit plane. U R home safe? T.”
Sitting up on the futon she typed a reply. “I safe. Thank U. Car? S.”
“Yah. Clunker. Luv CA but Luv FL more. U a big success. Gran too. She OK if I call her Gran? Sleep tight. T.”
“Gran would love it. More tomorrow. S."
Chapter 5
AT 6:30 A.M. Detective Watson called Manny Salinas, private investigator, retired department chief from the DBPD, Daytona Beach Police Department, still on call when extra help was needed. “Good morning, Manny. Trust I didn’t get you up.” Watson chuckled to himself. Once a cop always a cop and early rising is part of a cop’s DNA.
“No, Fred, you didn’t wake me up. Liz and I were just enjoying our first cup of coffee, watching the morning news. And, good morning to you. What’s up?”
“A guy was found by the Ferris wheel last night, Daytona Beach. No ID. I was wondering if you could give us a hand? We had a rash of accidents … I know it’s not big time, but it sure would help us out, if you could—”
Manny put his hand over the mouthpiece of the cordless phone, and whispered to his wife. “Want to join me on an ID caper this morning?”
Liz, a private investigator with her husband, nodded yes, stretched, yawned, slumped back in the chair. A little less than a month until their baby was due, she needed a good excuse to move out of the chair. Even the sparks from the ringlets in her red hair seemed to fizzle.
“I think we can accommodate you, Detective,” Manny said mimicking Fred’s chuckle. “What do you have so far? Is John Doe at the morgue?”
“Yes, and there’s practically nothing to go on. I think someone stole his wallet and any jewelry he might have been wearing. However, they didn’t strip the poor guy of his clothes.”
“Did you order a lab work-up on him?”
“Yeah. The results should be available within the hour. When do you think you can swing by?”
Manny raised his brows to Liz—time?
Liz looked at her watch. Oh God, she was going to have to move out of the comfy chair. “Eight-thirty, nine?”
“Did you hear that, Fred?”
“Yup. I’ll tell the coroner. Let me know what you think after you see him. Keep me posted.”
“I will. Shoot ‘em straight.”
Fred laughed. He had missed the leg of a perp once. The thug got away and Manny was never going to let him forget it.
Manny laughed with the detective and disconnected the call. He pulled Liz up out of her chair, held her in his arms, allowing room for the ever-growing baby bump. “You’re sure you want to come with me?”
“Yes. The waiting for the big reveal is getting to me. A nice simple John Doe investigation could be just what the doctor ordered to get me moving.”
Chapter 6
THE DIGITAL CLOCK displayed 8:30 a.m. The early Sunday morning sun, playing hide-and-seek with the clouds, suddenly streamed in the front picture windows of Star’s Bakery. The burst of sunlight through the lace tieback curtains painted a filigree pattern across the white tiled floor.
Star and Gran stood at the cash register. How could one day be so different than the day before—chaos, excitement, and then eerie silence? Even the temperature—hot hitting ninety then, now a cool seventy-nine, sunny to cloudy with a prediction of rain to come.
Friday they were scrambling in preparation for the grand opening the next day. Saturday was a blur. No time to think only to act.
The opening had been a huge success. Seeing all their friends, their smiles, their words of encouragement and support, snapping up several items before they left, was thrilling. The little cash register ka-chinging, Gran taking orders. Two high school girls hired to help, had rummaged in their closets to mimic the bakery uniform—short black skirt, white blouse, black bib apron—were the epitome of customer service. All smiles, thanking each patron for the sale.
After much discussion on which day would be the best to open, Gran and Wanda agreed with Star that a Saturday would be preferable. People would have more time to drop by. Star and Gran would have time the next day, Sunday being closed, to replenish the stock and fix any glitches that occurred during the opening.
Star glanced at her grandmother, both were back in their comfy clothes—capris, T-shirts, sandals. “Were we dreaming, or did we just about sell out?”
“You’re not dreaming, dear. My fingers feel a bit cramped from holding the pen so tight writing up orders.”
Hearing the back door bang shut, they both looked up to see Wanda striding from the kitchen, through the swinging doors to the shop. She was juggling two loose-leaf binders, a shoulder bag, cardboard tray with three Starbucks’ coffees.
“Okay, you two, we have some serious business to attend to.” Setting the coffee on the table that served as t
he order station for Gran the day before, Wanda dropped the binders alongside the coffee, pulled up two more chairs and sat down. Brows raised, she nodded for Star and Gran to sit.
Star’s brows squeezed together. What could possibly be bothering Wanda?
“The good news is that yesterday was a big success and, by my calculations, we even managed to eke out a profit.”
“Wanda, that’s wonderful. And, thanks for the coffee.” Star passed out the foam coffees, along with sugar packets and little creamer cups. Tossing the tray in the trash, she looked at Wanda waiting for the “but” word.
“But, after looking at the orders Mary wrote up, at the very successful opening, we are headed for trouble.”
“What trouble is that?” Gran asked taking a sip of coffee. “Umm, I needed this. How about you, dear?”
Star nodded, staring wide-eyed at Wanda, who also chose comfort with jeans and a T-shirt. “What trouble?”
“Cash flow trouble. We have bills to pay—setting up the bakery, equipment, and then the supplies. The bank balance … to be kind, let’s just call it way too low. Yesterday we made a profit, thank heavens, but going forward we have to watch every penny or you’ll be closing before you know it.”
“Do we have enough to cover the orders I wrote up yesterday?” Gran asked.
“Yes, but there isn’t much left. Then comes Christmas, and parties, other holidays. You won’t catch a break on expenses until after the first of the year. It’ll be touch and go. If the customers pay on receipt for their Thanksgiving orders, which they should, that will help. Of course, the bad news is after the holidays the orders will tail off. Then we have to make it on daily traffic … hopefully a steady flow of daily traffic.”
“Wanda, can we survive?” Star slumped back in the wrought-iron bistro chair.
“I think so. Barely. I’ll monitor the expenses and run the daily receipts to the bank immediately after we close. So, ladies, let’s get cracking on those orders. Write up your lists for ingredients, supplies.”
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