It was Carla and Bruce's wedding day. Amy would meet up with her friends at Bridget Mahoney's mansion later. For now, the happy couple was shaking up wedding tradition again and enjoying their last morning meal as singles, together, at The Breakfast Spot. So much for the groom not seeing his bride until she walked down the aisle. Good choice of restaurant, though, since if they had decided on having breakfast at Riverbend, Amy would've hovered beside them asking if they had taken care of a hundred and one things. She couldn't help it. Her mind usually whirled like a hyper gerbil-powered exercise wheel once her morning coffee kicked in.
Soon all of the doughnuts were done. The lemon ones were rolled in chunky Demerara sugar crystals to mimic the flavor of classic lemon and brown sugar crepes. The Chinese five spice doughnuts sported a green tea glaze and iridescent edible sugar pearls. The mundane snacks had been elevated to fancy wedding fare.
Amy grabbed her clipboard and toured the café's kitchens. She used a pink ink pen she'd found in the bottom of her purse to check everything off for the third time. The long loaves of French bread that would later be sliced, toasted, and topped with smoked eggplant dip were baked. The cinnamon-laced Mexican chocolate brownies were cut into slender diamond shapes and gently stacked in an airtight storage container. Once again, everything was assembled in the designated wedding food areas and prominently labeled so nothing would end up being served to café customers instead of wedding guests. All of the food was ready. Just as it had been the first two times she went over the list.
She looked at the clock hanging over the sandwich prep station. Despite her obsessive redundant checking, she was still on time—but she needed to leave immediately or she wouldn't be for long. She found JoJo in the small kitchen, transferring doughnuts from cooling racks into storage containers.
"Do you need any more help?" Amy asked. "I have to leave to make it to my hair appointment, but I can ask someone in the big kitchen to come help you on my way out."
"No. I'm good." JoJo smiled. Her sapphire blue eyes sparkled. "You're in the wedding, so go get ready and relax a bit. I promise—I have everything under control. Before Sophie hired me, I worked for a big caterer who did multiple weddings every weekend. Setting up a dessert bar and appetizers for thirty people will be a breeze."
The interim café manager's confidence perked up Amy's flagging fortitude. No matter what she did to reassure herself that everything was going smoothly, she couldn't shake the nagging feeling that she was overlooking something. Fear of the unknown. It was a legitimate phobia, but there wasn't time to slow down or let it affect her. Not on Carla's wedding day.
"My hair appointment is in about an hour. I need to run home to take another shower and grab my makeup and dress. I'll be back around one o'clock, to help get everything ready to go."
"I'll see you then. Have fun at the salon."
A hot shower and big glass of sweet lemongrass-infused iced green tea were what Amy needed. When she returned downtown she felt as though she could take on the world, or even the werewolf hacker dude, as she made her way down the crowded sidewalk toward Elegance Salon. Not only was she feeling refreshed, she was on time. Huzzah! She was so busy reveling in her newfound, inexplicably calm energy boost, she forgot about the impending allergy attack. When she opened the door, the series of violent sneezes drew the attention of everybody in the busy salon.
"Excuse me," she mumbled as she grabbed a tissue out of a box on the corner of the reception desk.
Thalia popped out from behind the divider wall that separated the reception area from the rest of the salon. "I figured that was you. Come here, you have to see this."
Amy dabbed at her nose with the tissue as she made her way to Thalia's station. A woman wearing baby pink yoga pants and a white T-shirt emblazoned with a Yoga For You logo sat in the chair. Her hair was a dense mass of blonde ringlets that quivered as she tapped the toe of her white leather moccasin on the footrest.
She looked at Thalia and asked, "Do you think this is from the same person who's been messing with everybody? I don't understand why he would type that though. It goes from threatening and coherent to gibberish."
"It has to be, but it looks as if the email has some kind of glitch," Thalia answered. She nodded at Amy. "Show it to her. She works for a business that has been hit already, so she knows what's going on."
The blonde woman held out her phone so Amy could read the email: I know where your business is and I will destroy it if you do not comply with my demands. Use MoneyMover to transfer $1000 to IAM AMORON IAMAM ORO. NI AM AMORON 1 AMA MO RON IAMA MO RONIA.
Amy looked closer at the email header. The message wasn't from Anonymous, like the ones that had been sent to Sophie. No…this message was from [email protected]. She looked at the message again. "It isn't exactly gibberish. It spells out I Am A Moron over and over. The spacing is weird, like he was typing something else and the letters were replaced."
The other women leaned closer to reexamine the email when Amy held out the phone.
"I'll be damned. It does say I am a moron." Thalia laughed so hard she drew curious looks from customers on the other side of the room. "I have no idea what happened, but it's pretty funny."
Amy didn't say anything, but she had a pretty good idea what had happened. Chuck's crafty computer virus was unleashing its wrath on the hacker. Was replacing letters in an email to make the sender look like an idiot, or more precisely a moron, the extent of the malicious program, or would there be more consequences to come?
The yogi vacated her spot in Thalia's chair, and the master hairstylist set to work on the retro-style updo that Amy had requested to match her vintage bridesmaid ensemble. As her hair was teased, curled, and pinned she worked on her makeup. Even though the wedding was in the evening, dark smoky eyes and red lipstick wouldn't jive with her delicate pink and white outfit. Carnation pink lipstick and subtle, shimmering nude eye shadow looked perfect.
An hour later, Amy's straw-colored hair was twisted into loose rolls that framed her face then came together in a low knot at the base of her neck. The elegant hairdo didn't quite fit with the green khaki cargo pants and plain white button-front shirt she was wearing, but it still made her feel like a glamorous model. She thanked Thalia for performing her hair magic and rushed out the door.
There was just enough time for a little side trip before she needed to be back at the café. She skipped along the sidewalk humming "Here Comes the Bride." She doubted Carla would allow the song to be played for her grand entrance, but the tune fit Amy's mood. When she stopped in front of The Inkwell, she could see Chuck through the front window. He was sitting behind the counter, as usual, staring at a computer screen. She yanked open the front door and stopped on the industrial carpet welcome mat.
"I am a moron."
Chuck looked at her. A mischievous grin crooked up the sides of his mouth. As she walked toward the counter, he said, "No you're not. The imbecile of a hacker is. How did you find out what I did?"
"I read an email he sent to another business." Amy leaned on the counter. She lifted an eyebrow at him. "Is that all you've got, oh mighty hacker-buster man?"
"Oh, it gets better. I like to dole out my torture slowly."
"Nice." She lifted her hands over her head and bowed to him as though he was an Egyptian god. "I bow to your skills. So my question is, do you know who the hacker is?"
He shook his head. "Not yet, but I will soon. Good things come to those who wait."
"That's cruel to say to an impatient woman who doesn't have time to wait." She stomped her foot, triggering a floorboard protest that sounded like one of Pogo's squeaky toys. "I have to go finish getting everything ready for my best friend's wedding this evening. If you find out who is behind all of the threats, will you tell the police immediately?"
"I promise." He double tapped his fist on his chest over his heart. "Nobody has the right to sit in front of a computer and take money from hard-working people with threats and intimidation. I hate bullies."
As Amy hurried back to the café, she sent a cosmic thank you to the day for deciding to be perfect for a wedding, sunny and mild, with no wind to undo the updo before she and her hair made it into the safety of Bridget's atrium. The countdown had started to ceremony time. She needed to keep her eye on the wedding ball, but it was hard not to wonder about Chuck's cryptic prediction that he would soon know the hacker's identity.
When Amy stopped at the crosswalk to wait for the traffic light, she could see that the red neon Open sign in the café's front window was already dark. When she crossed Main Street, she continued straight. If the front doors were locked she'd have to go around to the back anyway since she only had a key to the kitchen door. As she walked behind the businesses, she couldn't help but notice the signs of the extortionist's presence, the mismatched patches of paint used to cover up the spray-painted dollar signs. Counting Riverbend, there were three on their side of the block. The downtown district was four blocks long. How many business owners were being tortured?
The café's little catering truck came into view. It was so petite, a Dumpster had been hiding the coffee-colored vehicle as Amy walked along the service road. The van made Amy happy every time she saw it. A diminutive cube of a delivery vehicle with a headlight, grill, and bumper layout that made it look as if it was smiling, Sophie had bought it to start the catering division of Riverbend Café. Start small, grow big was her motto for the venture. The wedding was the first official customer. Until all of the bugs were ironed out in the work division between café and catering preparations, she planned to only book events for fifty people or less. Sophie could construct a business plan just as well as a thirty-layer crepe cake.
The back doors of the truck were open so she peeked inside as she walked past. The vehicle was filled with coolers, metal hotel pans, and clear plastic storage bins. JoJo and her helpers would be excellent at solving 3-D puzzles.
Amy slowly pulled open the kitchen door, in case someone was trying to exit at the same time. "Hello. I'm back. What can I help with?"
"Nothing." JoJo was bent over a nearby counter looking at a clipboard. The paper on it appeared to have every line of text crossed out with red ink. "We're all set. It's your friend's wedding, so you should be focused on helping her. I haven't met a bride yet who hasn't been a bundle of nerves on her wedding day."
She gestured at the three other women who were dressed in dark brown pants and cream, short-sleeve cotton shirts, the uniform Sophie had chosen for her catering workers. "All of us have worked at catering companies before now. We've got this. There's no need for you to mess up your hair or get sweaty lugging around coolers. Enjoy the rest of the day with your friend."
Amy, in Mimi, led the way to Bridget's country estate, which stretched along the banks of the Cooley River several miles out of town. Normally she would've taken the scenic route, along the twisty river, but curvy roads were a nightmare for catering trucks full of food. She had never been in the house but had certainly driven by it many times. The white fence that edged the huge tract of land appeared beside the road before the mansion came into sight. Her excitement over the upcoming nuptials turned to flat-out giddiness when she pulled up in front of the estate's main entrance.
A sign hung from one of the spires lined up along the top edge of the towering iron gate. Gold letters on a white background were ringed with what, from the front seat of the Mini, appeared to be a wreath of real white roses.
Lance & Shepler
Wedding
The luxe sign was an unexpected detail, but Amy shouldn't have expected anything less. If Bridget Mahoney was involved, an event was sure to be elegant. Cheap and easy was never the savvy businesswoman's style. Amy followed the directions of the deep male voice that crackled through the security monitor. She led the catering van to the back of the massive three-story house where a team of Bridget's staff was waiting to help. As JoJo expertly backed the van up to a garage door, a man on a golf cart beckoned for Amy to follow him. She nodded and stepped on the Mini's gas pedal as the cart disappeared from view on the lane ahead. She hadn't realized the house was sitting on top of a hill, but it was. The rolling landscape hid a large parking lot that was nestled in a valley.
When she got out of her car and turned toward the grand house, it wasn't even visible. Was the hidden parking area part of the natural terrain or courtesy of a construction crew? However it had been made, she was impressed by the clever design, and she hadn't even made it into the house.
A quick ride in the golf cart brought her to a back door of the mansion. The driver took the garment bag containing her dress and the tote bag with all of her other beauty supplies. He said he would put it in her room as he directed her to follow a hallway into the kitchen.
When she reached her destination, Amy stopped in the doorway for a few seconds, admiring the French country-style kitchen. The light cream-colored cabinet doors were expertly distressed to look as if they had come from a century-old house in rural France. Or maybe they had. Bridget seemed like the kind of person who would go for real antiques over clever reproductions. The island in the center of the room was larger than Amy's dining room table with all of its leaves in place. Along one wall a stack of ovens sat beside a brick fireplace. Next to the ovens there was an eight-burner industrial stove with a water spigot extending from the wall behind it to fill pasta pots. A gargantuan refrigerator was disguised with wood paneled doors that matched the cabinets. There was one word for the kitchen—impressive.
Bridget, wearing a sleeveless, pale lavender sheath dress, sat on a stool beside the island. A clipboard sat on the stone counter in front of her. She looked up. "Welcome. I'm so excited to finally be able to host a wedding here. The florists are still working in the atrium, so we'll go see that after the bride arrives."
Amy smiled but didn't quite make eye contact since she was still checking out the drool-worthy kitchen. A wooden panel was set into the wall of fireplace brick. The door to an oven that was sure to make excellent pizza. Too bad she hadn't known about that. She could've brought supplies to make the pizzas Carla and Shepler had repeatedly threatened to order.
"I'm sure Carla will be blown away. A gorgeous mansion wasn't even on her venue radar. I know she is over-the-moon excited. I can't thank you enough for doing this, especially on such short notice."
Bridget slipped off the stool. "You're welcome. I bought this place ten years ago, and in all of that time, I've never been able to convince one of my friends to have her next wedding here. I'm thrilled to finally be able to execute the atrium wedding I've envisioned for years. I may be an old cougar, but I guess I'm still a romantic at heart."
She pointed at a doorway at the far end of the kitchen. "If you would like to check on the food, everybody is in the catering kitchen."
Two kitchens? Again…impressive. The second kitchen resembled the one at Riverbend with stainless steel counter tops over glossy white cabinets. Modern and efficient with everything a caterer could want to put the finishing touches on a gourmet meal. JoJo and her crew were chatting merrily as they arranged brownies, cookies, and bite-sized pastries on platters.
"Do you guys need any help?" Amy asked as she smiled in approval of a tray of perfectly aligned vanilla custard tartelettes.
"Nope. We are right on schedule, so go finish getting ready," JoJo said. She skillfully maneuvered a sheet of plastic wrap over the top of a tray of brownies. Most people would end up with a wad of tangled wrap and an outburst of colorful profanity while trying to accomplish the same feat.
Amy turned to find Bridget quietly chatting with a man in a black chef's uniform. He nodded and then opened the door to another room. The walls of that space were lined with shelves brimming with glass jars, boxes, and bags. Amy had a pantry the size of a small closet. Bridget's pantry was the size of a small grocery market.
"The bride should be here soon," Bridget said as she casually inspected the trays of baked goods. She looked at Amy. "Would you like to wait for her in the
room where you two will get ready?"
Amy tried to memorize the route from the kitchen to the bedroom, but it was hard to concentrate while ogling crystal vases filled with massive bouquets of exotic white flowers and the many breathtaking paintings hanging on the walls of the hallways. When Bridget opened the door to the bedroom, Amy gasped. The room was straight out of the fantasies of every woman who had ever dreamed of being a princess, complete with a four-poster bed covered by a pink silk bedspread embroidered with a network of tiny white roses. A massive antique wood wardrobe truly looked as though it could be a portal to another world. Across from the bed was a sweet vanity with two angled side mirrors and plush pink velvet stool. An idyllic place for a bride to prepare for her wedding.
Bridget strode across the room and pushed open the double French doors. She stepped onto the small balcony and motioned for Amy to join her. She pointed down at a dome of glass made of hexagonal panes that looked like a bubble of clear honeycomb.
"That's the atrium. I thought Carla might like to keep an eye on the preparations as she gets ready," Bridget explained.
When Amy leaned a few inches to the left, she could see clearly through the center of one of the panes. There were rows of chairs lined up inside and people moving around between the lush green plants and trees. It felt as if she had been transported onto the set of an elegant, high-budget movie.
"This is incredible." Amy wrapped the always detached and business-like Bridget in a quick hug. "Sorry if you're not a hugger, but I can't help myself. Your generosity is astounding."
Doughnuts & Deadly Schemes (Culinary Competition Mysteries Book 3) Page 18
