“A few days.” That lock of hair came loose, and Edie flicked it behind her ear with a little scowl. “I know Miss Frankie shot down Ox’s idea during your meeting yesterday. I also know this place can’t keep going the way it is or you’ll lose it.”
“True, but you’re Zydeco’s organizational backbone. You’re the glue that holds the whole operation together.”
She waved away my protest. “You can do everything I do. I can’t do what you do.”
It’s no secret that Edie and I have had our difficult moments, but the thought of losing her this way made it hard to breathe. “I think you’re overreacting,” I said. “Things aren’t that bad yet.”
“Maybe not, but they’ll get that bad if we don’t do something soon.”
Almost on autopilot I turned back to the bowl I’d left on the counter. I needed to channel my frustration into something productive. I hated that Zydeco was in this position. I hated being forced to make choices I didn’t want to make. I wanted the world to right itself and for everything to be okay again. But that wasn’t going to happen by sitting back and ignoring it.
“What about your idea of trimming hours from everyone’s schedule?” I asked when I could speak again. “I’d rather do that than lose someone.”
“That’s a temporary solution at best.”
“So? We take the temporary solution until we come up with something else.”
Edie just stared at me without blinking.
“I’m serious,” I said. “If that’s what we have to do to keep everyone working, let’s do it.”
“Nobody’s going to be happy with part-time wages,” Edie predicted.
“You were all for the idea a few days ago,” I reminded her. “Why are you against it today?”
“Because the other day I thought you and Miss Frankie would agree to Ox’s solution, and I thought cutting hours could tide us over until the new line took off.”
The spoon in my hand stopped moving. “Ox talked his idea over with you before he talked to me?”
“He wanted some figures compiled. I asked why he needed them.” She lifted her chin defiantly. “Don’t be angry with him. He’s trying to help.”
“Yeah? Maybe. But this isn’t the first time he’s gone behind my back to do it.” I really had to get things straight with Ox, but that would have to wait. It wasn’t even close to being the biggest fire I had to fight.
I added explain organizational chart to Ox to my mental to-do list and refocused on keeping Edie happy. But it felt as if I was fighting a forest fire with a garden hose. “I appreciate what you’re trying to do. It’s incredibly selfless. But please just give me a few days to find another solution, okay? I promise, I’ll figure out something.”
She shook her head. “We both know that’s not going to happen.”
“No we don’t.” I was getting angry now. “At least give me a chance. Don’t I deserve that?”
Edie’s brows knit over her pert little nose, and she thought for a very long time. “Yeah. Okay.” She stood and tugged the hem of her blouse over her hips. “Just don’t do anything stupid.”
Twenty-two
I pondered options while I finished mixing together the cake, then sat down to make a list of pros and cons while it baked and cooled.
Pros for letting Edie quit: As office manager, she earned one of the largest paychecks on Zydeco’s books, factoring in just below Ox’s and mine. If she left, we’d save money on salary and benefits every month. Cons: I’d have to take over her duties in addition to my own, and the resulting therapy sessions would negate any perceived financial benefit. Morale would suffer. Plus, everyone at Zydeco loved Edie. They wouldn’t respond well if I just let her walk out the door. I didn’t need a mutiny on top of an increased workload and unrelenting worries about money. (See note re: therapy above.)
Pros for pushing Ox’s agenda: We might pick up new clients willing to pay a moderate price for moderate cakes, and make enough money to keep our real business afloat. Cons: Miss Frankie could very well decide to dissolve our partnership, and I’d end up back in Albuquerque chopping onions for Uncle Nestor’s executive chef at Agave. (Again, refer to previous note about therapy.) Besides, I questioned how many moderate cakes we’d have to sell to realize the same profit margin we could pull in from a single exclusive one-of-a-kind cake with its accompanying hefty price tag.
Still contemplating possible solutions, I went back to work on the now-cooled cake, smoothing raspberry filling and a chocolate buttercream between cake layers and covering the three-tier cake with white chocolate buttercream. Tomorrow before the picnic I’d add fresh raspberries, and the result would be a light, delicious cake perfect for a warm spring day.
I left the cake on the counter, clearly marked so nobody would cart it off to the break room as a midday snack, and then did the only thing I could do: I drove over to Miss Frankie’s house.
* * *
It was shortly after two that afternoon when I pulled into Miss Frankie’s driveway. The sky was still overcast, but there didn’t seem to be an imminent threat of rain. I waved to Bernice, who was puttering outside in her flower garden next door. She dropped what she was doing and waddled across the lawn toward me. She’s a sweet Southern lady with a halo of white hair and an accent as smooth as aged Kentucky bourbon. She’s also Miss Frankie’s closest friend. That means she takes a lot of pressure off me to be available every time Miss Frankie wants to do something or go somewhere, and puts her pretty high on my list of favorite people.
“You are coming tomorrow, aren’t you?” she asked as she puffed up the driveway. “Frances Mae did tell you about the barbecue?”
I hugged Bernice quickly. “She told me.”
“And you’re coming?”
“If I can. I’ll be tied up for most of the morning, but I’ll do my best. But don’t you worry, Miss Bernice. If I can’t be here, I’ll at least make sure the cake is. I just finished making it.”
Bernice swatted my arm playfully. “Oh you! I’m not worried about the cake. It’s you we want. I just hope the weatherman is right and the weather clears.” She brushed some dirt from her sleeve and then cut a glance at me. “What kind of cake is it, anyway?”
“White chocolate raspberry with raspberry filling and chocolate buttercream,” I said with a grin. “You’ll love it.”
Her eyes danced with anticipation. “I’m sure I will. And in case you’re worried, you won’t be the only young person at the party. My nephew and his wife and kids will be here. I just know you’ll get along with them like a house afire. Bennie’s the sweetest boy.”
I’d seen Bennie from a distance a time or two. He was a buttoned-up accountant with thinning hair and pasty skin, and his wife was a plump woman with a hairstyle I don’t think she’d changed since high school many years ago. I didn’t expect to have much in common with them or their three ill-behaved children, but I smiled politely. Besides, after the company I’d been keeping at the Love Nest, I figured all the people in Miss Frankie’s neighborhood would seem like teenagers. “I look forward to it. Do you know if Miss Frankie is home? I need to speak with her about something.”
Bernice gave a brisk nod that set her chins wobbling. “I haven’t seen her leave, and she didn’t say anything about going out this morning, so I expect she’s in there.” I thanked her and turned to leave, but Bernice laid a hand on my arm and stopped me. “Do try to come tomorrow, honey. Frances Mae is going to need you here.”
“I’ll do my best,” I said again. But I was still weighing the barbecue against my promise to Old Dog Leg, and the scales weren’t evenly balanced.
Bernice locked eyes with me. “Good. I’m glad. I know she wants to take flowers to Philippe, and I know it would mean the world if you’d go with her. She’s been counting on it for weeks.”
Flowers? Agh! My heart fell, and I swear I shrank to about two inches tall. Putting flowers on the graves of loved ones each Memorial Day—even those who hadn’t served in the military—
was common practice where I come from and it’s a tradition that Aunt Yolanda held dear. Every year she’d cut flowers from the garden and spend time selecting the perfect assortment of potted mums from the displays at her favorite grocery store. On the last Monday in May, she’d place flowers on the graves, pulling weeds and clearing away pebbles, twigs, and dead leaves that had blown in over the winter. I, on the other hand, had made it a point to avoid cemeteries and gravesides as much as possible since my parents died, and I hadn’t once considered that Miss Frankie would feel different.
“Why didn’t she say something to me?”
The clouds parted and the sun hit Bernice in the face. She shook her head and shielded her eyes with one hand. “Oh, you know how she is. She doesn’t want you to feel pressured. She doesn’t want you to go just out of obligation.”
Miss Frankie wanted me to want to go. She needed to believe that I cared enough about her son to remember him on a day set aside for remembering. I sighed softly and ignored a twinge of guilt that I’d even consider doing for Miss Frankie what I’d been unable to do for my parents.
Aunt Yolanda had dragged me to the cemetery exactly once after my parents’ funeral. I’m ashamed to admit that I’d been surly and uncooperative, and those were the positive qualities I exhibited that day. Realizing the futility in such visits, Aunt Yolanda had pretty much left me alone after that. I guess the fact that I was even considering going with Miss Frankie was a sign that I’m not twelve anymore.
“I’ll do my best,” I assured Bernice yet again. And this time I actually meant it.
Bernice patted my arm and toddled back to her garden. I resumed the journey up the driveway.
I spotted Miss Frankie in the kitchen window, so I went around to the back door and knocked softly. I thought she’d seen me walking along the driveway, but she looked up, startled, one hand on her breast as she hurried to let me in. “Goodness, sugar, you just about scared me to death. I didn’t know you were coming by. Did I miss your call?”
I kissed her cheek and stepped inside where I found evidence that she’d been in the garden cutting flowers. Mounds of pink magnolia, iris, and camellia lay on the counter, and she’d filled several Mason jars with water.
“I didn’t call,” I confessed. “I know it’s rude to stop by unannounced, but I was out this way, so I took the chance that I’d find you home.”
I nodded toward the flowers. “Are those for tomorrow?”
Miss Frankie snipped the stems from a couple of bearded iris and slipped them into one of the jars. “They are.”
“Do you want me to go with you to the cemetery?”
Her eyes flashed to mine. “Oh, sugar, would you?”
“Of course.” The words came out easily. See? All grown up.
Miss Frankie blinked rapidly and turned away, waving a hand over the garden on the counter. “Are these okay? Is there some other kind of flower you’d like better?”
I didn’t have the heart to tell her it didn’t matter to me, so I simply said, “Those are lovely.”
She lifted her chin and cleared her throat. “If you’re sure. I’ll have everything ready tomorrow. You won’t have to do a thing. We’ll go right after the barbecue, if that’s all right.”
“It’s fine,” I said.
Miss Frankie finished snipping stems, dusted her hands together, and leaned against the counter. “I don’t suppose I need to ask what you’re here to talk about, do I?”
“I don’t suppose you do,” I said. “I just came from Zydeco. Edie tried to quit on me.”
That earned a look of surprise. “Did she? Well, I didn’t see that coming.” Miss Frankie dumped cold coffee from the pot that was sitting on the counter and set about making a fresh one. “You said she tried to quit. I guess you didn’t let her.”
“No I didn’t. At least, she agreed to wait for a few days so I could attempt to figure out a better solution.”
Miss Frankie didn’t say anything until she had the coffee brewing. Somehow I managed not to jump out of my skin while she thought about what I’d said. “You’ve come to ask me to change my mind about Ox’s idea.”
“Not exactly.” I linked my hands together on the table and tried to marshal my thoughts so I could explain how I felt and sound rational while I did it. “We’re at a crossroads, Miss Frankie. You don’t want to change Zydeco, and I don’t want to lose staff, but clearly we have to do something. I’m hoping we can put our heads together and find a solution we can both live with.”
She sat across the table from me. “Well, all right. You probably think I’m being hardheaded.”
“I think you’re being sentimental, but maybe you’re also being smart. What Ox is suggesting would change Zydeco dramatically. I realized as I was driving through your neighborhood this afternoon that you’re right about one thing. I’m not sure the change would be a good thing for us. We could lose our client base.”
Her lips curved. She seemed pleased that I understood. “And I appreciate how you feel about the staff, Rita. Really I do. That’s one of the reasons I chose you to step in when Philippe died. I wanted someone in charge who would value not only the dream but also the people the way Philippe did.”
We sat there for a moment with only the sound of brewing coffee breaking the silence. Finally, I said, “Edie thinks she’s the most expendable person at Zydeco. I disagree. It’s true she’s not as accomplished in the kitchen and her decorating skills aren’t that great, but she’s indispensible at keeping things running smoothly. She understands how things work in the industry, she coordinates the schedule and keeps track of the contracts, and she does a thousand other things I don’t have time to do.”
Miss Frankie nodded as I spoke and got up to gather sugar, cream, and mugs. “I know she does, sugar. And she’s a friend. She’s been at Zydeco from the beginning. I understand that.”
“So what do we do?”
Miss Frankie pulled a couple of spoons from a drawer and turned back to face me. “I’ve been thinking about it since I left the bakery yesterday, and I’ve decided that I’ll just have to sell something.”
She sounded so matter-of-fact, I rocked back on my chair a little. “You’ll what?”
“I’ll sell something.” She waved a hand to encompass the house, the yard, the car in the driveway. “I might be temporarily cash poor, but I’m not completely without resources.”
I didn’t know which emotion was stronger, relief or concern. “But what would you sell? Surely not the house.”
She laughed and filled our mugs, then carried them to the table. “This house? Never. It would have to be one of my other pieces of property, I’m afraid.”
I’d inherited Philippe’s personal bank account when he died, but it was just a drop in the bucket compared to the assets Miss Frankie controlled. I’d never asked about the family money, and neither he nor Miss Frankie had ever really talked to me about where their wealth had come from. But there’s a time and a place for everything. “What property?”
“Oh, sugar, I have acreage all over this area. Most of the lots have been developed, but a few are still more or less vacant. Unfortunately, most of those aren’t worth much. It will have to be one of the others. I’ll have to talk to Thaddeus, of course. He has a list of where everything is, and he can get details from the property manager who looks out for it all.”
Thaddeus Montgomery was the family attorney. Back when I was pursuing the divorce, he’d been my adversary. But since Philippe died, Thaddeus had become a friend who looked after my affairs as well.
Miss Frankie sounded calm and casual, as if selling off her land was nothing more complicated than returning an unwanted purchase to the local Walmart. I was having trouble wrapping my mind around the concept. “You have so much property, you can’t keep track of it?”
Miss Frankie laughed at my confusion. “Honestly, sugar, it’s not that big a deal. To me it’s just pieces of paper my daddy passed down from his daddy, and his daddy before that.”
“You didn’t ask,” she said. “I offered. Don’t try to talk me out of it. And don’t you forget, Zydeco’s half mine. It’s important to me to keep it the way it was. Philippe had ideas for that place, and when he died I vowed to keep his plans moving forward.”
“But you’re talking about selling your family property. Land you inherited—”
“I’m talking about the future, not the past. Roots are important, but I’m not going to cling to some old ratty piece of land while you and Zydeco suffer. What kind of family would that make me?”
Tears pooled in my eyes and Miss Frankie’s silhouette blurred. I swiped at my eyes and looked around for a tissue. It wasn’t just her generosity that had me sniffling; it was the affirmation that she really considered me family. Of course, that was all stirred up with another dash of guilt that I hadn’t spared a thought for what she was feeling as we approached Memorial Day, and the certainty that I didn’t deserve the bailout she was offering.
And that’s exactly what I told her.
She bent down and kissed the top of my head. “Now, now, that’s just plain foolish talk. I’ll call Thaddeus and get the list, and together you and I can go over the lots he thinks would be best to put on the market. Is that all right with you?”
“You want me to help you decide?” My voice cracked, and I lunged for the paper towels on the counter.
“Well, of course! You’re the only family I have. I value your opinion.”
I had trouble croaking out the next few words around the massive lump in my throat. “Just tell me where and when.”
Arsenic and Old Cake Page 17
