Dial M for Mousse

by Laura Bradford

  A series of beeps in the background accompanied her through the front door and up the stairs to her apartment. When they subsided, Greg’s voice took over. “A call just came in. I’ll catch up with you another time, okay?”

  “Absolutely.” She opened the door at the top of the stairs and then stepped to the side to allow Lovey the uninhibited entry the feline preferred. Still, the moment Winnie stepped inside behind the cat, she was greeted with a quick hiss. “Oh, and Greg?”

  “Yeah?”

  “Thank you.”

  “My pleasure.” And then he was gone, his quick shout to his coworkers the last thing she heard before their call officially ended.

  “So, do you think Jay is aware of the fact that Greg is waiting in the wings, hoping he’ll screw up?” Renee dropped to the ground to greet Lovey with a head scratch but kept her own cat-green eyes trained on Winnie. “Because he is waiting, you know.”

  Winnie set the rescue bag on the center island and pulled her shoulder out from beneath its strap. “Would you stop with that, please? Greg is my friend. You know this. I know this. And, believe it or not, he knows this.”

  “I also know that’s not the way he wants it . . .” With a flick of her hand, Renee guided Winnie’s attention to the order pad on the kitchen table. “An order came in not more than three minutes before you two walked through that door.”

  “Okay, tell me the details . . .”

  Renee gave Lovey one last scratch and then stood. “First up, she was hoping for five o’clock.”

  “Done. And the reason for the rescue?”

  “It’s for this girl’s teammate. Seems she accidently kicked said teammate after soccer practice yesterday. Seems they were horsing around and that’s when the kick went down. Anyway, this girl is apparently pretty bruised up now and our customer feels bad.” Crossing to the order pad, Renee glanced down at it quickly. “I asked if she had any thoughts on the kind of dessert this teammate might like, and she said cookies.”

  “Cookies,” Winnie repeated en route to the sink. “Any allergies?”

  “Nope.”

  “Any specific flavors mentioned?”

  “Nope.”

  “Black-and-Blue Cookies it is, then.”

  Renee’s laugh reached her above the sound of the faucet. “Black-and-Blue Cookies? Is that some sort of variation on black-and-white cookies?”

  “Yep.” She rinsed the hand soap off her hands, dried them with a paper towel, and then headed straight for the baking cabinet. “Hey, by any chance did Bridget call here in the past ten minutes or so?”

  Renee headed for the drawer of pans and extracted two. “Actually, she did. I tried to make a little small talk with her but she just wanted—”

  “The names of the artists currently at the retreat. Yeah, I know.” Winnie stockpiled the ingredients she needed into her arms and carried them over to the island. “You did give them to her, right?”

  “Of course I did! That woman frightens me.” Setting the pans on the countertop beside the stove, Renee prepared them with a quick hit of cooking spray and then joined Winnie and her assembled ingredients at the island. “Is something going on?”

  She measured out the flour and dumped it in the bowl. “It’s been confirmed. Sally Dearfield was murdered.”

  Renee pulled her hand off the sugar container and gave Winnie a once-over. “Are you serious?”

  “Technically, it hasn’t been made public yet, but Greg let me know on the down-low.”

  “Wow. I’ve never witnessed a murder before.” Renee verified the amount of sugar needed for the cookies and added it to the bowl.

  “You didn’t witness this one, either.”

  Moving on to the brown sugar and the amount indicated by Winnie’s index finger, Renee shrugged. “Close enough. I mean, we saw her dead body, didn’t we? And you just said she was murdered.”

  “Cyanide has a way of doing that, yes. But the key factor in all of this is the fact that the gasp came well after her body hit the ground. That’s odd, don’t you think?”

  “I do. But unless they were all in on it, wouldn’t someone have said something about who did it? I mean, as stinky as I was at playing Clue as a kid, never in all the times I did play, did Colonel Mustard, Miss Scarlet, Professor Plum, and Mrs. Peafeather commit the crime together. I mean, the wrench wasn’t that big, you know?”

  “Um, I’m pretty sure it was Mrs. Peacock but that’s okay. I get your point.” And she did. But the cookies she was expected to deliver in a matter of hours needed to be her focus at that moment. Grabbing the electric mixer, she plugged its cord into the outlet and turned it on, the volume of her voice instinctively rising. “Anyway, Bridget is going to see if she can put together a little background information on the five artists currently staying at the retreat.”

  “You mean the suspects?” Renee stopped, nibbled on her lower lip for a moment, and then released it along with a sigh. “If you really love me, Winnie, don’t tell me if Colonel Mustard ends up being the hunk from the lake the other night, okay?”

  Winnie shut off the mixer and carried the beaters over to the sink. “If he does, I’ll tell you because I love you.”

  “Blah, blah, blah.” Reaching around Winnie, Renee plucked one of the beaters from her hand, ran a finger down the first of its four blades, and stuck the collected cookie dough into her mouth. “I know . . . I know . . . Raw eggs.”

  “You’re incorrigible, you know that?”

  “On account of the fact you tell me that at some point every day, yeah, I know that.” Renee moved on to the second blade. “So what are you trying to find out about them?”

  “Anything and everything. Where they’re from, details about their careers, marital status, et cetera.”

  “Okay . . .” Renee looked at the remaining dough-covered blades and then tossed the beater into the sink beside its mate. “Next time I do that, smack me, okay? I don’t need any more calories.”

  “Said the girl who insisted I add taste tester to her official job description,” Winnie said, her tone deadpan.

  Renee laughed. “Said the girl who actually added it.”

  Working fast, Winnie placed a dozen balls of dough onto the first cookie sheet, another dozen onto the second cookie sheet, and then placed them both inside the preheated oven. “Okay, so where were we? Oh yeah, I remember . . . When Sally called on Saturday to place her order, she said something that made me think she may have had a history with these particular artists. I may be wrong, but if I’m not, and it played a part in her death, I think it’s worth a look.”

  “It probably wouldn’t do me any good to take this moment to point out that you’re a baker, not a cop, eh?”

  “Nope, because I know that.” Winnie set the timer on the stove and returned to the island and the next round of waiting ingredients. “I also know I’ve got to get this icing made and these cookies finished before five. So, if it’s okay, I’d really rather table any further discussion on this particular subject until tomorrow.”

  “That’s a big ten-four.”

  She eyed her friend. “A big ten-four?”

  “Yeah.” Renee dried her freshly washed hands with the hand towel and then wandered back over to the island. “It means I hear you . . . I got it . . . I’m picking up what you’re putting down. You know, that sort of thing.”

  “I know what ten-four means, Renee. I also know that’s police talk, not EMT talk.”

  “No comment.”

  Chapter 9

  “One, two, three, four—and here we are.” Winnie pulled alongside the curb in front of the two-story tan-colored house Renee had noted on the bottom of the rescue order and took a moment to compare the number on the mailbox with the number on her sheet. “Okay, Your Highness, it’s cookie time!”

  Rising up onto all four paws, Lovey unfurled her tongue with a yawn an
d then cast an irritated eye on Winnie. “Yes. I know. I promised you tuna this morning and I’ve yet to deliver. But in case you haven’t noticed, the day has been a bit of a whirlwind.”

  Hissss . . .

  “Ahhh yes, good chat. Good chat.” She opened her door, waited for Lovey to jump out, and then made her way around the back of the ambulance for the cookie-topped stretcher, the IV icing bag and pole, and her rescue bag. When everything was ready, Lovey took her position beneath the stretcher and Winnie wheeled it up the front walkway to the doorbell.

  Seconds turned to minutes before the mahogany door finally opened to reveal a dark-haired teenager wearing an athletic top and shorts and sporting an angry bruise on her leg.

  “Vanessa Wilder?”

  The girl’s brown eyes widened. “Yes?”

  “My name is Winnie—”

  “I know who you are.”

  She couldn’t help but grin. “I’m here to rescue you from your”—Winnie pointed at the teen’s leg—“bruised leg.”

  Vanessa looked past Winnie to first the ambulance and then the cookie-topped (and Lovey-bottomed) stretcher. “Are you serious?”

  Stepping back, she placed her hands on the stretcher and wheeled it into position between them. “These Black-and-Blue Cookies are Cindy Monoco’s way of saying she’s sorry for the bad kick.”

  Surprise turned to amusement via a quick squeal. “I can’t believe she did this! How. Cool.” Then, holding her index finger up in the air, she backed up. “Wait right here, okay? I have to take a selfie with this! Everyone is going to be so jealous!”

  Five minutes later, Vanessa was back, phone in hand, hair freshly brushed, and mascara applied. Spinning around, she threw out her hand, hoisted the device into the air, and snapped three pictures of herself with the stretcher and, based on the angle of the shot, Winnie, too.

  When Winnie was sure the photo session was over, she grabbed hold of the IV icing tube and added a little swirl of white chocolate to the top of each cookie before offering one to Vanessa. “You’ve been rescued.”

  The squeal was back, this time at such a high pitch, Lovey poked her head out from her hideaway spot. If Vanessa noticed, though, she gave no indication. Instead, the girl plucked a cookie off the plate and bit into it, her big brown eyes rapidly disappearing behind ridiculously long lashes. “Oh. Wow. Caroline is crazy.”

  Winnie drew back. “Excuse me?”

  Vanessa studied the cookie in her hand and then took another bite, nodding as she did. “Caroline Morgan. Professor Morgan’s daughter.”

  Winnie’s hand found the edge of the stretcher. “No, I know that. You know her?”

  “We’ve known each other since, like, sixth grade or something.” Vanessa took another bite of her cookie and leaned into the open doorjamb. “So I never knew her mom. Caroline says her mom is Didi Evans, can you believe it? I mean, please—Didi Evans? Yeah, right. I’ve read tons of press on Didi since Caroline said that, and not once has Didi ever mentioned a kid. Kinda pathetic, don’t you think?”

  “There’s no kinda about it.” Winnie felt the weight of the girl’s stare at the woodenness of her answer, but before she could truly come to Caroline’s defense, Vanessa giggled.

  “So the feeling is mutual, then, huh?”

  “Feeling?” Winnie echoed, confused.

  “Meaning, you don’t like Caroline, either.”

  “No, I was referring to her—” She stopped as the implication behind Vanessa’s words took front and center in her head.

  Either?

  She pulled her hand back against the stinging words. “I—I . . .”

  “Seems to me you’re pretty cool, actually. I mean, these cookies are pretty freaking amazing and your cat is adorbs.”

  In need of a moment to process everything, Winnie looked down at Lovey. But it didn’t help. Vanessa simply prattled on and on.

  “Let’s face it. We both know this whole story about her famous mom is a crock—you said it yourself a minute ago—”

  Winnie snapped her head up. “I didn’t say that!”

  “Yes, you did. I just said the whole pretend story about her”—Vanessa wiggled her now cookie-free fingers in air-quote fashion—“famous mom was kinda pathetic and you said there was no kinda about it.”

  “I wasn’t referring to the fact that you don’t believe her. I was actually—”

  “I mean, what? She’s sixteen. Shouldn’t she be trying to get a boyfriend of her own instead of heading off on some trip with her dad so she can try to”—again with the air quotes—“get her parents back together. I’m mean, c’mon, what is she . . . six?”

  Winnie opened her mouth to speak but closed it as her hunch turned into reality in the blink of her now tear-filled eyes.

  No.

  Not now.

  You’re on a rescue . . .

  Vanessa helped herself to another cookie and raised it in the air. “These are really, really good, by the way.”

  It was hard to talk around the lump making its way up her throat but still, Winnie managed. “I—I’m glad.”

  Reaching into the hidden pocket on the inside of her uniform top, she pulled out a card and handed it, along with the cookie plate, to Vanessa. “In case you or someone you know wants to rescue someone in the future. Past rescue desserts are listed on the website and we can always create something completely new, too.”

  Vanessa took the card, tossed it onto a table just inside the open doorway, and then wiggled the fingers of her non-plate-holding hand at Lovey while addressing Winnie. “Is he part of all your rescues?”

  “It’s a she, actually, and yes . . . she is.”

  “Cool.” The chirp of Vanessa’s phone sent the teenager back into the house with her Black-and-Blue Cookies and little more than a nod at Winnie.

  “I guess we’re done,” Winnie mumbled in Lovey’s direction before grabbing hold of the stretcher and pushing it back down the walkway. When they reached the curb, she loaded the assorted gear into the back of the ambulance, deposited herself and her feline companion into the cab, and headed down the street in search of the first opportunity to turn around. “So much for making progress with Caroline back in April, huh, Lovey?”

  Lovey blinked.

  “I try, Lovey, I really do. Heck, you’ve seen the stuff I’ve done—the treats I’ve dropped off for her, the invites I’ve extended to her, the . . .” She shook off the rest of the sentence and replaced the ensuing silence with a sigh. “It doesn’t matter, does it? I’m always going to be the interloper, aren’t I?”

  She slid a quick glance in the direction of the passenger seat to find Lovey curled up into a ball, sleeping.

  “Lot of help you are.”

  But really, it didn’t matter. Even if Lovey were awake (and could actually talk), there was nothing to be disputed. Facts were facts. Caroline despised Winnie. And considering she’d done nothing to earn that distinction short of catching Jay’s eye, there wasn’t anything she could do to fix it, either.

  “Except call it quits with Jay.” She felt her shoulders slump as the words left her mouth. “Oh, Lovey, why? Why, after having zero interest in a relationship for more years than you’ve been alive, do I suddenly have to fall head over heels for someone with a kid who wants nothing to do with me? I mean, really. What was I thinking?”

  That Jay is kind . . .

  That Jay is smart . . .

  That Jay makes my knees weak . . .

  That Jay makes me laugh . . .

  Turn by turn she wound her way through one Silver Lake neighborhood after the other until she found herself on the road that led to the lake—a road that was as far from Serenity Lane as one could get while still being in the same town. Yet even with the realization that she’d driven farther than she’d intended, she stayed the course, the approaching six o’clock hour releasing h
er from the constraints of the workday.

  If an evening rescue had come in, Renee would have called. And based on Ty’s soccer schedule, she knew her friend had switched the Dessert Squad’s main number to ring straight through to Winnie’s phone before heading out the door to pick up her son and transport him to the appropriate field. The phone, like Lovey, however, remained silent.

  It was moments like these when she wished the ambulance had a radio. If it did, she could roll down the window, turn up the volume, and sing along with whatever catchy tune happened to be playing at that moment. Since it didn’t, she simply cracked the window enough to allow for a breeze and tried to focus on something other than Caroline.

  Caroline . . .

  “She’ll come around, won’t she, Lovey?”

  Lifting her head ever so slightly, the brown and white tabby offered a sleepy hiss as her response.

  “Who asked you?” Winnie shot back.

  You did, dummy . . .

  “Ugh. Ugh. Uggghhh!”

  Desperate for a change of scenery, she turned into the public parking lot where she’d first met Caroline and parked under a grove of buckeye trees. The second the engine shut off, Lovey was on her feet, scoping out their surroundings.

  “I need a moment to collect my thoughts, Your Highness. Can I count on you to stay put for five—maybe ten minutes, tops?”

  Lovey elongated her upper body in her favorite regal pose and then darted out of the cab the moment Winnie opened the door.

  “Love-yyyy!” She stamped her foot on the asphalt parking lot—once, twice. “You get back here right now or you can forget that whole tuna-for-dinner promise I made this morning!”