Bloom and Doom (20 page)

“You got cake back there or something?” I
asked. I can’t say we went for a romantic drive in the country. No romantic drive I’d ever been on—not that I counted myself an expert in these things—ever involved sitting in the passenger seat of a bakery truck inhaling the intoxicating scents of sugar, vanilla, and . . . was that almond extract? Then again, maybe they should.

“Yes,” he said. “Last-minute cancellation. I was supposed to deliver two sheet cakes over to the assisted-living complex just outside of town. Fiftieth anniversary party.” He shook his head and sighed. “Sad thing.”

“Don’t tell me one of them died on their anniversary.”

“Nope. He caught her cheating on him with her canasta partner. Canceled the whole party.”

“You know, that’s almost worse.”

He chuckled. “Still, they made it forty-nine years, three hundred and sixty-four days. They might figure it out yet.”

“I suppose.”

“Some humdinger of a wedding the mayor threw for his daughter.”

I bristled in my seat. Better to face it head-on. “Not my most stellar moment.”

“Yeah,” he said. “I’m afraid the photographer didn’t get your good side this time.”

What did that mean? Did Pippa make my butt look big?

“I mean,” he said, “not that you have a bad side. I didn’t mean to say the picture was unflattering . . . I . . .”

“Nice try. I’m just glad I didn’t take down the whole cupcake tower. I’d have to change my name and move.”

“It wasn’t that bad. Although Carolyn seemed a little upset that you were stealing her spotlight. I heard her talking to her father midway through that little dance-a-thon—”

“Let me guess.” I attempted my best Carolyn impression. “‘Daddy, make them stop.’” Then I tried her laugh, that nasal titter her poor groom would endure the rest of his life, unless Carolyn took up canasta.

Nick’s genuine laughter filled the truck, and it made me laugh, too, the tension-relieving laughter that doctors say is good for you. I hadn’t wiped away the tears of laughter when his next words came.

“So,” he said, “are you and that mortician guy serious?”

“Serious about what?”

“I mean, are you an item?”

“Little Joe and me?” I let out a sigh. “I suppose he’s interested, and there’s more than a few people in Ramble who’d like to see us together. He’s tall, you see, and somehow they think that makes us an ideal couple. But he’s not my type, so I try not to encourage him. Besides, the first time he asked me out, it was still too soon after . . .”

“After?”

I scrambled for an answer. I felt so relaxed in the truck, joking and laughing and inhaling almond fumes, that I’d let my guard down. And I didn’t want to talk about Brad. I waved it off. “Just an old relationship turned south. Say, what about you? You sure have been buying up the bouquets lately. Who’s the lucky girl?”

Grandma Mae would have had a fit to see me asking such a direct question. “Ladies don’t pry,” she’d told us. “At least not obviously. Prying just shuts people down.”

And maybe Grandma was right, because instead of answering, he just said, “Oh, there’s our turnoff.”

I didn’t need to press for an answer. In a small town like Ramble, I was sure to run into her. But as Nick deftly maneuvered the truck through the maze of industrial streets, I decided he could still be a friend. I was at ease with him, as he seemed to be with me. We shared work interests in common, a similar sense of humor. All in addition to being tall. Hey, height wasn’t the most important thing, but it meant I could hang out with him, wearing actual shoes, without looking like an Amazon princess or the Jolly Green-Thumbed Giant. As long as the girlfriend didn’t prove to be the jealous type.

“Here it is,” he said as we drove past the old building. It looked just like the picture, only creepier—like a trendy catering hall for the Addams family. The windows were dark and filled with birds’ nests and spiderwebs that glistened in the streetlights. The picture was broken by a pale shaft of light and the silhouette of a man as he squeezed in the front door.

“Someone just went inside,” I said. “A squatter, do you think?”

“I don’t know. Let me circle the block and see if I can find a place to park.”

“Where did all these cars come from?” I asked. Cars lined the street and filled the weed-pocked parking lot.

“Maybe one of the businesses nearby?” he suggested. “They probably figured since the lot was vacant . . .”

“But the factory building looks dark.” I scanned the area for other signs of life. “And these cars don’t look like they belong to any factory workers I know.” We’d passed BMWs, a Bentley, and two cars with diplomatic plates. Nick stopped to let a stretch limo pull out of a long parking spot before easing the bakery truck into it. From this vantage point on the side of the restaurant, we could see both the front and back doors.

“Someone else is coming,” he said. “Get down.”

I scrunched down in the upholstered seat and peeked out the bottom of the window. A couple, arm in arm, climbed the steps of the supposedly deserted restaurant. The pale shaft of light returned, setting the young blond woman’s jewelry and short sequined dress glittering. They entered the building and all was dark again.

“They’ve got blackout or something on the windows and doors,” Nick said. “It looks dark and empty, but I bet the whole place is filled with people.” He turned to me. “Some hunch you had. Something is going on in that building.”

“But what?”

He grabbed the door handle. “You want me to go find out?”

“What?”

“Let me just go to the door. Maybe I can get a peek inside.”

“Are you crazy?”

“What?” He pointed to all the cars. “People means safety. The worst thing that could happen is that they don’t let me in. But maybe I can get a good enough look to find out why all these people are coming to a deserted restaurant in the middle of the night.”

“You think something illegal can be going on in there?” I asked.

“Audrey, it’s a deserted building. I doubt they have a valid business license.
Of course
there’s something illegal going on in there.”

“Then don’t go. You could get hurt. Let’s just call the police.”

“And tell them there are cars parked outside a deserted building? Even if they took me seriously, by the time they got a warrant, anything going on in there would be swept under the carpet. No, let me just check it out. If I can get a gander inside, then we might have something to tell them. If I can get a cell phone picture, better yet.”

“But if this building has anything to do with why Derek died . . .” I grabbed on to his wrist. “I’m going with you.”

“Then if you’re right, and it’s dangerous, we’ll both be put in harm’s way.”

“Wait, you can’t argue both sides.”

He chuckled. “Sorry, captain of my high school debating team. An old habit to break. Tell you what . . . we both want to know what’s going on in there, right?”

“Right.”

“Then you wait here. I’ll call you on my cell phone and put it in my pocket. You’ll be able to hear me talk and hear anything I hear. We’ll pick an emergency word. If I use that word, you call 911 right away.” He tossed me the keys. “And hightail it out of here while you’re doing that.”

I didn’t like it, but I agreed.

“Wait,” I said.

“Are we going to argue this again?” His voice carried a note of exasperation.

“No,” I said. “Except it looks like a classy party. And you look . . .” I reached over to straighten his collar. Although he’d changed out of his baker’s whites, he couldn’t be mistaken for couture, just dreamy, and as my hand accidentally brushed up against his stubbly cheek I doubted this friend thing was going to work.

“Do you have a suit coat?” I asked.

“Just a leather jacket.” He reached behind my seat to pick it up. “What do you think?”

“That’ll have to work,” I said.

He dialed my number. We tested the connection, then he climbed out of the truck.

“Nick, wait,” I said.

He looked back. “Audrey, it’s the best way.”

“No, I . . . We need the emergency word.”

“Oh, right.” He ran a hand through his hair. “How about ‘pfeffernüsse’?”

“Pfeffernüsse?”

“It’s a cookie. And I won’t be saying that by accident.” He smiled one of those paralyzing smiles of his, then headed to the restaurant while the
Mission: Impossible
theme played in my head.

I scrunched down in the seat with my cell phone pasted to my ear and watched as he tried the front door. Locked. But moments later, just a slit of light became visible.

“Yes?” A gruff male voice echoed through the cell phone, sending a wave of adrenaline through me. Just what in the world did we think we were doing? A baker and a florist trying to gain access to a possible criminal hot spot? We must have been out of our minds.

“I heard there’s some action here tonight,” Nick said.

“Sorry. Private party.” And then the slit of light disappeared.

I waited until Nick pulled open the door of the truck. “Did you see anything?”

“One eyeball.” Nick tossed the leather jacket into the space behind the driver’s seat.

A wave of relief flooded me. Something about that not-so-deserted building gave me the willies. We watched as the back door opened and a man stepped outside. His white apron glowed in the moonlight and a small flare, then a smaller glow near his face, showed that he’d stepped out for a smoke.

Minutes later, the glow was extinguished and the man passed back into the building, leaving a narrow band of light around the outside of the door betraying the fact that it was ajar.

“Bingo.” Nick opened the truck door again.

“Where are you going?”

“They said they’re having a party. Let’s make it a party.”

“What are you talking about?” I climbed out of my seat and followed him to the back of the truck, where he raised the hatch.

“Get in here, out of sight.” He pulled me up into the mini kitchen that was the back of his truck and closed the hatch before flipping on a light. He wrapped himself in an apron, shoved a couple of food service gloves into a pocket, then put on a cheesy baker’s hat, one of those paper ones that look like the hats Liv and I once folded using pages of the
Ramble On
.

“What are you doing?”

“What’s a party without cake?”

He pulled a sheet cake out of the stainless steel racks in the back of the truck and hoisted it onto the counter.

“You’re taking them a cake? Like that’s going to get you in there.”

“Ah, my dear.” He pulled out a pastry bag and wafted it under my nose. “Never doubt the power of cake. I just need to change it up a bit.”

I watched as he artfully pulled icing from the top of the cake. “Happy 50th Anniversary!” became “Happy Birthday!”

“What if it’s not anybody’s birthday?” I asked.

“In a group of any size, it’s always somebody’s birthday. Or near a birthday, anyways. If I’m not out in fifteen minutes, dial 911.” He turned off the lights, tugged open the hatch, and headed toward the back door of the old restaurant.

As my eyes readjusted to the darkness, I slipped out of the back of the truck and felt my way to the cab. As I checked my phone for the time, I realized that he hadn’t called me like he had earlier. I wouldn’t be able to hear what was happening.

I hazarded a glance around the back of the truck, but he was gone.

Time refused to budge. Seconds became min
utes, and minutes seemed like hours, sitting in the darkened truck, 911 already keyed into my phone, thumb hovering over the send button. After ten minutes, I dialed. Liv, that is.

I explained what Nick had done and that I was supposed to call emergency if he wasn’t out in the next . . . four minutes and thirty-nine seconds. How could it have taken only twenty-one seconds to tell the whole story?

“Calm down,” Liv said. “You’re talking a mile a minute. Nick’s a big boy, and I’m sure he’ll be fine.”

“How can you be so sure? Something’s going on in there, and he’s right in the middle of it, and it’s all my fault.” My brain painted images of illegal activity ranging from political conspiracy to cockfighting to unlicensed puppy mills. At that point, two couples exited the front door, talking and laughing. I scrunched down again, wishing I had binoculars. Maybe I could spot one of those designer pooches stashed in the designer bag of one of those ladies leaving. Or a stray chicken feather on a lapel.

“You didn’t make him go in there,” Liv said.

“No, but I dragged him all the way out here in the first place for no good reason.”

“Because you were curious. And you’re trying to help Jenny and figure out what happened to Derek. Those are good things. And it sounds like Nick just wants to help you do that. And how could you say it was for no good reason if you discovered something going on in a deserted building? I’d just go with it.”

I stared down at the phone. This from the woman who has a conniption every time we spot a mouse in the back of the shop?

I checked the time again. Four minutes and ten seconds.

“Besides,” Liv said as I put the phone back up to my ear, “would you hurt anyone who brought you cake?”

“Probably not, I—”

A knock on the truck door caused me to juggle the phone. Through the window I could only see the torso of a large man dressed in black. He stood just outside the door. I crammed the phone, call still active, into my pocket and rolled down the window, just a crack. “Yes?” I said, my voice trembling.

“You need to grab the other cake and come with me.”

“The other . . . ?”

“Cake,” he said. “They ran short. The boss sent me to get you. Said something about there being an extra one out here.”

I glanced at the keys dangling in the ignition and considered booking it out of there. But I couldn’t leave Nick alone to face any danger I’d put him in.

“All right.” I pulled the keys from the ignition and walked around to the back, trying to look out of the corner of my eyes to see if he held a blunt weapon—or a not-so-blunt weapon—not that he’d need it. This guy was built like Lurch. I tugged open the hatch, flipped on the lights, and found the remaining cake. I couldn’t take the writing off like I’d seen Nick do. “It says Happy Anniversary, I’m afraid.”

He shrugged. “They already saw the other one. Real pretty. The boss just wanted more to cut so everybody gets some. Good thing you had extra, huh?” He smiled at me, showing a mouthful of crooked, yellowed teeth, and I could see him eye me up and down. Was he trying to figure out if I looked like a baker? Or did he have something else on his mind? The thought made me shudder.

I found another paper hat, flicked it open on two tries, and shoved it on my head, then wrapped a spare apron around me. Might as well look the part.

The hulk held the cake while I jumped down from the truck. I wished he’d done the genteel thing and carried it to the building. That sheet cake was heavy. Kind of like a large urn full of water, except flat and more awkward to carry, especially if I didn’t want to end up wearing it. No wonder Nick preferred cupcakes.

Liv had grown quiet. I hoped that she’d stay that way and that the call hadn’t disconnected when I shoved the phone into my pocket. There would be a witness, at least, if anything happened to me.

Lurch held open the back door. After a blind hallway, we passed through a small room. Diners sat at elaborately set, candlelit tables. A secret five-star restaurant? What in the world? I couldn’t think of any reason why someone would run a clandestine restaurant, unless they were serving food the health inspectors wouldn’t approve of—like puffer fish. I tried to focus on a nearby plate, but it held only a familiar-looking piece of cake.

Unless illegal spirits was their game. A bartender poured drinks behind a gleaming wood counter set up in the corner. Operating without a liquor license? Avoiding the taxes involved? Music played, and couples on a small dance floor swayed to Rat Pack music.

Lurch sped ahead to a door and opened it, ushering me into a more well-lit area filled with stainless steel. Welcome to the kitchen. Plates of food sat under warmers. White-clad kitchen staff hustled over grills, pans, and pots, cooking and plating food. Scrumptious odors wafted around—garlic, steak, the yeasty smell of warm bread—making me hungry, despite the fear and the recent barbecue meal. What can I say? I’m a stress eater.

Lurch stopped at a blind corner and ushered me on. “The boss is around here.”

I prayed every prayer I knew, then headed around the corner, wondering whether “the boss” would resemble Al Capone. Only to see the back of Nick Maxwell. “You?” I managed.

He
was the boss? I was in deep trouble.

He turned around, seemingly in slow motion, a knife in his hand gleaming against the harsh fluorescent lights.

• • •

The room started
to spin. Nick and Lurch came at me at once. I tried to jump back but found myself up against a cold, bare, and unfortunately solid wall.

“What is wrong with you?” Lurch said. “You almost dropped the cake.”

It took a moment to realize that no knife pressed up against my flesh; rather, both men had an arm on me, an arm on the cake, and concerned expressions on their faces.

“Are you okay?” Nick said. “You’re awfully pale.”

I caught my balance. “I’m fine.” The wall helped hold me up. Maybe solid was not such a bad characteristic after all.

Nick took the cake in both hands. “I got it,” he said. He slid it onto the stainless steel counter behind him, next to the ravaged remains of the other cake and a stack of empty plates.

Lurch grabbed a tray of cut cake and rounded the corner.

“What in the world?” I watched as Nick plunged the knife into the new cake.

“Just trying to buy more time,” he said. “This is why I like cupcakes. So much easier to serve. But I wanted to stop you before you called 911. I still haven’t figured out all that’s going on here.”

“It looks like a restaurant. A nice one, at that.”

“It looks the same as it did when it was open years ago. Except for the blacked-over windows and the guard at the front door.” He slid a piece of cake onto a plate. “And the early bird special was to die for.”

“Not a good choice of words,” I said.

“Sorry,” he whispered, then he paused as a server came and whisked away another tray of cake. “Once the cake is cut, we might be able to get a better look around the place.”

“I hope you saw more than I did,” I said.

“After they let me in, I was escorted to a couple of dining areas until they found someone with a birthday.” He smirked. “Some woman threw her arms around her husband, and I knew I was golden. Everyone likes to think someone is sending them a cake. After that fuss, the guy didn’t even try to deny he’d sent it. I should get his name and bill him.”

He fell silent when Lurch returned with an empty tray and grabbed a full one.

I started setting clean plates on the new tray.

“Thanks.” Nick shoveled cake onto the first plate. Then he lowered his voice again. “All I saw on this floor was people eating and drinking. Illegal to do without the proper licenses, and not lucrative unless you’re advertising. This place looks deserted, yet it’s filled with customers, so something is drawing them here. There’s another floor they used for wedding receptions and such. I saw people on the stairs, but I haven’t been able to get up there.” He paused while the other server dropped off a tray and whisked away a full one.

“So whatever they’re trying to hide is going on up there,” I said. “What’s the plan?”

“Can’t say I’ve had time to come up with one,” he said. “Maybe you could finish up cutting while I try to sneak up there. There’s another staircase at the back of the kitchen. If they come back you can cover for me. Tell them I went looking for the men’s room or something.”

I grabbed his wrist. “I don’t like it. For one thing, I don’t like the way Lurch has been eyeing me. And what if they catch you sneaking around?”

“You have another plan?”

“How about we finish cutting this cake and sneak up together? Maybe they’ll assume we just left.”

“And if we get caught?”

“Then we think of something.”

Lurch came back for another tray. He eyed the remaining cake. “I think we’re going to come out about even, maybe a little left over.”

“Make sure the staff all get a piece,” Nick said.

Lurch gave him a yellow-toothed smile. “Sure will. Thanks!” I’d have sworn he skipped off. But the floor didn’t shake, so it must have been my imagination.

“See, what did I tell you?” He slid the last piece onto a plate. “Here’s our chance. Ready?”

He pulled off his gloves and led me around the blind corner. Two members of the kitchen staff looked up. “There’s extra cake here. I
hope
there’s enough to go around. Help yourself,” he said.

The two cooks scurried to claim their cake. Nick grabbed my hand and led me to a staircase, probably the way they’d once carried food up to the wedding receptions upstairs. Now the staircase didn’t seem like it got much use, as I surmised based upon the dust and spiderwebs. Shoddy way to do business. Then again, this place didn’t get regular health inspections, either.

The staircase opened up to a dim area with stainless steel shelves lining the wall. I imagined waiters once used them to queue the plates to carry them to reception guests.

Doors were closed to the room beyond, but the windows leading into it weren’t blacked out like those leading to the outside. Nick and I crept to the doors, each of us claiming a window to peek into, when a loud alarm sounded and the lights began to flash.