by Kate Bell
I looked up at him. His eyes had never left his own menu, but he knew what had caught my eye. “All of it. I mean, they couldn’t possibly be authentic, right?”
He looked at me with a smirk on his lips. “What makes you say that? It’s a French restaurant, isn’t it? Surely they wouldn’t lie about the authenticity, would they?” he asked, emphasizing the word lie.
I narrowed my eyes at him. “I don’t know anyone in town that can bake authentic French desserts,” I whispered.
“I detect a note of jealousy in that statement,” he said. “And how about a nice Bordeaux?”
“I have nothing to be jealous of,” I said. “Order any wine you want. I don’t care.”
“Now, Allison, let’s not get huffy. I’m sure you have nothing to worry about where desserts are concerned. Right?”
“No, I do not have anything to worry about. And don’t call me Allison. Only my mother calls me Allison,” I huffed. I wasn’t worried about competition. Le Chemise was a new restaurant and it stood to reason it would be packed for the first few weeks it was open. But after the novelty had worn off, it would do a decent business only if the food was good. I did have to admit, it was poor timing since I was getting ready to begin offering my desserts at Henry’s. But I had an advantage this place didn’t. I had a reputation of baking the finest desserts in town.
“So are we settled on our meal?” he asked, laying his menu down.
I nodded. “I think so.”
“Why don’t you order a dessert of your choice and I’ll order one of mine and that way you’ll have two items off their menu that you can try out. You know, and see if they taste authentic or not,” he asked.
I narrowed my eyes at him again. “I do not need to try out their desserts. I know no one in town knows how to make French pastries.”
He shrugged. “Okay. But I have my eye on that St. Honore’.”
I gasped. “Oh, St. Honore’ is wonderful. I mean, it’s wonderful, if it’s authentic.”
“Well, let’s hope it is. And what will you be having?” he asked.
“Fine. I’ll have the Chocolate Religieuse.”
He smiled and the waiter walked up. He wore an actual suit and I was impressed. No other restaurant in town had their waitstaff dress up like that. The closest we had was Antonio’s Italian restaurant and the waitstaff there merely wore white dress shirts and black dress pants.
“Good evening, Monsieur, Madame,” he said in a thick French accent, nodding at each of us in turn. “May I take your order?”
My mouth nearly dropped open. He was French. That meant the food was most likely authentic. And if the food was authentic, then the desserts were, too. I forced myself not to make eye contact with Alec.
When the waiter left, Alec said, “Wow. Authentic.”
“Don’t start. Just because the waiter is French doesn’t mean anything.”
“Hey, I’m not going to give you a hard time. I really didn’t think this place would be authentic, authentic. I just figured someone took a French cooking class,” he said.
“Me too,” I said, suddenly feeling deflated.
“Hey, don’t you get down. You’re one of the best bakers around. You have nothing to worry about,” he assured me.
“I know. I’m being silly,” I said.
“That’s right, you are,” he said.
The wine came and Alec poured us each a glass.
“That looks good,” I said.
“Let’s toast to your new business venture, and me hopefully passing the PI exam,” he said passing me a glass and holding his up.
“There’s no ‘hopefully’ about it. I know you passed that exam with flying colors,” I said as we gently brought our glasses together.
“This is going to be a great year,” he said, and took a sip from his glass. “Allie?”
I looked at him. His eyes were shiny.
“I love you. I mean, really, really love you.”
“Oh, Alec, I love you too,” I said and felt tears spring to my eyes. “And now you’re going to make me cry and my mascara is going to run all over the place.”
“I like it that way. It will give you that Alice Cooper look,” he said.
I laughed and got up and gave him a kiss and then sat down again.
“Okay, don’t make me cry all over the place and make people look at me,” I said and dabbed at my eyes with my napkin.
“I won’t if you won’t,” he said.
Our food was brought in gold bowls similar to the charger in the centerpiece, but they were more modern and practical. It smelled wonderful and my stomach growled.
“This smells so good,” I said.
“Bon Appetit,” the waiter said and left us alone.
“This looks really good, too,” Alec said.
I took a bite of my Lamb Navarin, making sure to get a bit of lamb and potato on my spoon, and groaned. “This is so good,” I said after I’d swallowed. “I mean, really, really good.”
“That’s what I was going to say,” Alec said.
Le Chemise wasn’t going to have any problem drawing a crowd. I didn’t think the novelty would ever wear off if they served food this good every night. I was enjoying the food, but I was starting to worry a little for Henry’s.
“I hope this place doesn’t hurt Henry’s business,” I said to Alec.
“I doubt it. It’s completely different types of food. Besides, the prices reflect the quality of the food and everyone isn’t going to be able to afford this place on a regular basis,” he replied.
“That’s true,” I said. “Did you get a chance to look over Iris’s journal?” I was so excited about the restaurant that I almost forgot about the journal.
“Not really. I planned on reading it tonight,” he said. “You?”
“I did. And as I expected, Jennifer was her star student. Iris appreciated the shy student. It’s refreshing, really. So many teachers complained about her being so quiet, but Iris saw how wonderful she is,” I said.
Alec smiled. “And you aren’t a bit biased. I think she is, too.”
“And then there was Josh Stine,” I said, leaning closer to him.
“Oh?” he said, taking a sip of his wine.
I nodded. “She recognized that he had some issues, but didn’t really say exactly what they were. Just that he was overly emotional and cried for days before the last day of the year. He had issues separating from her, I think.”
“Well, he hasn’t changed much. He’s still overly emotional. Anything else?” he asked.
I shrugged. “I mostly skimmed, looking for Jennifer and Josh’s names. I need to re-read it. I want to take copies of the whole thing. I think Jennifer would like to have a copy. I don’t think Richard would mind, do you?”
“I doubt it,” he said. “He seems reasonable.”
The dinner portions were perfect. I normally left food behind at most other restaurants, but not here. It was too tasty to leave anything behind, and the portions weren’t too large.
Our dinner plates were removed from the table and dessert was brought out. They were beautiful to look at. I looked at Alec over my Chocolate Religieuse. Wow, I mouthed at him. It was like a mini tower of pastry, ganache and whipped cream. He nodded and smiled.
I picked up my fork and dived in. When the ganache hit my mouth, I nearly cried. It was perfectly smooth and creamy. I moved it around in my mouth, and looked at Alec wide-eyed. He was staring back at me, equally wide-eyed. I swallowed.
“Oh, Alec, I think I’m in trouble,” I whispered.
There was a small mountain of glazed pastries and whipped cream sitting in front of him.
“Stop that. You are not in trouble. This is, is, really quite wonderful, to be honest, but so is everything you make. And your recipes are, well, they have that Southern twist, you know?”
“They’re plain. That’s what you mean, right? My desserts are plain.”
“Stop it, Allie. You have a following with your desserts. People love
them. Everything will be fine,” he said as he forked up more pastry goodness and popped it in his mouth.
I stared at the Chocolate Religieuse in front of me. This might very well be the undoing of me.
--22--
I slept fitfully that night, and I wasn’t sure if it was because I was worried about baking my first pie for sale to the public in the morning, or if I suddenly felt like I had competition with the new French restaurant. I tossed and turned, with images floating through my mind, and occasionally dreaming. I dreamt about Iris at one point.
“Allie,” she called.
I was sitting on a lawn chair at the lake in Goose Bay Alabama. I have no idea how she knew how to find me there or why I was even there in the first place.
“Allie,” she called again.
I looked up at her. “Iris. How are you?”
She ignored my question, which was probably best. “Allie, you know who did it.”
“I do?” I asked. I was puzzled by that statement because at this point, it could have been anyone.
She nodded. She was wearing a pink business casual outfit that consisted of slacks and a blouse with one of those big bows at the neck that were so popular in the early eighties.
“Remember?”
I shook my head.
“You can do it!” she said emphatically.
“Well, I’m trying,” I said.
“You can do it!” she said just as emphatically as the first time.
I nodded slowly as the sun behind her got brighter. “Okay. I’ll try.”
“You can do it!” she shouted.
“Oh, okay,” I said as the sun blinded me. I put up my hand to shield my eyes from the sun.
“You can do it!” she shrieked and was gone.
I blinked and the sun disappeared.
The dream as forgotten when my alarm clock went off and I jumped out of bed. It was 6:00 AM and I had just enough time to bake a couple of pies and a cake and get them down to Henry’s before the lunch time crowd came in.
I jumped out of bed and hurried to get dressed. I had so much to do.
I had decided on a dark chocolate cake and the blueberry sour cream pie recipe I had been working on. I thought when we got closer to spring I would try and convert the blueberry sour cream recipe to cherry in honor of cherry blossoms being in bloom.
As I worked, I kept one eye on the clock. I may have set some kind of speed baking record. I put the finishing touches on the chocolate cake, making swirl patterns in the frosting and then shaving dark chocolate to sprinkle around the top. I had bought a pretty crystal cake stand to display the cake on and loaded everything up in my car and headed to Henry’s. My stomach did flip-flops on the way over.
***
I sighed when I got back home, tossed my purse on the sofa and sat down for a minute. It was after 1:00. I had been so excited to see if my pies and cakes would sell, I had hung out at Henry’s a lot later than I had planned. My feet ached and I needed a nap.
I decided instead to get on the treadmill. A nap would leave me groggy and I had skipped my workout the day before. I went to the mudroom and laced up my running shoes and grabbed a bottle of water from the kitchen. It was better to get it done without thinking about it or I would change my mind and take that nap and fall further behind in my training.
I put my phone on the shelf on my treadmill and started it up. I plugged my earbuds into the phone and popped them into my ears. Brown Sugar was first on my playlist. I stepped onto the deck, starting out slowly, letting my mind wander as my body warmed up.
The dream from the night before drifted across my mind. It was nice that Iris had given me encouragement, but I was baffled as to who the killer was. Why hadn’t she just told me in the dream? And what was I doing at the lake in Goose Bay? I had never enjoyed going to the lake. You never knew what was swimming in that murky water.
I kicked up the treadmill a notch.
You can do it!
I smirked. “Sure I can, Iris.”
I needed to get to work on the blog. I was already baking and I didn’t want to let it all go to waste. I wondered if taking pictures on my old digital camera would be good enough or if I should buy a new camera. Probably needed a new camera.
You can do it!
“Sure, Iris.”
I had also been looking at pretty tablecloths online. I wanted to get an assortment as backdrops for my pictures. But as far as that went, I could just go to the fabric store and buy a yard or two of different prints and patterns. I turned the treadmill up a couple more notches and felt my breathing deepen.
You can do it!
“Oh shut up, Iris. I’ve got planning to do,” I muttered.
You can do it! You can do it! You can do it!
My mind went to Iris. I didn’t particularly want to dream about her. I hated dreaming. I preferred to be in control of where my mind went and dreams were out of my control. I turned the treadmill up faster and stretched my legs out. I liked running fast better than long, but the marathon would stretch me both physically and mentally. It was going to take a whole lot of self-control to keep from giving up before I hit the finish line.
My mind wandered to Iris’s journal. It was a real treasure to have her words about Jennifer. Any parent would be proud of their child and this was just the icing on the cake.
I breathed in deeply, and took a swig of water. I can do it. I can do it. I needed to keep this frame of mind during the marathon.
Then it hit me. My stomach dropped and I lost my footing and slipped off the treadmill, pulling the red plastic key on the lanyard out of the machine and stopping the motor. I hit the treadmill deck, landing on my side. My head hit the side rail on the way down and I lay there, stunned.
You can do it.
--23--
I must have passed out because when I sat up and looked at my phone that was still attached to me by the earbuds, it was 3:02. I sat for a minute, trying to remember what I was supposed to be doing. Did I have pies to bake? And then I remembered, and stumbled to my feet. My head was aching and I had lost a layer of skin on the underside of my right forearm.
My mouth was dry and my tongue felt glued to the roof of my mouth. I found my bottle of water lying by the side of the treadmill and I struggled to get the lid off. When I had managed to unscrew the lid, it slipped out of my fingers and rolled beneath the treadmill deck. I took a deep drink from the bottle and forced myself to my feet. I managed to limp into the kitchen and set the water bottle down. I looked at my phone, trying to remember what I was doing.
I grabbed my keys from the kitchen counter and went into the living room and found my purse. I hobbled out to my car and got in.
***
My head was pounding as I pulled up to the elementary school and parked. There were only three cars left in the teachers’ parking lot. I headed to the double front doors and pulled one open. The halls were empty, but I saw lights on in two classrooms. Iris would probably have been working late had she still been alive. I was still wearing my running shoes and they squeaked on the tile floors. I tried to walk lightly, but it didn’t help much. There was no way to sneak up on anyone in this place.
I turned down the hallway leading to Iris’s classroom and that’s when I saw him. Josh was sitting on the floor next to Iris’s closed door. The room was dark. His head was in his hands and he didn’t look up as I approached him.
“Josh?” I said quietly.
He was rocking slightly, but didn’t look up.
“Josh?” I said a little louder.
He slowly looked up at me. His face was bright red and his eyes swollen from crying.
“Hey,” I said, trying to sound friendly. My heart pounded in my chest. Now that I was here, I realized I didn’t have a plan. “Are you okay?”
He shook his head.
“Do you want to talk about it?” I asked.
He shook his head again.
I wanted to call Alec, but I didn’t want to do it in front of him.<
br />
“Do you want me to call your mom for you?” I asked. Maybe if she came down here, he would tell her what happened. His emotional state didn’t look good and he might talk to her.
“You know, it’s not my fault,” he suddenly said.
“What’s isn’t your fault?” I asked innocently.
“That Mrs. Rose is dead,” he said. His voice cracked on the word dead.
“No one thinks it’s your fault,” I said. “I’m sure of that.”
He looked up at me. “That’s not true. You and that detective think it’s my fault.” He said it quietly, but his eyes blazed with anger.
“You shouldn’t worry about that. That’s just how detectives are. They don’t mean anything by it,” I said, wishing I had texted Alec before coming to the school.
Before I knew what was happening, Josh had launched himself at me and I fell backward on the hard floor, hitting my head. The thick knit cap cushioned the blow very little, and I felt things go black again. I woke up a few minutes later and I wondered where Alec was before I realized I was being dragged.
“Wha?” I mumbled, trying to find my words.
My head rolled to the side as we passed a classroom with a light still on. I moaned, and tried to call out for help, but all that came out was a mumbled, “Wha?” The door was closed and no one came.
I heard Josh sobbing, and tried to get a look at him. He had hold of both of my legs and pulled me along the waxed floor. I couldn’t lift my head high enough off the floor to get a good look at him. I groaned.
If I could find my phone, I could call Alec. Except that I couldn’t speak intelligible words for some reason. My tongue felt swollen and foreign in my mouth and I couldn’t remember words. Pain surged through my head and I groaned again and willed myself to get my wits about me.
After a few minutes, my head began to clear a little and Josh suddenly stopped dragging me. He sat down beside me. “It wasn’t my fault,” he breathed near my ear. I just wanted to talk to her. To tell her how important she was to me. I told her I loved her, but she said she was married and didn’t want me. I bought her a ring, but she didn’t want it. But it wasn’t my fault. None of it was my fault.”
