by Mary Maxwell
The staff at the bakery café had always been small. Nana Reed started the enterprise with a two-member team and the occasional assist from my grandfather. My parents were at the helm for twenty-five years, almost exclusively managing the dining room by themselves with one person in the kitchen. During summers and school holidays, my sister, brother and I pitched in as much as our parents would allow. And now that I was calling the shots, I wanted to keep things equally simple. Harper managed the dining room. Julia covered the kitchen. And Angus Martin, a retired railroad engineer with ruddy cheeks and an ever-present chuckle, served as Sky High’s official handyman whenever something needed to be repaired or replaced. It was a true dream team; capable, talented individuals who knew the value of mutual respect and camaraderie.
“How’s everything up front?” asked Julia went I came through the swinging door from the dining room. “I watched you helping that last guy through the pass window. You did a great job of not losing your cool, Kate.”
I smiled. “He was a piece of cake,” I said. “A little rough around the edges, but I’d bet he’s got a heart of gold and a willingness to help any stranger in a storm.”
She laughed. “Oh, yeah? His name’s Albert Hogben. My sister works with his ex-wife at the bank over on Hickory and Elm. She can curl your toes with stories about Albert.”
I made a face. “My toes are just fine, thank you very much.” I glanced at the whiteboard where we tracked special orders and daily prep lists. “What can I help with next?”
“I’ve got this,” Julia said. “Why don’t you go catch up on paperwork? I’ll come find you if the orders get out of hand.”
“You sure?”
She waved her spatula toward the hallway leading to my office. “Yes, Katie! I’m sure. I’ll handle things in here while you go and shuffle paper around your desk.” She giggled and winked. “And you know that I’m kidding, right?”
Julia’s sense of humor was only one thing that I loved about her. I thanked my lucky stars every day that she was in charge of the kitchen. After graduating from culinary school in New York and working in Paris for several award-winning restaurants, she’d returned to Denver a decade earlier to open her own place. When that enterprise shredded her life savings and threatened to reduce her marriage to rubble, Julia and her husband relocated to Crescent Creek after my parents hired her to be the chef at Sky High. Luckily, she agreed to stay on when I took over the family business.
“Yes, Jules,” I said, grabbing a mug of coffee. “I know you’re joking!”
After thanking her for being so thoughtful, I left the kitchen and walked to the tiny, windowless room that served as my office. The space smelled of cinnamon, furniture polish and higgledy-piggledy stacks of paperwork. As I settled into the desk chair and started organizing the latest invoices for baking supplies and paper products, I glanced at the photograph on my desk of Nana Reed. She was a short, thin woman with a cotton candy cloud of white hair, twinkling blue eyes and a joyful smile.
“I miss you every day,” I said quietly. “And I hope you approve of how I’m running the place now that mom and dad are retired to Florida.”
In my mind, I imagined how she’d snicker before reacting to the news that her son and daughter-in-law had abandoned the Rocky Mountains for the Gulf of Mexico.
“They’ll be back,” she’d chirp, fluffing her hair with a few gentle touches of her slender fingers. “Even if only for a day or two. After all, there’s nothing like the aroma of a fresh-baked pie made with love, patience and gumption!”
I smiled at the recollection of her favorite motto: love, patience and gumption. When I was a little girl, I’d always ask her to define the last entry on the list.
“Gumption?” she’d say as her eyes crinkled into a tender smile. “That’s the same as courage or guts, Katie. Some people are born with both. Others gain them through the years.”
I always felt that my courage was from a combination of nature and nurture. One of my earliest memories was following Nana Reed around the kitchen at Sky High, a pint-sized apron around my neck and wooden spoons in both hands. It took a few attempts before I could climb up on the step ladder and gaze at the ingredients whirling around the mixing bowl. I never knew why it frightened me at first, but I was glad I overcame the hesitancy. For years, I’d ride my bike to Sky High after school, clamber through the door and join Nana Reed as she gossiped with whoever was working at the time as chef. It took a special set of skills, but the place was small enough to allow one person to juggle breakfast and lunch orders while also handling the baking duties. I learned about the intricacies of life in a small town during those sessions. I also learned the joy and satisfaction of transforming assorted ingredients into pies, cakes, cookies and scones.
“It’s like Julia Child used to say,” my grandmother would often tell me. “‘No one is born a great cook, one learns by doing.’” A few seconds after she delivered that venerable homily, my beloved grandfather, a gruff man with unkempt eyebrows and an empty pipe in the corner of his mouth, would inevitably peer over the top of his rimless glasses and add his two cents. “You know what else Julia Child said? ‘The only time to eat diet food is while you’re waiting for the steak to cook.’” Then he would pat his ample stomach and smile. “Speaking of which,” he’d always conclude. “How about another slice of strawberry-rhubarb, dear?”
CHAPTER 6
A short time later, as I wrestled with a huge bag of flour in the pantry, Harper tapped me on the shoulder.
“There’s a very handsome man in the dining room,” she whispered.
I groaned, slowly easing the bag to the floor. “Does he want to help me get this into the kitchen?”
“Should I go ask?”
“That sounds awesome.” I considered the idea. “On second thought,” I continued, “let me spare him from possible injury. My arms are already warmed up and ready to go.”
I heaved the bag into the large wheeled bin that we kept under the counter in the kitchen. Then I slumped against the wall and looked at my trusted dining room overseer.
“What did I tell you?” I said as a spasm of pain spread across my lower back. “Easy peasy!”
We both laughed and she raised her hand for a high five. Then she reached over and wiped a bit of flour from my chin.
“If he’s going to take your picture,” she said, “you should be as presentable as possible.”
My eyes went wide. “Oh, the newspaper photographer! Gretchen said he’d stop by this morning to take the photo for the story she’s writing about Sky High.”
“What story?” Harper frowned. “I didn’t know you were becoming a media darling.”
I smirked. “I’m not,” I said. “And I won’t. Gretchen Goode is—”
“I know her,” Harper said. “She’s editor of the Crescent Creek Gazette.”
“Well, we did a little phone interview the other day,” I explained. “No big deal, but it slipped my mind to tell you and Julia.”
“Is she going to interview us, too? So we can give her the real scoop about what goes on around here?”
For a split second, I thought she was serious. Then I realized she was trying not to smile.
“I’m kidding!” she sputtered finally. “It’s so much fun giving you a hard time, Katie. You can be savvy and wise, but then completely gullible.”
I shrugged. “That’s me,” I said. “The perfect blend of wisdom and naiveté.”
“Well, you better get your naïve wisdom out there,” she said.
“Has he been waiting long? I lost complete track of the time.”
She looked at her watch. “It’s ten-fifteen. When was he supposed to be here?”
“Right about now,” I answered. “Do I look okay? Should I maybe freshen up first?”
Harper shook her head. “You look totally fine! There’s a glow about you that will look really sweet in the photograph.”
I smiled. “That glow is called perspiration. Julia and I have been
baking up a storm this morning.”
“Should I send him back?” she asked.
“I’ll be right there,” I said. “I don’t want him taking pictures in the pantry or kitchen. The place is a complete wreck.”
The bell on the front door chimed in the distance. Harper held up her hand again for another celebratory palm-to-palm smack before turning on her heel.
After a quick stop in front of a mirror in the hallway, I hurried into the dining room and nearly fell over when I saw the handsome guy sitting at a table with a camera bag over his shoulder and a vintage Nikon on a strap around his neck. He was tan, muscular and gorgeous with a dimpled chin, ice blue eyes and short jet-black hair. Dark stubble covered his face and a pair of tortoise-frame Wayfarers dangled from the neck of his dark green T-shirt.
“You must be Kate Reed,” he said, getting up as I approached. “I’m Zachary Hutton.”
My lips formed a smile at the sound of his name. And my heart melted as I gazed at his face. He was a mirage of masculinity and mountain charm, like someone from Central Casting in Hollywood had dispatched him in response to a call for a flawless and rugged matinee idol.
“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Hutton.” I guessed that he was somewhere around thirty-five. “Sorry to keep you waiting.”
He grinned. “Please,” he said. “I prefer Zack.”
I felt my cheeks go pink. “Ah, well…” I noticed Harper out of the corner of my eye, leaning in from a nearby vantage point. “That’s good to know, Zack. Thanks for coming by this morning.”
He shifted the camera bag on his shoulder. “Hey, you know how it goes,” he said. “When duty calls, a true professional rises to the challenge. No matter how difficult or dangerous.”
The joke sailed right over my head as I stared at his impossibly perfect face.
“Although,” he added, “you look neither difficult nor dangerous.”
I heard Harper ask if we needed anything.
“No, he’s fine,” I said, instantly regretting the reply. “I mean, we’re fine.” I glanced at her and my breath caught in my throat when I felt Zack’s hand on my arm. “Uh, at least…” His fingers were warm and firm as he took my elbow. “I think we are.”
His laughter tumbled through the air. “We’re doing great,” he said. “And thank you for the offer…” He took a quick peek at her name tag. “…Harper, but I’ve only got about twenty minutes to shoot this portrait before I’m due across town at the courthouse.”
“Okay, then,” Harper said. “You two kids have fun.” She gave me a quick wink and headed back toward the group of regulars that had just settled in at their usual table near the fireplace.
“I’d like to take one with you on the front steps,” Zack said. “And then maybe in the kitchen while you’re working on a pie.”
He gently guided me toward the front door. As we walked through the dining room, my schoolgirl nerves evaporated and I regained control of my senses.
“Could we skip the kitchen?” I asked. “Maybe we could take the second one in the dining room?”
“That’s a great idea,” Zack agreed. “I just want one of you in action.”
I knew what he meant, but still wanted to avoid the kitchen. Julia and I had been so busy since we arrived at five o’clock that the place looked like a tornado had churned through that morning.
“In action?” I repeated as we stepped out onto the front porch. “You mean I could be pouring a cup of coffee for someone?”
He stopped and squinted at me with his striking blue eyes. “Your brother told me you’d be a tough cookie.”
“My brother?” I was dumbstruck at the announcement. “How do you know Brody?”
He smiled. “We played in the same baseball league when we were kids,” Zack said. “I was older than him, but we somehow got paired for fielding drills all the time. He sort of became the younger kid brother I never had. When Gretchen told me to come over this morning, I gave Brody a quick call to let him know. He thought it was pretty hilarious—his real big sister and his fake big brother meeting after all these years.”
I said their names in my mind, imagining what it would’ve been like to have two brothers instead of one. Zack and Brody. Brody and Zack. Zack and—
“Okay, this will be perfect,” Zack said as he walked down the front stairs and gazed up at me. “Now, Kate,” he continued, motioning with one hand, “I’d like you to stand right in the middle of the top step, okay?”
I nodded. “But Brody’s been in California for the past few years. When did he tell you that I’d be…” I couldn’t remember anything about what he’d just said. “What was it my brother called me?”
Zack smiled, flashing a set of flawless white teeth that glowed against his tanned skin. “A tough cookie,” he said. “Now, let’s try a couple of frames so you can relax.”
Every nerve in my body went rigid. “I’m fine!” I blurted. “Don’t I look relaxed?”
He lifted the camera and gazed at me through the viewfinder. “Not really. You look a little tense.”
“Well, I’m not used to having my picture taken,” I explained. “In my former life, I was the one with the camera.”
I heard the soft click, click, pause, click as he snapped a few frames.
“Right,” he said, lowering the Nikon. “Brody told me you used to be a cop or something?”
I shook my head. “He never gets the details right,” I sighed. “I was a private investigator.”
The perfect smile appeared again. “Oh, yeah. That’s right. And Gretchen said you were in Chicago before moving to Crescent Creek.”
“Yes, but you know this is my hometown, right?” The question lurched out of my mouth before I could stop it. “I mean, of course you know that.” I rolled my eyes and tried to make the moment less awkward. “You played baseball with my brother, so…” There was no need to finish the thought. I stopped yammering and waited while he peered through the camera at me again.
“Maybe one hand on your hip?” he said.
I changed positions, feeling more than a little self-conscious.
“Perfect,” he called as the click, click, pause, click sounded again. “That’s really nice, Kate. You’ve got a beautiful smile when you relax.”
The instant I heard the word again, my body went tight as a drum. I raised my hand from my hip and held it overhead.
“No, that’s not what I had in mind,” said Zack.
I grinned. “I know that, but I have a question.”
“Oh, okay.” He lowered the camera. “What’s up?”
“Can you do me a favor?”
He nodded.
“Can you maybe not tell me to relax?” I asked. “Because every time you do, my entire body gets all tight and—”
“I know,” he said brightly, peering through the lens. “But then you actually do relax a second later and I’m getting some great shots.”
I frowned. “You mean you took pictures when I wasn’t relaxed?”
The camera came down again and he raised one hand.
“Oh, now you’re just mocking me,” I said with a laugh.
“No,” he said. “I have a question, too.”
I smiled and waited.
“Can you do me a favor?”
“Yes, Mr. Hutton,” I said. “What is it?”
“Can you enjoy the moment and let me take a few more just like that?”
“Yes, but I—”
“You’re a beautiful woman,” he interrupted. “And you’re running a successful business that your grandmother started way before you were even born. So it’s an amazing story about a family dynasty built on pie crust and chocolate and sugar and brains and hard work.”
The door behind me opened and closed. Then I heard Harper.
“Kate?” she said softly. “I hate to bother you, but your, uh, neighbor is in the—”
Zack walked toward us, motioning Harper into the shot.
“Let’s get the two of you together,” h
e suggested. “Just talk casually like you normally would.” He was clearly addressing Harper. “So maybe you can put that beautiful frown on hold for a sec.”
I turned and quickly surveyed the look on her face. It was an expression that I’d seen before; the grimace of someone caught in a difficult moment.
“What is it?” I asked Harper.
“Your neighbor,” she said, still frowning. “She’s in the kitchen crying like someone died or something.”
Zack cleared his throat. “I just need one or two more,” he called. “Then I’ll get out of here so you can carry on.”
I leaned toward Harper. “Do you mind?” I whispered. “Just one picture and then we can go back inside.”
CHAPTER 7
Viveca was slumped in the guest chair in my office when I found her a few minutes later. Julia had fixed her up with a cappuccino and blueberry scone, but they sat untouched on my desk.
“What’s going on?” I asked, rushing through the door. “Harper said you were pretty upset.”
Her gaze drifted slowly toward me. I gasped quietly when I saw her face: red eyes, puffy cheeks and smeared mascara. Her hair was a swirl of tangles and there was a grayish tinge to her skin.
“Oh, Viv!” I hurried over and knelt beside the chair. “What’s happened?”
She sat up, smoothed a few wrinkles from her skirt and slowly lifted her eyes again. “Everything fell apart in the last couple of hours,” she said quietly. “The man that was poisoned—you know, my brother’s neighbor? He was found dead in his hospital bed. And whoever did it left a note threatening to do the same thing to my brother!”
I dropped into my desk chair. “Okay, hang on a sec,” I said. “Repeat what you just told me.”
