by M E Harmon
As I put liners into a muffin tin, I asked, “This might be an odd question, Jenna, but do you have any enemies? You know someone who might want to get back at you for something?”
For several seconds, the kitchen was quiet. When no answer came, I looked over my shoulder to check if she had heard my question. Jenna leaned against the microwave with folded arms. She rubbed a palm against her chin repeatedly before cutting her eyes up at me.
Uh, oh. The chin rubbing thing was a sign of nervousness. That wasn’t exactly the type of response I’d been expecting. Now what?
“Listen, Ali, the short answer to your question is no. I can’t think of anyone that would have it out for me in particular. But my parents, both of them, have had their fair share of...let’s call them entanglements. Their past isn’t exactly blemish free.”
“Is it possible one of those entanglements would want to sabotage your wed—I mean your bridal tea?” I had started to say wedding. If someone wanted to ruin Jenna’s wedding, this prank may be only a warm up. But there was no reason to freak her out just yet.
The microwave dinged. Jenna didn’t move however. She tugged at the waist of her dress. Her voice dropped an octave when she answered. “With my parents, anything is possible. I’ll have to talk to my mother.”
“No, don’t do that yet. Let’s not get her riled up.” I said it for her benefit as much as mine. I didn’t want to point Anna Carter in the wrong direction and then later have to retract my suspicion. From what I’d heard, it might be best to avoid Anna’s bad side. “Listen, I still have to chat with two more of your bridesmaids. Maybe I can figure out what’s going on.”
Jenna nodded and retrieved the mug from the microwave. She pulled a tea bag from another cabinet. After she dropped it into the mug’s hot water she said, “Come upstairs when you’re done. Hopefully Gwen will have calmed down by then. I’ll try talking to her too.”
She left for the kitchen’s exit, but halfway there, Jenna suddenly lurched. The tea sloshed about violently but didn’t crest the mug. She caught herself just in time and looked at the floor.
I would’ve thought Jenna too dainty to produce the guttural growl that came out her mouth.
Jenna roared, “Junior!” And then she kicked something so hard, it bounced against a wall and skidded out the room before I could get a look at it. “His stupid toys. I swear he’s trying to kill me!”
Jenna’s face flushed a bright red, then she stomped out the kitchen screaming so loudly her voice bounced off the walls. Rick Jr. better look out; his sister was on the warpath.
The Bree-Storm
I glanced at my watch. Time was getting short so I busied myself with baking and only half-listening to what happened elsewhere in the house. For a good while, muffled yelling made its way down to the kitchen. That was followed by two or three house-shuddering door slams.
By the time the noise settled, I’d already whisked together the flour, baking soda, baking powder, and salt. Just as I turned on the stove to melt the butter and sugar in a saucepan, Madison passed through the kitchen frowning. She said nothing as she crossed the patio doors and went into the back yard.
I peeked out the kitchen window. Hannah sat at a table scrolling through her phone. Madison went to the second long table, flopped into a chair, and dropped her head into her hands. Had she been upstairs with Jenna and Gwen? Had their chat gone that bad and Gwen was in serious trouble?
Needless to say, part of me wanted to stop whisking ingredients and go question Madison. But I held off because the job I was actually getting paid to do came first. I removed the melted butter-sugar combination from the stove, poured it into a mixing bowl, and beat it with an electric mixer until it cooled.
I added a few drops of hot water to the cocoa powder and then pulled my favorite imported vanilla extract from my toolbox. High quality vanilla improves the taste in just about any recipe, so I always brought my own.
After beating the eggs into the wet ingredients, I slowly incorporated that into the flour mixture followed by sour cream.
With one eye on the bridesmaids outside (though nothing was happening), I ladled the batter into the cupcake liners.
My specialty was mini-cupcakes, but Jenna had made a special request to make them larger. Today that worked in my favor, because it meant less work. Thanks to the Carter’s top-of-the-line and almost industrial-sized kitchen, I was able to use my commercial muffin pans to finish all fifty cupcakes in one batch.
Satisfied, I started on the chocolate mousse. The timing was going to be tight. The filling needed to set in the refrigerator for a while. I cheated a little, and melted the chocolate in the microwave instead of on the stove. Now I needed to whip the heavy cream, sugar, and salt.
Soft peaks had just started to form in the cream when a woman strolled into the kitchen humming. Her long honey-blonde hair was mussed, as if she’d been sleeping. She wore a short-sleeve cream sweater and a pale yellow pencil skirt.
She smiled then yawned without covering her mouth. With half-lidded eyes, she pulled up a seat on the other side of the island. “Hello. Can you make me a peanut-butter and jelly sandwich please?”
Huh? What? My hand stopped beating the heavy cream as my confused brain seized up. Who just walked into a kitchen and asked a stranger for a sandwich? What adult asked for pb &j after a nap? Did she think I was one of the Carter’s maids? (And I really didn’t like the racial implications of that.)
“Um, no?” I finally answered, “I’m just here to make cupcakes for Jenna’s party.”
“Oh, OK,” she said in a soft voice. “Is everyone still angry?”
This had to be Bree, the only bridesmaid who hadn’t made an appearance yet. Abby had described her as a runner whenever trouble hit.
I said, “No, I don’t think anyone is still angry. How about you?”
“Me?” she said her eyes widening, “Oh, I wasn’t really angry-angry. Conflict does weird things to my auras, you know? I hate it when Hannah loses her temper. She always spoils parties that way.”
“Does she?” I added the cocoa powder and melted chocolate to the bowl with the cream, then sat the bowl on a nearby stand mixer. I switched it on to the lowest setting as I said, “You must be Bree.”
She nodded though her eyes were glued to the churning mixer. “Oh, you’re baking! You must be Jenna’s new friend,” she said, her voice pitching higher with a dose of excitement. Bree looked at me with large round eyes like sky blue sea glass, waiting. “Jenna said you were going to figure out why everyone was fighting today.”
At this point, I’d been starting to feel as if I’d falled into a corral of wolves in sheep’s clothing. Almost every person I’d spoken to so far had a secret hidden agenda, or maybe a barely concealed dark side. Bree, on the surface, seemed different. If eyes were indeed the window to the soul, Bree’s revealed an authenticity that made me like her.
“How did you become friends with Jenna?”
Bree shook her head. “Oh, we’re not friends. I mean, we’re friends but she’s my cousin too.” Then she leaned over and whispered, “I’m not like them, am I?”
The chocolate folded in nicely with the cream, so only a few white streaks remained. I cut off the mixer, biding my time. I need to tread carefully in case my instincts about Bree were off.
“I have a feeling you’re a very unique person.” I said and grabbed a piping bag from my toolbox kit.
Bree wiggled in her seat, seemingly pleased. Then she sighed, “I know. Jenna and I were closer as kids, but she changed after she met her college friends. Don’t get me wrong, they are all nice in their own way. But I only hang out with them because of Jenna. Mostly everyone thinks I’m dumb.”
“I think they underestimate you, Bree.”
She shrugged. “Maybe. I wanted to talk to you but I fell asleep. Fighting makes me stressed and stress makes me sleepy.” To illustrate the point, Bree yawned wide but had the decency to cover her mouth this time.
“So, what did y
ou want to talk about?” I asked and spooned chocolate mousse into the piping bag.
Another shrug. “I thought I could be of help, that’s all. I know stuff. Everyone thinks I’m dumb so they say things around me all the time thinking I’m not paying attention. Or like I’m too stupid to put things together. But I am—I mean, I do pay attention. And of course, I can put two and two together. So I know lots of things. But mostly I’m tired of people thinking I’m stupid, so I’ll tell you anything you want to know.” She cocked her head to one side. “What do you want to know?”
Oh how I loved a fly on the wall. Those were the people who other folks took for granted and forgot about. But those flies knew the best secrets.
Deep down I wanted to rub my hands together and cackle with glee. Bree was about to dish out a bevy of big fat juicy info.
I hid my excitement and put the chocolate mousse in the freezer hoping to the speed the cooling process. Then I faced her and rattled off my first question about the text message.
“Yup,” she said without pause, “I got that silly thing, too. I thought it was a wrong number or spam. So I just deleted it.”
I explained how all the bridesmaids had received the same text. I said, “You’re the first person I’ve spoken to that ignored it.”
She guffawed and slapped the marble counter. “Ha! I bet I am. These girls are into all types of stuff. I could tell you stories. And they like to blame everything on Gwen, because,” she tapped her temple, “they all think she’s a little cray-cray sometimes.”
“And she’s not really?”
“Oh no. I mean, she can go off her rocker when she skips the medication almost nobody knows she takes. But most of the time she’s just fine. Maddie helps to keep her even-keeled, but Madison is too busy now sorting out her own messes at work.”
“Something is going on at Dorrick’s firm?” I glanced through the oven’s window. The cupcakes were rising nicely.
Bree said, “Maddie has had a major attitude for weeks now. I think something happened at the firm, but I don’t know what. It could have something to do with Abby’s boyfriend. Maybe, maybe not. But lately I’ve seen Maddie yanking out her eyebrow hairs like she’s super worried.”
Yeah, I remembered Madison doing some eyebrow pulling during our tete-a-tete. Something was bugging her. Could the stress only be due to her planning to steal Abby’s boyfriend? Or were there problems at Dorrick’s firm? Either way, neither appeared to be motive enough to threaten the bridesmaids.
“And speaking of Abby.” Bree peered over her shoulder checking if the coast was clear. “Everyone thinks Gwen needs the meds but so does Abby.” She leaned over the counter and whispered, “Have you seen her scars? The ones below her neckline? She put them there. Poor thing can’t stop herself.”
Earlier, I’d glanced the thin horizontal scars marring the skin on Abigail’s upper chest. So much had happened since then, I hadn’t really taken the time to process what I’d seen. Abby knew I had seen those marks. With that realization, the look she’d given me was a cross between pure fear and sheer hatred. I had no doubt she’d do anything to keep that secret hidden.
Bree stared at me, waiting. I simply nodded, wanting to keep my cards close to my chest and not admit to anything.
Not that she needed any prompting. Bree was on a roll. “Abby is the crankiest one out of the bunch. She has to work twice as hard to get what all the other girls have. When they were all in school, it was Abby who struggled to get good grades. She made a huge mistake going to work for that charity, and now she really has to hustle to keep up appearances. You know the expensive clothes, the Lexus, shopping trips, vacations. And she’s doing everything she can to hold on to her boyfriend, Jamie. If she manages to snag him permanently, Abby will never have another worry because his family is loaded. Like Rockefeller money combined with Internet boom money.”
If Jamie had been the man fogging up that car with Madison, Abby needed to step her game up. I leaned against the counter engrossed in Bree’s storytelling. Then it came to me. Frosting! I almost forgot to prep the frosting. “So, you think Abby suspects something?”
Bree shook her head, making the blond locks bounce. “Nope. Abby only has eyes for Jamie. Speaking of boyfriends, what did Hannah tell you?”
I stood at the sink washing out the mixer bowl. “Um, Hannah said the text had her on edge. That’s why she freaked out.”
“Ha, I’d be scared too if I was her. I wouldn’t want Jenna’s mom after me.”
“Why do you say that, Bree?” Back at the kitchen’s island, I got busy combining marshmallow fluff, butter, and vanilla.
“Like I said before, Hannah has the worst temper. But she’s like a dog. Sweet and cuddly until she’s caught sneaking treats. Back her into a corner and she comes out fighting—ooh, are you making frosting?”
The quick change in thought made me glance up at her. She’d risen on the stool to peer more closely into the bowl. “Yes, I’m making frosting.” I said.
“What flavor?”
“Marshmallow buttercream.” I answered, suspecting what her next question would be. If Bree asked to lick the bowl, after dishing out all of these very adult secrets, I’d have to stop right then and there and call Oscar, or my best friend, or even my mother to gossip about the insane asylum I’d managed to fall into.
She didn’t ask. But I held my breath as I added the confectioners’ sugar.
“That looks yummy. I can’t wait to have some. Anyway, if you ask me, maybe Jenna’s mom sent the texts.”
My breath came out in a whoosh. “What? Why?”
“Anna is my aunt, and I love her, but she’s way controlling.” Bree counted off on her fingers. “Wouldn’t she have access to all of the bridesmaid’s numbers to send the text? Where’s she been since this all started? She really let you be in charge of this problem that came up in her house? On the day of her daughter’s tea? No way, Jose,” she finished, dropping her hand. “I say Anna got wind of some of the things these girls were up to and decided to teach them a lesson. Or Anna secretly doesn’t like the attention off of her, so she’s sabotaging Jenna’s day. Or, and I think this reason is the winner, she doesn’t like Ethan, Jenna’s fiancé. A whole bunch of little accidents may make them postpone the wedding or even breakup. I’d wager this bridesmaids stuff is the beginning of more things to come.”
Wow. Every single motive she’d listed sounded likely. Even I hadn’t gotten around to suspecting Anna. Anna could have gotten the Barbies’ telephone numbers from Jenna’s cell and sent the text from a disposable phone.
I shut off the mixer and openly stared at the woman across from me. “You may have the makings of being a good detective, Bree.”
She bounced on the stool. “Thanks! Told you I’m not dumb.”
No, Bree wasn’t dumb. Colorful? A tad bit off center? Unusual? Yes, she was all those things. But was this all an act to hide her own secret?
I retrieved a spoon from the Carter’s utensil drawer. Bree’s eyes lit up when I handed it to her with a fat scoop of frosting. She thanked me again.
“You’re welcome,” I said, “But I hope your guess is wrong.”
She shrugged just as her phone beeped. Bree pulled the cell out a pocket. “OK, then. Bye.” Then she walked out of the kitchen licking frosting and thumbing the phone’s screen.
The timer on the oven dinged. The cupcakes. I pulled them out of the oven, feeling somewhat sandblasted from my conversation with Bree. One, she’d dropped a truckload of dazzling, top grade gossip about her family and friends. My instincts tingled that most of it had been true. However, my bamboozled meter jingled too. Too many people had been more than ready to volunteer their own secrets or someone else’s. I’m sure I’d been told a few half-truths along the way, if some weren’t outright lying.
Like about Bree being on medication. Madison had sounded very sure about her friend not using meds, but Bree made it sound different.
I’ve heard that people often confess dee
p dark secrets to an absolute stranger. And that confession comes with a huge dose of relief. Could that explain why the Barbies had been so quick to confess? Maybe. Or maybe these people are just accustomed to turning on one another.
Final Straw
The cupcakes needed to cool. That gave me a minimum of a half hour if I didn’t want runny frosting. I cleaned up the area, packing away unused ingredients and washed batter out of mixing bowls. But that didn’t take long, and I found myself tapping my fingers against the kitchen island.
What to do now? Outside in the backyard, the bridesmaids still sulked in their respective corners. Upstairs sounded quiet. I could go talk to Gwen, but that felt like I might stir up a hornet’s nest. I’d leave that option on the table, but decided doing some free-form snooping—er, I mean investigating, may be a better choice.
Tempted by the idea of some fresh air, I headed outside. Madison and Hannah barely registered my presence when I crossed through the backyard. I rounded the side of the house and paused. A magnificent willow tree dominated this side of the property. It cast a looming shadow over the side of the house, giving the area a creepy vibe.
My attention was on the stupid tree when my foot caught on something. The ground came up in a rush. I landed hard on my hands, my wrists vibrating with the impact.
An odor like spoiled fruit stung my nose. Ugh. I managed to almost fall on my face and right next to the Carter’s garbage bins. Lucky me. Annoyed with myself, I got to my feet hoping I hadn’t slipped on something yucky.
Scanning the ground, I found the culprit. Someone had carelessly tossed the recycle bin’s lid aside, leaving it half sticking out onto the path. And I managed to snag my foot on it when I’d been too busy staring at foliage. I kicked the thing. Then immediately felt guilty. I’ve been cursed with a good-girl gene. It requires me to do silly things like tell the truth and do the right thing even when people aren’t looking.
The recycling bin overflowed with discarded cardboard boxes, so I pushed them down a bit, then locked the lid in place.
