“Definitely.” More scribbling. “We are almost out of all the nuts, plus we are really low on baking chips.”
“Yikes.”
The bell above the door sounded. “Gladys is here,” I told Sam before I walked over to greet our friend.
“Am I late?” she asked right away.
“No, you aren’t late at all. In fact, you’re earlier than expected. Are you okay? You look a little flushed.”
“Pfft,” she waved away my concern. “I’m fine. I had an appointment scheduled this morning that I’d forgotten about with all of the excitement yesterday.”
Excitement? I didn’t recall anything about my near-death experience or the friendly neighborhood corpse being exciting.
“How is your arm today?” Gladys asked.
“It’s much better. Still sore but the longer I’ve been working it today, the better it seems to have gotten.” I lifted my sleeve and we both looked at my stitches. I was happy to see no lingering redness. “Thanks for asking,” I said as the sleeve dropped back into place. “Do you want a muffin this morning?”
“No, no.” Gladys rubbed her stomach right above the camo fanny pack. “I’ve already eaten, but thanks. I should probably stock up on emergency cookies though.” She began rummaging in the fanny pack, retrieving an empty Ziploc bag.
“Sam,” I said as I noticed her coming toward us. “Did you hear that?”
“Hear what?”
“Gladys declined muffins.”
As I knew it would, one delicate eyebrow raised in question and she looked from me to Gladys. “Are you sick?” Sam asked.
“No,” Gladys put her hands on her hips.
Sam matched her, pose for pose. “Spill. Did you have another cooking lesson with Chef Fabio today?”
Gladys turned almost as purple as a grape. Her eyes widened and she started sputtering.
“It’s okay,” Sam soothed. “There’s nothing to be ashamed of for taking a cooking class.”
“That’s right. I bet we would have fun in a baking class even,” I added motioning to Sam and myself.
“I am not taking cooking lessons,” Gladys dropped her arms to her side and stomped a foot.
“Millie spilled the beans,” I said.
“That’s right. The jig is up,” Sam spread her arms out. “Why did you want to keep it a secret from us anyway?”
Grandpa Rex chose that moment to stroll into the bakery, his grandson little Tommy or little Timmy, I never could keep the twins straight, tagging along beside him. Gladys smiled and said hi, made polite conversation and then excused herself to the kitchen.
Left without much choice, Sam and I helped Grandpa Rex and his grandson pick out some treats for the weekend. Sam filled the coffee cup of a young woman reading at a back table. At last, we finished up and let the woman know she could ring the bell on the counter if she needed anything. We stepped into the kitchen to find Victoria handing Gladys a mug of coffee.
“Victoria,” I looked around, ensuring oven timers were set and dishes were drying beside the sink. “Do you want to give the counter a try for a couple of minutes while we talk to Gladys?”
Surprise flitted across her face, her mouth forming a tiny O, but she wiped her hands and moved to the door. “No problem. You’ll watch the cookies?” she asked.
I smiled, pleased to have such a conscientious helper. “Yes, I will get them out and onto cooling racks.”
Victoria nodded and the door swung closed behind her.
“Gladys,” I touched a hand to her shoulder, pulling up the stool next to her. “What’s going on? You know you can tell Sam and me.”
“Fine.” She took a drink of coffee and wiped her mouth. “Are there any cookies in here?”
I smirked. So much for not being hungry.
Sam put three Peanut Butter M&M cookies on a napkin and put them between us. We sat in silence, letting the ooey gooey melted candies and heavy peanut butter taste mellow everyone out for a moment.
At last, Gladys put down the other half of her cookie and clasped her hands together. “First,” she said sternly, leveling a great mom look on each of us, “I am not taking cooking classes.”
We kept quiet, waiting for Gladys to go on.
She did. “I am Frédéric’s assistant in the cooking classes at the Senior Citizen Center.”
“Frédéric?” We both asked.
Gladys unclasped her hands and picked her cookie up again. “Yes, that is Chef Fabio’s real name, known only to close friends.” And with that she munched happily on her cookie, refusing to acknowledge the looks of shock and confusion on our faces. At least Sam’s face was shocked and confused; I could only assume my expression was the same considering I didn’t even know where to start with this new information.
Gladys, the personal assistant, or I suppose you would call that a sous-chef, to the French Chef Fabio. Eh, I shrugged mentally; I guess I’d heard of stranger things.
Buzzzzz!
“Alrighty then,” I stood to turn off the oven timer. “Good for you.”
“That’s it?” Sam asked. “What aren’t you saying, Gladys?”
Sliding some cute dolphin oven mitts off of the pegs and onto my hands, I removed first one and then the second sheet tray of cookies. I slid the parchment paper smoothly onto the cooling rack, a skill I never stopped being proud of when I thought back to the dozens of mangled cookies in my past before I learned to do it quickly enough.
“Frédéric and I are seeing each other,” Gladys said. “Discreetly,” she added as Sam and I both smiled. Sam began clapping her hands.
“How in the world did this happen?” I asked.
With a shrug, like it was no big deal at all, Gladys explained that she had seen Chef Fabio’s name on the roster of classes offered and it had an email to RSVP for a spot, which was apparently limited.
“I told him I had taken his class before, at the O Heavenly Day Spa, and was very impressed. I asked if I might come to the class just to watch, I already know how to cook of course, and he offered to teach me some new French cooking styles if I would agree to assist instead of being a student.”
“That explains the cooking classes part,” Sam prodded, “but not the seeing each other part.”
“Well, after the first few lessons, we realized we really enjoyed the company.” Gladys blushed. “He’s only eight years younger than me, though you wouldn’t know it to look at him. Plus, girls, do you know how sexy a man who cooks is?”
I nodded. I did. Oh, I totally did.
She laughed as she said, “I loved my Harold; I still miss him, too, but that man couldn’t boil water without nearly catching the house on fire.”
I chuckled.
“Well,” Sam patted Gladys’s arm. “I think it’s great. You shouldn’t have to be lonely all of the time.”
“I don’t have time to be lonely anymore, not after meeting you girls.”
I gave Gladys a hug, then moved to the racks of cooling cookies. “Sam, I’ll take these out to stock the display. Do you think you can fill the cookie cups with the trail mix?” I took a look at my watch. “The Girl Scout troop leader should be here in half an hour to pick them up.” Chocolate chip cookies molded around mini muffin pans and baked created the perfect little bowl to fill with treats, in this case, the trail mix filling would have M&Ms, coconut, pretzel pieces, and raisins. They were going to be adorable and functional little desserts.
“I’ve got it,” Sam shooed me out of the kitchen.
Not long after the troop leader picked up the three dozen Trail Mix Cookie Cups, we were in Sam’s car and headed to Lion’s Cove.
“Will you text BeeBee and let her know we should arrive by eleven?” Sam handed me her cell phone.
I sent the message and waited for a response. “BeeBee says to meet her at the fast-food place on the left right as we get to town; it’s called Chicken Shack.” I eased Sam’s phone back into the holster on the dash. She clicked the button for navigation and put in our updat
ed destination.
We drove for a time with the windows down and the radio cranked up. After about an hour, Sam pulled into a Sonic drive-thru and ordered us a couple of limeades. I had a Blue Raspberry Limeade while Sam chose a Frozen Strawberry Limeade.
Instead of turning the radio back up, when she merged onto the highway Sam asked, “Have you tried to prepare for Monday yet?”
“Monday?” I tilted my head as I took another delicious sip of cold, fizzy limeade.
“Yes, Monday. You know – court, trial, testifying, maybe not passing out. That Monday. The day after tomorrow, Monday.”
“Okay, I get it. Sheesh.”
“Well then?”
Slurp.
“Piper!”
Slurp.
“Seriously right now?”
“Fine. I haven’t figured out what I’m going to do.” I put my foam cup into the cupholder and worried my hands together, rubbing my fingers and wrists. “Obviously, I can’t just not testify. I could get arrested or fined or whatever the penalty is for failure to appear, withholding evidence, and whatever other legal sounding things they can put on me, since the fear of public speaking isn’t exactly punishable.”
“Wow.”
“Hey, you asked.” I crossed my arms, then changed my mind and picked up my drink. I resumed my slurping, loud and obnoxious slurping.
“Maybe all you need is a little practice,” Sam told me.
Slurp. “What kind of practice?” Slurp.
“You know, talking in front of a few groups of people. Maybe you could make an announcement on tonight’s news broadcast advertising the promo sale between Ooey Gooey Bakery and Flo’s Flowers?”
“Ha. There’s no way to get on the news without setting it up further in advance than a couple of hours.”
Slurp. Slurp. Slurp. This time, Sam became very consumed with her drink and the road in front of us.
I knocked her hand away as she reached for the volume knob on the radio. “Samantha Lowe. What. Did. You. Do.” I used my best stern voice. A headache began in the base of my skull, and I was certain the limeade hadn’t caused it.
“I may have already scheduled a slot. Missy will be by the bakery at seven tonight to air it live on the late news.” Missy was our local news channel’s main reporter. She had been by the bakery only one other time and that was also for a short interview.
“You’re kidding me.” My glare was useless as she kept her eyes glued to the road.
“’ Fraid not,” she said.
I took another long pull from my straw but sucked up nothing but air thanks to my continual slurping earlier. Great.
“I don’t like you,” I told Sam.
“I know,” she shrugged and a hint of a smile turned the corner of her mouth up as she reached for the radio again. “You have to be ready for Monday though.”
As I grumbled about busybodies, horrible friends, and general rudeness, Sam continued to increase the volume. Laughter bubbled from her lips and soon I gave up and stared silently out of the window. I would get out of it, somehow, then Sam could do the interview herself. Now, to think of a plan.
We arrived at Chicken Shack at five after one. I still had no idea what I would do to extricate myself from tonight’s interview. With a sigh, I got out and slammed the door of the car.
“There’s BeeBee,” Sam tugged at my arm, making me wince. “Oops, sorry.”
BeeBee stood up from the gray bench by the door when we approached. “Thanks for coming,” she kept looking down at the ground. “Landon said you might have some ideas to help me.” She smoothed down her wrinkled shirt and looked up fleetingly, then to the door of the restaurant.
“Let’s go eat. We can chat inside,” I pasted on a smile and reminded myself that my problems were nothing compared to BeeBee and the challenge she was facing of creating a whole new life.
The smell of chicken was thick enough to cut, and the sound of grease popping in the kitchen conjured up images of crisp golden French fries and perfectly crunchy chicken skin. Yum! We each ordered a chicken wing combo basket with fries and a drink.
Embarrassment tinged BeeBee’s cheeks as Sam picked up the tab. She wrung her hands together. “Thank you. I’ll pay you back as soon as I can.” Her eyes fluttered downward again and my heart squeezed in sympathy for this young girl.
“Why? I’m not paying her back,” I smiled as BeeBee looked up at me in shock. “Her parents are loaded, don’t worry about it.” I winked at BeeBee at patted Sam on the back. My friend rolled her eyes.
“It’s my pleasure,” Sam told BeeBee, then handed each of us our cups to fill at the drink station.
As we waited for our order number to be called, we settled into a corner booth in a pretty empty section of the small restaurant.
“I don’t really know how you can help,” BeeBee started. “Landon said you would be good to talk to, and since I met you when you were trying to help him and discover who killed Coco,” she gulped. “Well, I thought it was worth a shot because you seemed like nice people and to be honest, I haven’t had a whole lot of nice people in my life.”
I nodded.
Sam reached out and covered BeeBee’s hand, giving it an encouraging squeeze.
Continuing, BeeBee said, “I know I need to get a job, but not many people are going to hire me. Landon said you own a bakery. I can clean floors, ovens, windows, you name it.”
I glanced beside me at Sam. Her disappointed look told me my assumption was right; our finances couldn’t take the addition of one more employee right now.
“I wish that we could,” Sam began.
BeeBee’s eyes shuttered, and then her face went blank. I shuddered to think how many times the girl had worn that look, careful not to reveal emotion, not to get invested in anything or anyone.
“How old are you BeeBee?” Curiosity outweighed tact and I asked the question that had been in my mind since we met BeeBee at the massage parlor on our search for answers about the murders at The Cove’s Cabins last weekend.
“Seventeen,” she jutted her chin out in defense.
I simply nodded as my gut clenched. Seventeen. I tamped down the many other questions threatening to spill out of me: where were her parents; how did she end up at that massage parlor; how long had she been there; what had she suffered?
“But I think I know someone else who could use some extra help.” Sam continued.
“Flo?” I asked her. At her nod, I turned back to BeeBee. “That’s right, our friend Flo runs the flower shop in Seashell Bay. It is literally right next door to our bakery.”
Sam picked up the description. “It’s beautiful. Flowers everywhere, vibrant colors, the whole store so full of life.”
“And you’re sure she needs help?”
I grinned, catching BeeBee’s eyes. “Absolutely. She’s been borrowing one of our employees on a temporary basis. You would be just the person to get her out of a bind. Her business has picked up with a sale we are running and Flo is worried about getting behind on orders.”
“I’ll text her right now and see what she says,” Sam pulled her phone out of her purse. The purse today was covered in giant daisies, matching the tiny ones all over her outfit.
A throat clearing at the end of our booth demanded attention. We were surprised to find a middle-aged woman scowling at us. “Number 27?” She asked. At our nod, she thrust our tray of food onto the table and stomped off.
“Our bad,” I mumbled. “I guess we didn’t hear the number called.” I shrugged and rolled my eyes at Sam and BeeBee, surprised at the woman’s attitude. “Oh well, dig in.”
Sam’s phone chimed halfway through the meal. She read the screen and then laughed out loud before telling us it was from Flo. “She says can you start today?”
BeeBee smiled, but the smile faded. “Is there a shelter somewhere in your town for women like me?” She busied her fingers moving her fries around in the basket.
“I don’t know what you mean by women like you,” I said.
“If you mean women who were taken advantage of, hurt, and trapped, women who survived, escaped, and chose to change their lives, yes, there is probably a shelter for women like that who need a helping hand. However, that isn’t where you are going.”
“Nope.” Sam butted in. “You’re coming to stay with one of us. Or both of us for a few days, Piper shouldn’t really be staying alone right now anyway.”
“I couldn’t put you out like that,” BeeBee shook her head.
“No arguments. If you want a ride to Seashell Bay, you have to accept the offer.” I winked, trying to lessen the demand of my words.
“Thanks,” BeeBee nodded before shoving the last of her chicken wings into her mouth.
Ten minutes later, full and feeling like I weighed five extra pounds that were all grease, I climbed into the passenger seat of Sam’s car and buckled my seatbelt. BeeBee had folded herself into the narrow backseat behind me.
“Where should we go to pick up your things?” Sam asked as she looked at BeeBee in the rearview mirror.
“Things?” BeeBee’s brow crinkled up.
“Yeah, your clothes and shoes, toothbrush, stuff like that.”
The young girl slid a hand into her shorts pocket and held up a tube as long as my index finger. Popping the cap off to reveal a travel toothbrush, she shrugged. “I’m all packed.”
Sam narrowed her eyes. “Are you telling me you don’t have any clothes or belongings you need before you move to a whole new town?”
BeeBee shook her head. “Nothing that was really mine, and nothing the police haven’t probably gotten rid of by now.”
My breathing stuttered at the thought of being in BeeBee’s place. I really hoped with all my heart that we could help this sweet girl; I didn’t know where to start, but I knew I would do whatever it took to show her she was important and valued.
Sam frowned further still, and then suddenly lit up like a kid on Christmas, rapidly tapping her fingers on the steering wheel.
“Oh boy,” I said. “Brace yourself, BeeBee. I know that look.”
“What look?” BeeBee asked as she slipped the toothbrush back in her pocket.
Ooey Gooey Bakery Mystery Box Set Page 37
