by A. Gardner
"Yeah," Bree comments. "We should all go home, enjoy our day off, and revisit this little mission on Monday."
"No, Bree, she's right." It pains me to admit it, but I could be one up on Detective Reid by the time this is over. "Chef Otto is hiding something, and the sooner we figure out what, the closer we are to finding the real killer."
"And if he's going to meet with the boss of a rival mob?" Bree mutters over her shoulder.
"Are you insinuating that Chef Otto is the murderer?" Georgina's eyes go wide at the thought of it. She shakes her head—a blonde curl falling across her face. "That's absurd."
"It could happen," Bree insists. "I mean, how well do we really know him?"
"Oh, I know him." Georgina nods, looking straight forward at her cherry red target. "I know him well, and he would never do such a thing."
"Uh, you know him from television," I point out. "It's not the same."
"We have similar interests and compatible horoscopes," she insists. "The stars were aligned in our favor when he came into town. And he told Sugar Babe Magazine that he's looking to settle down with a simple home-style woman with a good head on her shoulders. It was meant to be."
"Sounds like he was referring to his Italian mama." I chuckle, petting Susu.
"And what makes you qualified to hand out relationship advice?" Georgina directs her question toward the backseat.
"Hey," I argue, "I may not know what works, but I definitely know what doesn't work. Pretending to like the same things as someone doesn't work."
"I'm not pretending at all," Georgina insists. "Chef Otto and I are the perfect match, and one day he'll see it. I think you're just jealous, Poppy."
"Jealous?" I make one last attempt at being a good kitchenmate. "Georgina, just because I dog sit for him doesn't mean I want him in my bed."
"Poppy," Bree gasps. She's too proper to discuss sensual subjects so casually.
"How can you not see him for what he really is?" I go on.
"A brilliant TV presenter, talented chef, and sound businessman?" Georgina guesses.
"Try an egotistic reality star afraid of becoming a has-been," I answer.
"Mmm-hmm," Bree agrees.
"He's all yours," I announce. "Once we figure out what he's hiding, I'll back off and give you the leash." Susu looks at me and lets out a soft bark. I scratch behind her ears. "Not literally, of course," I add.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
"And that's why Todd hasn't seen you as wife material." Georgina states. We made it to Atlanta, and if it weren't for Susu resting her head on my lap, I might have strangled Georgina.
"Really?" Bree replies. "You get all that just from the outfit I'm wearing."
"Appearance is everything," Georgina instructs her. "You have to make yourself into what he thinks he wants."
I roll my eyes.
I have a whole lot of un-brainwashing to do on Bree when we get home.
Georgina exits the highway two cars behind Otto. My chest pounds as we follow him toward an Atlanta suburb, almost losing him in all the heavy traffic. Traffic here isn't like traffic back home in Oregon. A drive through downtown Portland is like sampling a kiddie cone compared to the streets of Atlanta. Georgina swerves and barely misses rear-ending the car that cuts in front of us.
"What the—?" Georgina swerves again. "Is this guy crazy? Where's the fire?"
"You can't drive like a Nancy around here," I say from the back seat. "You have to be more aggressive than that."
"I swear if I see a single scratch on my car—"
"You'll what?" I'm ready to ruin Chef Otto's city trip just so he can give me a ride back to campus. I don't care if I have to wait. I don't care if he knocks over a gas station while I keep watch in the passenger's seat. Highly unlikely.
"Right over there." Bree points across the street at a plain, brick building with Otto's car in the parking lot. Georgina takes my advice and forces her way through traffic until she's in the correct turn lane. I stare out the window as Chef Otto hops out of his car, runs his fingers over Victoria's hood, and throws on a baseball cap. Georgina enters the parking lot slowly, waiting for Otto to jog indoors.
"He changed his shirt," Georgina comments. "And his shoes." I glimpse at the rearview mirror and see her eyebrows wrinkling.
"Now why would he do that?" I recite before jumping out of the car. I take Susu with me. The parking lot is full enough that Chef Otto won't notice Georgina's Mercedes unless he's looking for it. The humidity hits me hard when I jog with Susu at my side. My armpits feel damp, and my forehead is practically sizzling. I stop outside the no-name brick building that reminds me a little of an abandoned schoolhouse. Bree and Georgina catch up to me.
"Did anyone else find it weird that our country music station switched to hip-hop as soon as we saw the city skyline?" Bree scratches her head.
"Is it a school?" I ask, looking around the front of the property for a sign.
"It's a church," Georgina answers. "Sweetleaf Lake Community Church." She points to the front door, which is made of glass. A sign is hanging inside in the hallway.
"Welcome…" I squint, trying to read another sign just inside the door. "…it's too far away."
The three of us cautiously walk inside. I hold my finger to my lips and shush Susu when she shakes her mane. The tag on her collar jingles. Georgina steps in front of the large poster so I can't read it. She covers her mouth.
"What is it?" I whisper, bending down to pet Susu so she'll stay quiet.
"Oh my," Bree mumbles, standing at Georgina's side.
"What?" I say a little louder. Susu lets out a bark, probably sensing my frustration.
A man emerges from down the hall. A man wearing a T-shirt and a New York Knicks cap. Georgina takes a deep breath and steps back, leaving Bree and me at the forefront of our group. Chef Otto freezes when he sees us. For a moment, he moves at a glacier pace. Susu wags her tail.
"What are you three doing here?" he says through his teeth. His cheeks turn a fiery red as he wipes underneath the brim of his cap.
We're about to be expelled.
"Chef, it isn't what it looks like," Bree begins, her voice quivering. "You see, Georgina—"
"Don't bring me into this—" Georgina barks.
As the two of them begin arguing about whose idea it was to come here, I glance at the sign in front of me. Welcome, Atlanta South Chapter of Gambler's Anonymous. Thoughts buzz in and out of my head. The main one being that I was right.
Gambler's Anonymous.
Otto owes the Bianco family money.
"Quiet you two," I shout, looking to Chef Otto.
"Poppy—"
"Chef, I asked you what was going on, and you said nothing." I start on a rant of my own before he has the chance to lecture us about stalking celebrities and how famous people need their privacy too. "A car has been following you since the murder at the farmers' market, but you denied it. Now that same car is following me and Georgina, and we could've been killed."
"I…uh…" Chef Otto looks to Georgina, and she crosses her arms.
"Tell us what's going on, or I'll make sure our entire class knows that your precious Ferrari is a lease." I'm going out on a limb here, but if he's having money problems he would've sold Victoria by now. Especially if the mob really is in town to collect a debt.
"And what does it matter if it's a lease or not?" Otto responds, holding his head high.
"Okay." I shrug. "But rumors around here spread like my Aunt Maggie's pants after Thanksgiving dinner. Once the school knows about your money problems, it's only a matter of time before the media grabs hold of it."
Chef Otto's eye twitches.
I've hit him where it hurts.
"Wait," he responds. "Wait right there. I'll tell you everything." He turns and jogs back down the hall.
"Still think he's perfect husband material now, Georgina?" I say out loud.
Georgina stays silent.
Chef Otto returns with his car keys in hand.
/> "Let's go somewhere less…" He glances around the room. It's plain and simple. White walls. Taupe furniture. Ugly grayish carpet. "Churchy."
* * *
Leave it to Bree to find a cupcake café down the street from us on her phone—a bakery and boutique called Cakeville. The four of us sit outside with Susu, sipping iced coffees. The inside of the shop is a mix between a cupcake bakery and a craft store. It's a one-stop shop if you're in the market for a hand-painted wooden birdhouse and measuring spoons shaped like peaches, and you're also in the mood for a snack. Bree cuts into her cupcake. A flavor called Miss Ruby's Red Velvet. I know she ordered it to compare to her own recipe.
I peel the wrapper of my Kentucky Derby Carrot Cake and take a bite. Georgina stares at me as I lick my lips. After starting pastry school and being roommates with Bree, I can't diet. Saying no to sweets that call out to me doesn't feel natural anymore. My new habit hasn't been kind to my waistline, but one pant size in exchange for a lifetime of deprivation hardly seems worth it. I'm content with my new take on life. In fact, I smile when I look in the mirror now rather than stare at the areas of my body that need improvement.
Georgina has that look on her face—the one I used to make when thinning down for an upcoming role. I haven't seen her taste test in the kitchen the way I do. She doesn't lick the leftover batter. She never snags the occasional runt of the dozen.
Chef Otto examines his Seaside Salted Caramel Delight like he's being filmed for one of his cooking shows. He studies the frosting to cake ratio, including feeling the cake beneath his wrapper to see how much it springs.
"Are you planning on presenting the Cakeville staff with a complimentary assessment?" I tease. Chef Otto looks at me and finally takes a bite of his cupcake. Georgina keeps her chin up and takes a tiny sip of her drink. She's the only one at the table without a cupcake.
"How hard is it to sift your sugar?" he comments, rubbing a dab of frosting between his fingers. "Look, I can feel the lumps." He takes a bite anyway. "And the caramel on top is shaped like a shell."
"You've got to give them credit for the clever naming," I respond. "It gives the cakes more personality I think."
"If you don't like it, let Georgina give it a try," Bree chimes in. "I haven't seen her eat anything all day."
"Did we come here for the food or the truth?" Georgina changes the subject. She sips her iced coffee and turns to Chef Otto. He tugs at his cap and focuses on his salted caramel cupcake.
"Chef," I say, "we're all ears."
"If any of you take this to the papers I swear—"
"What happens in Cakeville stays in Cakeville," I assure him.
"Yes, okay." Chef Otto hangs his head. He's almost unrecognizable when he frowns and slumps his shoulders like that. "I have a little problem when it comes to betting. I made some bad decisions a while back. Got in with a bad crowd. But that's all behind me now."
"Are you sure about that?" I ask, raising my eyebrows.
"Dang it, Poppy," he mutters. "Fine. No, I still owe money to someone. A lot of money. In fact, the whole reason I even accepted the position at your school was so I could lay low for a while until I can come up with enough cash."
"I'll do you a solid then," I blurt out. "Ditch the Ferrari. Ditch the massive Georgian manor. You'll be surprised how much cash that frees up."
"It doesn't work like that." He chuckles, pushing his half-eaten cupcake aside and leaning back. Georgina clenches her jaw when she looks at him. "None of you have ever been in the public eye. You three wouldn't understand."
"I'll tell you what I do understand," I respond. "Getting into bed with the mafia is an even dumber idea than your lame cooking show, Bonbon Voyage."
"Poppy," Bree gasps, as if setting Chef Otto straight will cost me my spot at graduation.
She could be right.
"What?" Chef Otto responds. I have no choice now but to stand my ground. Chef Otto's jaw hangs open as he stares at me in awe.
"It's supposed to be a show showcasing international sweets, and the first episode was you giving the crew a tour of your New York apartment while rambling on about yourself for thirty minutes."
"We walked around the city in that episode," he replies.
"For about a second." I shrug. "You can't honestly tell me the ratings on the pilot weren't crap."
Bree and Georgina wait for him to respond, but he doesn't.
"I didn't come here to be insulted." He scoots his chair back, threatening to leave.
"Wait," Bree shouts, glaring at me. "Poppy was just kidding. Weren't you, Poppy?"
Chef Otto scoots his chair back toward the table and awaits my apology with a pompous look on his face. My blood is practically boiling. I try not to scowl, but it's difficult.
"Well?" Bree says.
"Sorry." I force the word out, even though I don't mean it.
"You have a strange sense of humor, Poppy," he comments, shrugging off my criticisms. I look away and focus on the parking lot attempting to calm my nerves. I glance at Georgina, who still seems tense as she sits with her legs crossed. She grinds her teeth as she watches Chef Otto take a renewed interest in his Cakeville sweet of choice.
Go ahead and rat me out, Georgina. Side with this cupcake.
Now is the perfect moment for Georgina to chime in and add to Chef Otto's observation. Maybe a little tidbit about how I've always had a strange way with words? Maybe a confession about what I wrote on her practice board with frosting?
Georgina keeps her mouth shut.
"Can we get back on target here?" Bree continues. She says it in an upbeat tone like sounding more cheery will make the situation at hand less dangerous than it actually is.
"For the record, I didn't know I was borrowing money from the mob," Otto confesses. "It was all very discreet."
"So, now they're after you," I state.
"Yeah." He hangs his head again. He'd be a fool not to know what sort of fate could be lurking around the corner.
"And you also realize that the mafia doesn't give a flying cream puff if you're famous or not?" I can't stomach another bite of my cake, so I resort to petting Susu some more.
"I know what I'm up against."
"Chef, you have to go to the police," Bree suggests. "Speak with the Detective on the case before it's too late."
"No, I can't do that," Otto replies. "I can't start a paper trail of all my mistakes. Do you have any idea what that would do to my career?"
"It won't matter if you're dead," I mutter.
"Please, Chef," Bree pleads with him. "None of us want to lose another instructor. It was bad enough going through all that last year."
"I can't," he says more forcefully.
"Why not?" Bree takes a deep breath and inhales a quarter of her red velvet cupcake.
"Maybe he's the murderer." Georgina says it loud enough for Otto's face to go pale. His eyes are as wide as mini doughnut holes as he nervously looks around the patio to make sure no one heard her.
"What?" He lets out a gasp. "Of course I'm not the murderer. How can you even think that?"
"Why not?" Georgina goes on. "You weren't at our booth around the time of the murder. How can we believe anything you say?"
"I told you I had a personal matter to take care of," Chef Otto insists.
"Which was?" Georgina gives him the evil eye. She glares at him up and down with a look of disapproval and severe distaste. It's exciting to witness when I'm not on the receiving end. It's actually pretty impressive. Chef Otto squirms in his seat, fidgeting until he nods.
"I was…" He fidgets some more. "If you must know, I ate a bad batch of shellfish the night before. I was in the bathroom…letting nature take its course."
"And that smell you kept blaming on the old man at the peanut stand?" Georgina adds.
"It was me, okay. Passing gas isn't a crime."
"Oh. My. Gosh." Georgina wrinkles her nose like she's picturing it in her head. "Well, in your case, Chef, it should be. Disgusting."
I cover my mouth to hide my vengeful grin.
"You have your answers." Chef Otto jumps to his feet, leaning across the table and snatching Susu's leash from me. "It's time for me to go." He marches away from our table, and Bree follows him, spouting more reasons why he should go to the police and not have us all expelled.
Georgina takes a deep breath. She sips a little more of her coffee and looks at me.
"Go ahead," she says. "Otto is a liar and the smelliest man I've ever met. Say I told you so."
"Why? You said it yourself. I have no right to be handing out relationship advice."
"He lied about everything." Georgina looks down at her white wedge sandals. "He's a horrible businessman. He's addicted to gambling. And you're right. His new TV show is a load of crap." She takes another soothing breath, dabbing the corner of her eye. "I feel so…"
"Stupid?" I guess. "Foolish? Naive?"
"I guess you would know better than anyone." She dabs the corner of her eye again and quickly regains her usual snooty aura. The only difference is that she doesn't smirk when she looks at me. Her half-smile isn't forced.
It's genuine.
"I guess I do," I agree.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Bree comes trudging into the living room with her cell phone at her ear. She stops to tap her fluffy pink slippers as she pulls at a strand of her strawberry blonde locks. I smile, watching her nod repeatedly. By the annoyed look on her face, I know whose voice is on the other end.
"Yes, I will," Bree says. She pauses for a minute and rolls her eyes. "For heaven's sake, Karl, I told you I'll meet you there." More nodding and eye rolling. "I can't just magically blink and appear there. I'm not a genie. I have to get dressed first." Bree sighs and glances at the time. "Yes, I know it's the afternoon, and no I do not have seasonal affective disorder because I'm still in my pajamas at five o'clock on a Sunday."
I laugh.
"Good-bye, Karl." She scowls at her phone as she hangs up. "He's brilliant, but he drives me up the wall."
