Brownies & Betrayal (Sweet Bites Mysteries, Book 1) (2 page)

I couldn’t help myself. Roscoe? She was comparing my award-winning brownie recipe to Roscoe? He was such a poser! If she’d wanted to offend me, she could not have done better—besides comparing my work to Karen’s, that is, but as my former boss wasn’t a pastry chef, such a comparison was unlikely to happen. “That idiot wouldn’t know a turkey roaster from a double boiler.” I said this low so no one else would hear, but I must have been louder than I thought.

Valerie twisted back, amusement in her eyes. “Hit a mark, didn’t I? I know why you’re here—you were let go by your former employer. Surprised I heard about that, aren’t you? Small towns have big mouths. In your late thirties and you’re already a washed-up has-been.” She turned and trotted off.

I saw red. I was only thirty-one, for heaven’s sake, and I didn’t get fired, I quit. I had them begging me to come back. Knowing that didn’t stop a shaft of hurt from accompanying the anger, though.

A tall, blond man who did serious justice to the navy designer suit he wore—Armani, if my guess was right—followed Valerie into the hall, a look of determination on his face.

Tad approached and addressed me. “Ana’s been telling me all about your fabulous desserts. The brownies look great, and I’m looking forward to seeing what you do with the cake on such short notice.” He extended a hand. “Hi, I suppose I ought to introduce myself. I’m Tad Richardson. I’m the anxious groom.” He stepped in front of me so I couldn’t tear off after Valerie and mar her pretty little face before the wedding. I don’t know what he was worried about. It’s not like I would do anything permanent.

I sucked in a breath and admitted to myself that I wouldn’t have hurt her. We would have crossed verbal swords again, and since she had my measure, she was more likely to come out ahead. Reining in my emotions, I focused my attention on tomorrow’s groom and forced a polite smile as I took his hand, which was cool and dry. He had a nice, firm grip—something I appreciated.

“It’s good to meet you. I know Analesa is very excited about becoming Mrs. Richardson. And I promise tomorrow’s cake won’t disappoint. You’ve had the benefit of my almost undivided attention, which didn’t hurt.” I admit, my vanity was mollified by his words. Smooth talkers—I always seemed to fall for them, which was why I’ve had two failed engagements. But now was not the time for dwelling on my relationship failures.

His grin transformed his face from a serious, but pleasant-looking, geek, to someone considerably more handsome. Even his green eyes seemed to sparkle. Ah, the man in the photos
did
exist.

A tall, platinum blonde who ought to have had some gray in her hair, but instead looked fresh and young as a forty-year-old, came over, putting a hand on Tad’s elbow. “Sweetheart, can you find out what’s keeping the food? And track down Jeff and Valerie—he took off after her and we’re ready to sit down, don’t you think?”

“Of course, Mother.”

Mother, like they were some high-fashion set. All polite façade and no warmth, but then I changed my mind. There was warmth in both mother’s and son’s eyes when they looked at each other. Yet she wasn’t Mom, she was Mother. I let the thought go—there were too many odd characters in this group.

Tad turned to leave as a little girl ran over to him. She had dark hair and a sweet pixie face with huge green eyes and a smile that would light up a high-rise. “Tad, where you goin’?”

“To find your mom. You want to come along?” He held out his hand to her with a fond smile. She accepted both as her due and they wandered out together. That adorable little girl was Valerie’s? Really?

I offered my hand to Tad’s mother. “Hello, my name is Tempest Crawford, but you can call me Tess. I’m about to get out of your way for the evening.”

“I’m Caroline Richardson. Tad’s mother, of course. Well, your brownies look delicious. I’ve heard such great things about your desserts. I look forward to sampling one.” Her smile was genuine, but I doubted the woman had eaten a brownie in the past ten years. She looked slightly better fed than an Ethiopian during a drought.

I appreciated the kind words, however, so I thanked her and made a final adjustment to cover the hole Valerie’s theft had made. I collected my things and headed for the exit. As I reached it, I nearly bumped into the man who’d been chasing Valerie. He was coming through the doorway from the other direction. I moved to the side and ran into a table nearby, which held a huge Chinese vase of pale pink roses.

I reached out and grabbed the vase in time to stop the whole thing from toppling, though the empty pastry box I’d been carrying ended up on the floor. My heart rate kicked up for a moment when I realized how close I’d come to knocking the vase over, but my temporary lack of personal coordination wasn’t going to cost me this time.

“Sorry,” the blond said, picking up what I’d dropped. “I should watch where I’m going.”

“No problem. It was my mistake,” I answered. I took another glance at his suit, now that I was up close. Yes, definitely Armani. “I’m Tess, the pastry chef.”

“I’m Jeff, the best man.” He grinned and passed over my things. “Are your brownies a work of art too?”

“Of course. They may not look it, but wait until you’ve tasted them.”

“I look forward to it.” He backed out of the way and let me pass.

2 cups sugar

4 eggs 

1 cup plus 3 Tbsp butter

1 tsp vanilla

2 cups melted unsweetened chocolate chips

½ cup plus 1 Tbsp cocoa

Mix, then add: 2 ½ cup flour

¼ tsp baking soda

1 tsp salt

1 Cup pecan bits

1 Cup semi-sweet chips

4 Cups miniature marshmallows

Mix the sugar, eggs, butter, vanilla and cocoa until smooth. Melt the chocolate chips in the microwave, stirring every twenty seconds until smooth Cool and mix in rest of it.

Add the baking soda and salt, then the flour, mixing between cup fulls. Add the nuts and chocolate chips into the batter, mixing well, and pour into greased and floured 9x13 pan. I usually use a spray oil like Pam or Vegalene, then flour the pan to keep it from sticking. Bake at 350 degrees for 30-35 minutes, adding mini-marshmallows to the top of the pan for the final five minutes or until the marshallows on the edge just start to turn golden. The marshmallows will cut better if you let the brownies cool most of the way first.

The cake was a masterpiece. I carried the final layers into the room where the meal would be held in two hours. Though many pastry chefs liked to assemble the cake at the bakery and have someone else deliver it completed to the site, I’d always preferred to do deliveries and assemble final details on site myself—especially since you never knew what could happen in transit.

I can’t count the number of disasters I’d had to fix over the years. If a piece could crush, fall off, slump, or wilt, it had happened, and being on hand to fix and assemble was the best option in my mind. As I set the last pastry box on the table, I realized I was spoiled doing cakes at the hotel in Chicago, since I baked, assembled and displayed most of them at the same location. I would have to consider the issue before I finalized my policies for the pastry shop.

Wait staff scurried around me as I checked each bakery box and was relieved when I saw there had been no disasters en route to the hotel. I put in my ear buds and turned on my tunes. After flipping to my collection of songs from the nineties, I mouthed some of the words with Paula Abdul, though I was too conscious of everyone around me to sing any of it out loud—I saved that for the quiet of my kitchen at home.

Straightening the tablecloth on the table I’d used the night before, I set the cake base in the middle, checked my box of supplies to be certain everything was there, and began with the lower layers.

The mother of the groom entered and said something to me. I turned off my iPod, pretending like she wasn’t interrupting, and that I wouldn’t have minded if she had. It was a carefully honed talent of mine. “Sorry, what was that?”

She repeated the question. “Have you seen Valerie? She should have been up in the bride’s suite hours ago for her hair and makeup. Could the woman
be
any more irresponsible?”

I blinked and watched her glance around the room as if she expected to find the missing maid of honor there with me. “No, I haven’t seen her. If I do, I’ll send her along.”

Diamonds glittered at Caroline’s ears, sequins adorned her long, cream-colored sheath and her hair was perfectly coifed. I thought she’d make a lovely bride herself. She pursed her lips. “I’d appreciate it. I told Analesa not to choose that woman for maid of honor. Millie would have been a much better choice. Valerie’s daughter’s running wild here with no one to watch her, and it’s distracting having her in the dressing room. Why isn’t Valerie keeping her under control?”

“The little girl I saw last night, with the big eyes and dark hair? Why would Valerie leave her running wild?” It seemed odd that the woman hadn’t arranged for someone to watch the girl.

Caroline seemed to realize she had overstepped the bounds of propriety into the murky fields of gossip. “Valerie took her to a neighbor’s house last night. The neighbor brought her back here this morning for the wedding, though why Tad insisted that she be here, I certainly don’t know.” She checked the slim gold watch on her wrist. “I guess Millie will have to fill in as maid of honor.”

The woman swept out of the room again.

After I switched my tunes back on, I focused again on my task. Playing with butter cream and gumpaste, tinting and tweaking and manipulating it had always soothed and excited me, since the very first cake I had decorated when I was eight. That was long before I had a clue what I was doing or how to use the very few tools my mom had in the kitchen. I’d never been great at drawing, though I could do a decent sketch in most cases—enough to please the clients—but with sugar, I could be an artist.

I stacked the bottom two layers, added plates and columns and arranged the gumpaste flowers I’d made earlier in the week.  Next came the leaves I’d made and dusted with sparkling powders to make them realistic. Making a little sugar look like the real thing was my specialty, I thought smugly as I placed another rose and continued around the table. It was a labor of love.

“How are things in here?” The male voice made me jump, as it came from right over my shoulder—the only way I would have heard it while wearing my earbuds.

I yanked one out and looked back at Tad, willing my heart rate to return to normal. “Just fine, thanks. Don’t worry—it’ll be perfect, and I’ll get out of the way long before the ceremony ends.”

“Thank you, I appreciate everything you’ve done. Your brownies last night were amazing.”

“Most of you thought so,” I muttered, but not low enough.

“What do you mean?”

“Valerie seemed to have definite opinions on their quality.” I tried to pretend I wasn’t still offended. Roscoe, of all people!

“Funny, I swear she had two at dinner. Well, I better get moving. Guests will start arriving any moment.” He nodded and smiled, then took off.

So Valerie had eaten not one, but three of my brownies over the course of the evening? I held the thought close, reassured. Like so many before her, she enjoyed causing a fuss. I’d had experience with her type.

When I got around to the back of the cake, I heard organ music start. Early arrivals, I thought. I checked my watch and realized I was taking longer than usual. This would be my first opportunity to wow the locals, and I wanted to do it right. One more step and I saw a smear of chocolate frosting from the previous night’s brownies on the floor at the edge of the tablecloth. Hadn’t the hotel cleaned up everything after everyone ate?

I grabbed a paper towel and leaned over to wipe up the frosting, and saw the smear continue under the table. I lifted the pale pink tablecloth—did Analesa’s obsession with pink have no end?—and saw the brownie lying on the floor, a bite taken out of it. What a waste, I thought as I reached for it, then noticed the red toe of a woman’s shoe. I pulled the tablecloth up even farther and saw a bent leg, the tiny red dress and sprawled body of Valerie among shards of a china vase. In my earbuds, Jon Bon Jovi started screaming about going down in a blaze of glory, and I knew I’d never hear the song again without seeing her pale face.