by Mary Kennedy
“Trudy Carpenter? From Savannah?”
“No, she’s originally from Valdosta. And she may have moved to Brunswick, if that helps.” I remembered what Lucinda had told me. “But she attended the Academy, right here in Savannah, for high school.”
Noah spent a few minutes at the keyboard and looked up in surprise. “Well, if it’s the same Trudy Carpenter, she’s had a few arrests for DUIs, and she’s living with a convicted felon in a run-down section of Brunswick. His name is Reggie Knox. He’s listed as being at the same address. He’s out on parole. Does the name ring a bell?”
“Reggie Knox? No, I’ve never heard of him. Why was he in prison?” My mind leaped ahead and I wondered if Trudy could be living with a murderer.
“Drugs, possession and dealing. Robbery and assault.” Noah shook his head. “Domestic violence and a few bar fights. He sounds like a piece of work.”
“Wow.” I was stunned. “That could explain why Trudy didn’t attend the book signing. No wonder Sonia wanted to distance herself from her niece and her lowlife boyfriend.” I gave a little shudder.
It would be interesting to see where all that money was going. I hoped Persia would get a copy of the will as soon as it went through probate. Wills are a matter of public record, and I knew Persia could get the details for us. Who stood to inherit Sonia’s fortune? An interesting question!
“The truth is, we actually don’t know much about Sonia’s family,” I went on. “She had a longtime lover, Jeremy Watts, and that’s all I know about her personal life.” I told Noah about our meeting with Jeremy at the Red Lion and my surprise at spotting Olivia having breakfast with him. “Sonia’s never been married and has no kids. Her whole life was devoted to her career and building her brand.”
“Interesting from an inheritance point of view,” Noah offered.
“That it is,” I agreed. “There’s a lot of money involved, a huge estate.”
“Speaking of money, how are things at the shop?” Noah said, topping off my coffee. “I’ve been worried about you and Ali. Has there been any fallout from Sonia’s death?”
“I’m afraid so.” I bit back a little sigh. “Business is way down. It doesn’t matter that Sonia died from an allergic reaction; people seem to think we poisoned her. They’re not interested in the facts, and you how gossip spreads down here. Like wildfire.”
“I was afraid this would happen,” Noah said. “Perception is everything. You’re going to have to do a marketing blitz to get things back on track. Let the public know that Oldies But Goodies is safe and reliable.”
He was quiet for a moment, with his elbow on the desk and his chin cupped in his hand, staring out the window. I took the opportunity to look around his office. It’s exactly what I thought Noah would choose. Sleek modern furniture in rich teak, a creamy Berber carpet, vintage drawings of old Savannah on the walls. Noah’s taste ran to classic styles and subdued colors. The office inspired confidence, and it fit his personality. He’d rented a small suite with two offices and a reception area. I wondered if he might take on a partner if his business took off. At the moment, it was a one-man agency. No assistant, no secretary.
I stood up to inspect a lovely drawing of the Savannah Harbor when he asked, “Do you like my new digs?”
“I love them.” The only jarring note was that his desk was piled high with papers and he had to move a stack of file folders off the upholstered armchair for me to sit down. It was controlled chaos, as Ali would say, but I think the office would look better with some organization. “You’re doing this all on your own?” I asked. “Isn’t it hard being a one-man show?”
“It is, and I’m going to hire a secretary this week. Just part-time for now, and if it works out, we’ll go to full-time. In fact, I’m interviewing a few people today.” He glanced at his watch and frowned. “The first one should be here in a couple of minutes. A lot of people replied to my ad”—he opened a desk drawer and pulled out a sheaf of papers—“but I’ve narrowed it down to six candidates. I’d like to hire someone with a background in law enforcement or legal issues. Plus I need someone I can trust to keep things confidential. Whoever I choose will have to deal with a lot of sensitive material, so discretion is key.”
I nodded. “I think you’ll find just the right person,” I told him. “I won’t keep you.” I reached for my bag. “You have a lot on your plate right now, and I don’t want to take up any more of your time.”
“I always have time for you, Taylor.” His voice was low and husky as he moved close and wrapped his hand around mine. I felt a delicious little thrill at his touch. “Try not to worry about the shop. Tell Ali we’ll solve Sonia’s murder and things will get back to normal. You’ll see.” I smiled at his optimism. Noah always has a way of making me feel safe and secure. He leaned in closer and our faces were almost touching. It could have been a romantic moment, but it was ruined when we heard the door to the reception room open.
“Your interview,” I said softly.
“Awful timing,” he said, gathering me for a brief hug. His eyes were warm and dark and full of feeling.
“We can get together later,” I murmured.
“Count on it,” he promised. “I’ll call you.”
• • •
When I got back to the shop, I saw Dana and Ali huddled together at a small desk in the back where we do the accounts. Ali was riffling through a pile of brochures and looked up with a bright smile on her face. “Taylor, I’m so glad you’re here. Dana has come up with an awesome idea to drum up business.”
Dana flushed. “Ali and I came up with it together,” she said modestly. “You know what they say about great minds running on the same track.”
“Really? That’s terrific.” I poured myself a cup of spicy gingerbread tea and pulled up a chair. It was one of our most popular flavors, and I made a mental note to place a bigger order next time. “So what’s this project and how can I help?”
I was glad to see that Ali was taking action to turn things around instead of wallowing in despair. The truth is, I was worried that the business might not survive the sudden downturn after Sonia’s death, but I couldn’t seem to come up with a plan. Sometimes I wish I’d taken more marketing courses and fewer financial classes when I was doing my MBA.
Dana’s a marketing major in college, and her nonstop energy and enthusiasm are two of her most important assets. As our intern, she gets credit for helping us at the shop; in return, we promise to give her a taste of what it’s like to run a small business. We also send regular evaluations to her professors. So far, they have all been sterling. Dana’s a gem, and I’ll be sad when she graduates and leaves us.
“Well, here’s what we came up with. See what you think.” She pushed a yellow legal pad across the desk to me. It looked like a sketch for a newspaper ad, and I was surprised. We have almost no advertising budget, and newspaper ads are pricey.
I read the headline and was stunned. “We’re offering cooking classes?” And free ones, I noticed wryly. Not even income producing. What in the world was she thinking?
“Yes, isn’t it wonderful?” she said happily.
“Cooking classes.” I tried to keep my voice neutral. “Ali, are you sure this is the right direction to take?” I ventured. I didn’t want to rain on her parade, but seriously, cooking classes? We’d be paying not only for the ad but for the supplies.
“And this is the ad you want to run?”
Ali nodded. “Dana designed it. She’s really talented, isn’t she?” She grinned at our young intern, who was beaming with pleasure.
“But how will we pay for it?” I said, deciding it was better to just dive right in with my concerns.
“We hadn’t really gotten that far yet,” Dana admitted. I glanced at Dana, trying to read her expression. Her sunny smile had been replaced by a wary expression as she realized a storm was brewing. Ali and I have had our sha
re of disagreements over how to run the shop, and this might be the biggest one yet.
“Ali, ad space is expensive, and you know we have zero in the promo budget right now.”
My worst fear was that the store would slowly slip back into the red. Ironic. A few months ago, the shop was bleeding red ink when I flew in to help Ali turn the business around. And now it was dangerously close to coming full circle—in a couple of weeks, we could be right back in the red again. This time might be the death knell for the store. How could I convince Ali that we needed to cut back on expenses and not toss our money away on foolish projects? At this point, every penny had to count. Our bottom line had taken a big hit with Sonia’s death, and who knew if it would ever recover.
“Oh, we won’t pay for it—or we won’t pay very much.” Her tone was light and casual, and I tried not to bristle. She gave a little wave of dismissal, and it was obvious she wasn’t taking my worries to heart. “We’ll just run it in one of the neighborhood shopping circulars,” Ali said blithely, “not one of the major newspapers. You can buy ads for almost nothing in these little fliers. I’ve already called to get an estimate. And I’m thinking maybe we can work out a co-op arrangement with another store.” She jotted a note on a Post-it. “That way, they’d be footing half the bill for the ad. Although, if we get a really good deal, we could probably pay for it ourselves.”
“A co-op ad,” I said slowly.
“Yes, it will cut our expenses in half. All I have to do is find someone who wants to go in with us on the ad, fifty-fifty. It’s a win-win situation.” She thought for a moment. “In fact, I was just thinking that this might be something you’d like to follow up on, wouldn’t you, Dana?”
Dana nodded and immediately whipped out her own notebook. She was superorganized and kept a list of her daily tasks; it made it easy for us to give her professors a detailed description of how she spent her time.
“I guess I’m not clear on something,” I piped up. I shook my head, wondering where she was going with this. “What’s our end of the deal? What can we offer another business that would make them want to split an ad with us?”
“Well, we could pick a specialty store, maybe a cheese store. We’ll feature some of their products in our recipes. And we’ll put up a poster in the shop, telling customers where they can get ingredients for all the recipes. That would really be good advertising. I bet a lot of businesses would like to take advantage of the opportunity.”
I shook my head. “I’m not at all sure about that.”
“Of course they will. Don’t you see?” Ali raced on, her eyes alive with excitement. “It will be a way to generate new business. Everyone loves a free cooking class, and as you can see”—she reached over and flipped the pad to a new page—“we’re offering them for all age groups.”
“Indeed,” I said, at a loss for words. “All age groups.”
“We even have Toddler Chef classes,” Dana said brightly. “That was Ali’s idea. There’s something for every age group.” Her voice was spiraling upward, and she was now practically vibrating with enthusiasm. “I think the Toddler Chef class is going to be my favorite. We can have little aprons printed up with the name of the shop on the front and maybe even go for those cute white hats that chefs wear.”
“Toques,” Ali said helpfully.
“Yes, toques,” Dana agreed. “There must be a specialty store somewhere that makes them in children’s sizes.”
Toddler Chef? Ali loved kids of all ages, but I could just picture the shop being overrun with out-of-control toddlers in toques and their doting moms. It sounded nightmarish.
“You like the idea, don’t you?” Ali’s voice suddenly wavered for a moment. She shot me a keen, questioning glance, and I knew this was the moment of truth. If I dashed her hopes about the cooking classes, it would be a huge setback for her. And for the shop, I wagered.
“Like it?” I reached across the desk to bump fists with her. “I love it!” I managed to keep a grin plastered on my face even though my spirits were sinking and a cash register in my head was going ka-ching, ka-ching at the thought of all the money we’d be spending that we didn’t have.
“There’s more,” she said eagerly, pointing to the legal pad. “Keep going. It gets better.”
I flipped over the next page. Oh no! It seemed we were also offering Master Chef classes. At no charge, of course. So that made a total of three classes: the regular, The Magic of Cupcakes, presumably aimed at adults; the dreaded Toddler Chef class for mothers and toddlers; and the Master Chef class for people who were seasoned cooks. My mind reeled at what this would entail.
I conjured up an imaginary expense sheet. Ali often tells me I have the soul of an accountant, and she doesn’t mean it as a compliment. The expenses for the supplies would add up exponentially, unless we offered the finished products for sale at the end of the class. And wouldn’t that defeat the whole purpose? In most cooking classes, the participants are allowed to bring the goodies home with them. Of course, most cooking school students pay for the privilege of attending class. With Ali’s plan, we were giving away the store. Literally.
Another objection reared its ugly head. Would we have to suspend normal business hours while the classes were in progress? I looked around the already crowded shop, with its narrow aisles and overflowing display cases. As far as I could tell, we’d have to widen the center aisle and hold the classes there. Of course, business wasn’t exactly booming, so losing a morning’s sales might not make much difference either way.
“And guess what the best part is?” Ali asked.
I shook my head. I literally couldn’t come up with a single thought.
“We’ll be teaching the classes together.”
“We? We, as in you and me?”
“Yes, of course.” Ali grinned. “It’s time for you to get your hands dirty, Taylor. You can’t just sit around and crunch numbers all day long. C’mon,” she teased me, “you’re up for a challenge, aren’t you?”
“Well, I’m game, I guess.” I swallowed hard. Cooking is not my forte and Ali knows it. Ali has always been in charge of making the luscious pastries, and my sole contribution has been defrosting them and serving them at Dream Club meetings. This was a game changer, and I didn’t know what to make of it.
“I can picture it now,” Ali said dreamily. She had her chin in her hand, staring at the front of the shop, with the bright window display that Dana had designed. Dana had displayed copies of Sonia’s dessert books on a white wicker table and had placed a platter of frosted cupcakes in front of them. Balloons and confetti added to the festive air. “Just think about it, Taylor. The whole shop will be filled with happy customers, all enjoying homemade treats they’ve baked themselves. And all the cute little kids—they’ll be so happy decorating cupcakes, and we’ll give them helium balloons to take home. I can see it all in my mind’s eye.” She gave a happy sigh. “It’s perfect, isn’t it?” she murmured.
I took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “Perfect,” I agreed. “Absolutely perfect.” Really, there are some situations in life when a little white lie—or a whopping big lie—is called for, and this was one of them.
15
“Things are getting stickier,” Persia Walker said ominously. It was 8:15 the following morning and she was calling from the law firm. “You’ll never guess who inherited Sonia’s fortune.” She sounded out of breath, and I wondered if she’d just run upstairs. Her law office is on the fifth floor of a downtown office building, and Persia’s doctor has been urging her to take the stairs instead of the elevator in the hopes of losing a few pounds.
“Don’t keep me in suspense,” I pleaded. Ali padded into the kitchen with Barney and Scout trotting behind her. I quickly switched the call to speakerphone and motioned to Ali, who took a seat at the round oak table. “Persia, I’m putting you on speaker,” I said quickly. “Ali’s here.”
“Are the two of you sitting down?” Persia teased, drawing out the moment for all it was worth.
“Yes!” we chorused, and I heard a throaty chuckle at the other end of the line.
“Well, here’s the big news. It’s Trudy Carpenter, Sonia’s niece. Trudy is Sonia’s sole heir, outside of a few bequests here and there to some of her longtime employees.”
“Most of her fortune went to Trudy? What about Jeremy Watts and Olivia Hudson?”
My mind was reeling at the news, and I tried to make sense of it. This was the last thing I’d expected. If Sonia wasn’t close to her niece, why did she leave everything to her? And Sonia wore a necklace with Trudy’s name on it. That certainly suggested a strong relationship. Did Sonia know that Trudy was living with an ex-con, a real lowlife? I wondered if Trudy had any children and if Sonia had really intended the money to go to them. I made a mental note to ask Noah the next time I talked to him.
“Nothing,” Persia said flatly. “Not a penny to Jeremy or Olivia.” She waited a beat and then went on, “I was really surprised at that, because she left a fairly generous amount to some of her favorite employees. Did you happen to meet anyone named Charlotte Cross at the book signing?”
Ali looked at me and shook her head. “No, I’m sure I didn’t, and her name wasn’t in the guest book. Ali doesn’t know her, either. What’s her connection with Sonia?”
“I’m still trying to figure that out,” Persia replied. “Sonia must have been fond of Charlotte, because there’s a bequest for Charlotte’s daughter, Annabelle, to attend the Academy right here in Savannah. Sonia even left enough money for her to attend four years of college, too. Anywhere she wants to go.”
“That’s interesting,” Ali mused. “Remember when Lucinda said that Sonia was once a student at the Academy? She must have had warm feelings toward the place if she left a bequest like that. It’s a very pricey school.”
