Ellen McKenzie 04-Murder Half-Baked (3 page)

I looked more closely at the hand that held the red flower. I had never noticed before, but the knuckles were enlarged,
and
the fingers had the crooked look that indicates arthritis.
The
skin had developed brown spots and was beginning to take on the thinness of parchment. I looked down at
Rose’s
face. Plumpness filled in the folds, but all the signs were there. I realized, suddenly,
that
Rose must be pretty darn close to seventy. She was getting old! Only, she sure didn’t act like it.

“I’ll put this back.” Gina gently took the flower from Rose’s hand and carefully laid it back in the plastic drawer before she looked back at me. “I think it’s so romantic, getting married on New Year’s Eve. And the cake is going to be beautiful.”

What was so romantic about New Year’s Eve? It was practical. Dan would never forget our anniversary. Neither would I. And the cake! The rosebuds were retreating
,
and I could see red poinsettias coming at me.

“And, Ellen
..
.” Rose was flipping pages in the catalog. “You’re going to need at least two sheet cakes. Mary gave me the head count, and this cake won’t feed all those people. So, I thought these would be nice.”

I looked down again at the picture of the towering cake. That wouldn’t feed all the people who were coming? Was the whole damn world coming to my wedding? It was a fact that at least half of it was. Rose and Salvatore Ianelli were. Was this Gina, who obviously worked here but whom I had never seen before, coming also? I had no idea. I’d lost control of the guest list, mostly because my mother and Dan’s mother kept adding to it and I couldn’t make either of them stop. In frustration, I’d pushed it onto Aunt Mary to sort out. And now I needed more cake?

“Susannah told me … ”

“Susannah.” Rose stopped flipping through the catalog, and a dreamy look came over her face. “Such a pretty girl. All that dark curly hair, those beautiful blue eyes. If it weren’t for them, I’d swear she was Italian. She’s going to make a beautiful bride, and she’s so lucky. Neil Bennington is a good man.”

Italian? And what did she mean
—
Susannah a bride? And Neil a man? He was only twenty-two and still in veterinary school. He was just a boy. Well, maybe not. But not old enough for marriage. All these thoughts kept me off guard, and the next thing I knew, I was staring at a flat version of the tiered wedding cake. Only this time there were little cherubs at each corner, their tiny feet firmly implanted in the green ivy.

“I wanted to make these cakes for my Gabrielle when she got married, but no, she had to get married in North Carolina where her husband’s fancy relatives live. Oh
,
well, that was years ago. I’ve made these cakes for lots of other brides, and they’ve all loved them. And now, we will make them for you. Gina and me.”

I had no idea what to say, but I could feel those red flowers getting closer.

“That’s exactly the kind of cake I had when I got married.”

Gina was still looking over my shoulder, but she wasn’t looking at the pictures. She was smiling at Rose.

“With red poinsettias?” I hoped my tone wasn’t too sour, but I really didn’t want those cakes.

“Well, no. Mine had pale yellow roses with white doves. But now it’s Christmas.”

“The wedding is New Year’s Eve.”

“Same thing.” Rose patted Gina on the arm and beamed at the cake. “It’s going to be beautiful. Even Doctor Sadler thought so. Didn’t he, Gina?”

Doctor Sadler? Old Doctor Sadler? What did he have to do with my wedding cake? I hardly knew the man. We’d gone to Doctor Miller, who used to let me hold his stethoscope and always had a bowl of suckers on his desk.

The bell on the front door rang. Trish Wilson must have come here fresh from the beauty shop. She pushed the door open with her arm and was waving her hands in the air, making sure her nail polish didn’t touch anything.

“Hi.” She looked around and walked over to where we all stood gathered around the wedding cake book. “Oh, Ellen. How beautiful they are
!
Which one are you getting?”

Trish is an old friend of my Aunt Mary’s. Of course, so is everyone else in town. I started to say I wasn’t getting any of them but was too late. Rose pointed to the sheet cakes with the holly and the cherubs, then flipped pages until she came to the poinsettia tower. “This one. Isn’t it wonderful?”

“Oh.” Trish looked from the cake picture to me, and then back to the book. “My. It certainly will be festive.”

I could feel my face burn.

“I came for my order, Rose. For Harry’s birthday dessert. I’m just so excited to see what you and Sal came up with. So, if it’s ready
..
.”

Rose’s face went blank. She blinked a couple of times and a look of panic crept into her eyes.

Trish started to look uncomfortable. “I called you yesterday; we talked about it, but if you don’t have it, well, I’ll just
…
”

I hadn’t heard Sal come in. But there he was, a scowl on his face, chocolate frosting on his apron. He glared at Rose from under bushy eyebrows before he turned back to Trish. “Mrs. Wilson, I’m sure it’s ready. What did you order?”

“I left it up to Rose. I’ve always gotten Harry’s birthday dessert here, and I just knew you’d come up with something wonderful.” Trish had started to back toward the door. “But if you didn’t have time, that’s fine. I can
…
”
 

Sal walked back behind the counter and reached for a heavy spike that had a whole stack of small pieces of paper speared on it. He took off a couple before he found what he wanted. “Yes. It’s right here. In Rose’s writing.”

Gina spoke up. “Sal, the Baba
au Rhum, remember? The special order? That was for the Wilson’s. I’m so sorry. I thought you knew that.” She stepped in front of Trish and somehow maneuvered her so that her back was to Sal.

“
Baba au Rhum
? That was for Harry? I thought
—
”

“Sal doesn’t make them much anymore, but they’re all ready, and wait until you see them. I could hardly keep my fingers out of them. I’ll go get them right now.”
 

She disappeared into the back room before Sal could explode. And explode he did. “She should have told me,” he kept saying. “Special order was all she said. If I’d known
…
she kept
…
I told you not to hire her,” he yelled at Rose, who stood staring down at the wedding cake book, saying nothing.

“But you made them.” Trish’s enthusiasm was a little forced and her eyes never left Rose. “That’s wonderful.
They’re Harry’s favorite and I don’t know how to make them.” She let that trail off a little and transferred her gaze to the kitchen door.

Sal stopped and the expression on his face changed. The fury that had turned his face red faded. The look that replaced it was almost crafty. The smile below his gray mustache looked fake, the expression in his eyes calculating. ”Of course I made them. It’s just that
…
she should have told me. For you, I always make something extra special. It’s fine, don’t worry.”

Trish had beamed with pleasure when Gina told her what she was getting
,
but that pleasure had faded away fast under Sal’s unreasonable tirade. Now she just looked confused and uncomfortable.

Gina appeared again, carrying a sack and a pink box tied up with string. She didn’t look at Sal. Instead, she gave Trish a wide smile. “Do you have whipping cream?”

“I have some of the squirt kind.”

Gina frowned. “Oh, for something as special as this you need real whipping cream. Get the heavy kind and whip it yourself. Add two teaspoons of vanilla and a couple tablespoons or so of sugar. No more or it will be too sweet.” She set the pink box down on the table, pushing aside some of the catalogs, and undid the string. “Here. Look.”

We all looked. Six perfect little cakes sat in the box, swollen with rum sauce, currents peeking out of the apricot glaze that encased them.

“They came out nice, didn’t they?” Gina looked into the box and smiled with satisfaction.

“They’re beautiful.” Rose nodded approval. “Sal outdid himself.”

Sal grunted. He barely glanced in the box. Instead, he studied Gina appraisingly.

“Oh,” I heard Trish say. “Oh. Whipping cream. Oh, yes. I can do that.”

Gina closed the box and refastened the string. She handed it to Trish but kept the bag. “Sal made potato rolls this morning. I thought you might like a dozen. They’re still warm.” She opened the bag and took out one roll with a little piece of paper. It lay in her hand, round, brown with a light coating of white on top, giving off the
delicious
aroma that only warm, fresh bread can. “See?”

“Potato rolls. Oh, yes. Why, these look like
…
why, we haven’t had these
…
Thank you. Yes, I would like them.”

Trish looked curiously at Gina, glanced at Rose out of the corner of her eye, and turned to Sal
.
“You’re wonderful. I can’t thank you enough. Can you put it on my bill?”
 

“Of course.” He was all smiles, beaming at Trish, but those dark eyes kept going back and forth between Gina and Rose. Sal was still not pleased about something.
“You tell Harry that Rose and I wish him a happy birthday.”

“I’ll do that, and thanks again.” Trish headed for the door, still beaming, pushed it open and was gone. Sal waited until the door closed, then he turned to Gina and glared. She
pretended not to notice
. Instead she walked over to Rose and stood very close to her.

What was all that about? What had Gina done other than put the special dessert in a box and offer a customer rolls? I wondered if Sal had made more. I loved Baba
au
R
h
um. I glanced at my watch. Damn. I was going to be late. I started for the door as well, but Rose’s voice stopped me. “Ellen, you really like the cake?”

I turned, grateful for the opening, fully intending to say,
“No, we need to change it.” But I didn’t. I couldn’t. She looked so hopeful and, somehow, fearful. “It’s going to be wonderful. Just like you said. Have an appointment, have to run.” And I did. Right out the door.

I sat in my car, staring out the windshield, wondering what had just happened. Somehow I had ended up with a wedding cake that was everything that I didn’t want, and I was getting sheet cakes that I wasn’t one bit sure we needed. It was time to have a conference with Aunt Mary about our guest list. Then I would have another talk with Rose. A very tactful but firm talk. For some reason Rose seemed to be in love with that cake. I wasn’t. But it
would
take more time than I had right now to ease her into doing what I wanted without hurting her feelings. There were some advantages to the supermarket bakery. I didn’t know anyone there, they’d never given me cookies when I was little or gone to bat for me when I wanted a Barbie cake, and they could care less what kind of cake I wanted for my wedding. Damn. Oh well. I’d figure it out. I’d go back. Later. In a day or so. There was still plenty of time.
M
aybe I could talk Sal into making more Baba
au Rh
um.