Arsenic and Old Cake (21 page)

The design area is brightly colored and cheerful, but the kitchen is all gleaming white and stainless steel. I feel brilliant and creative every time I walk through its doors—and today it was all mine.

It had been awhile since I’d decorated a cake purely for fun and even longer since I’d started from scratch and baked the cake myself. Feeling like a kid in a candy shop, I rummaged through Abe’s recipe files until I found Zydeco’s recipe for white chocolate raspberry cake: perfect for a Memorial Day barbecue.

I creamed together butter and sugar, added eggs one at a time, taking care to blend each one into the mixture separately. I melted white chocolate in a double boiler and set it aside to cool slightly, and opened the cupboards to look for the remaining ingredients I’d need.

“Rita? What are you doing?”

I squeaked in surprise at the sound of another voice and nearly dropped the vanilla extract I’d just pulled from the shelf. I turned to find Edie in the doorway, watching me with a curious expression.

“Miss Frankie volunteered me to take a cake to Bernice’s barbecue tomorrow. I decided to make it here.”

“I’m sure there’s an extra cake in the cooler,” Edie said. “Abe usually keeps a few on hand for emergencies.”

I grinned, shrugged, and pulled a set of measuring spoons from a drawer. When I cook, I eyeball measurements, but baking is a more exact science. A careless splash of liquid can change consistency and texture, or alter flavor and ruin a cake.

“I can hardly qualify this as an emergency,” I told her. “Besides, I’m having fun. What are you doing here? Don’t tell me you have work to do.”

Edie moved a couple of steps into the room. “Not really. I just didn’t have anything else to do at home.”

“Do you want to help?”

She shook her head quickly and a shudder passed through her. “Thanks but . . . sometimes I like to just come and sit. Play around on the computer. Tinker with the calendar. Straighten office supplies. It relaxes me.”

I understood in theory. That’s what working in the kitchen does for me. But her reaction to helping me bake seemed odd, frankly. Edie hadn’t been the most talented pastry chef in our class, but she
had
attended pastry school, after all.

I traded measuring spoons for a dry cup measure, pulled flour, baking powder, and baking soda from the cupboard, then turned to the fridge for the buttermilk. “How did work go after I left yesterday? Did we get any new orders?”

Edie shook her head and dragged a stool up to the island. “I sent out some e-mails to bridal shops like we talked about, and I did some more research on bridal shows in the area. I widened my search area and checked for anything within a four-hour drive. There’s not much going on until fall, though.”

I measured the dry ingredients into a mixing bowl. “Things will turn around,” I predicted. I sounded like a broken record, but maybe if I said it often enough we’d all start to believe it.

“Yeah. I’m sure it will.” She made no move to leave, and just like the other day, I had the feeling something was bothering her.

“Is something on your mind, Edie? You seem worried.”

She tucked a lock of straight brown hair behind one ear and smiled a little. “You mean something besides the fact that we’re losing money every day?”

I looked away from the measuring cup and connected with her eye to eye. “I don’t know. You tell me. What’s up?”

She shifted on the stool and then propped her chin in her hand. “I think maybe I should go.”

“Go? Go where?” Had I missed her talking about something important to her? Some sort of family occasion? Maybe a wedding or a birthday? I didn’t like thinking I’d been too distracted to remember. “If you need some time off, just say so.”

She shook her head. “No, I mean
go
. The bakery is in trouble, Rita. Something has to give, and I wonder if maybe it should be me.”

I put down the measuring cup and pushed the canister of flour away from the edge of the counter. “You’re talking about quitting?”

She nodded, but she looked miserable.

“Are you crazy? Zydeco would fall apart without you.”

Her lips curved slightly. “That’s nice of you to say, but we both know I’m the fifth wheel here. I’m not good in the kitchen. My decorating skills aren’t even mediocre. Philippe was wonderful to offer me a job here, especially after I dropped out of pastry school. But baking really isn’t my passion. It never was. My mother thought I could make a go of it, and for her sake I tried, but . . .” She broke off, leaving me to fill in the blanks for myself.

I was a little embarrassed to realize how little I knew of Edie’s story. “So pastry school was your mother’s idea?”

“She wanted me to be good at something. But I wasn’t.” Edie served up a shaky smile. “You and I both know that of everyone here, I’m the most expendable.”

My heart was pounding, and my mind was racing. A dozen responses flew through my head, most of them angry and irrational. I took a deep breath and counted to ten, the way Aunt Yolanda had taught me when I was an angry teenager with impulse-control issues. Surprisingly, my voice sounded almost normal when I spoke again. “How long have you been thinking about this?”

“A few days.” That lock of hair came loose, and Edie flicked it behind her ear with a little scowl. “I know Miss Frankie shot down Ox’s idea during your meeting yesterday. I also know this place can’t keep going the way it is or you’ll lose it.”

“True, but you’re Zydeco’s organizational backbone. You’re the glue that holds the whole operation together.”

She waved away my protest. “You can do everything I do. I can’t do what you do.”

It’s no secret that Edie and I have had our difficult moments, but the thought of losing her this way made it hard to breathe. “I think you’re overreacting,” I said. “Things aren’t that bad yet.”

“Maybe not, but they’ll get that bad if we don’t do something soon.”

Almost on autopilot I turned back to the bowl I’d left on the counter. I needed to channel my frustration into something productive. I hated that Zydeco was in this position. I hated being forced to make choices I didn’t want to make. I wanted the world to right itself and for everything to be okay again. But that wasn’t going to happen by sitting back and ignoring it.

“What about your idea of trimming hours from everyone’s schedule?” I asked when I could speak again. “I’d rather do that than lose someone.”

“That’s a temporary solution at best.”

“So? We take the temporary solution until we come up with something else.”

Edie just stared at me without blinking.

“I’m serious,” I said. “If that’s what we have to do to keep everyone working, let’s do it.”

“Nobody’s going to be happy with part-time wages,” Edie predicted.

“You were all for the idea a few days ago,” I reminded her. “Why are you against it today?”

“Because the other day I thought you and Miss Frankie would agree to Ox’s solution, and I thought cutting hours could tide us over until the new line took off.”

The spoon in my hand stopped moving. “Ox talked his idea over with you before he talked to me?”

“He wanted some figures compiled. I asked why he needed them.” She lifted her chin defiantly. “Don’t be angry with him. He’s trying to help.”

“Yeah? Maybe. But this isn’t the first time he’s gone behind my back to do it.” I really had to get things straight with Ox, but that would have to wait. It wasn’t even close to being the biggest fire I had to fight.

I added
explain organizational chart to Ox
to my mental to-do list and refocused on keeping Edie happy. But it felt as if I was fighting a forest fire with a garden hose. “I appreciate what you’re trying to do. It’s incredibly selfless. But please just give me a few days to find another solution, okay? I promise, I’ll figure out something.”

She shook her head. “We both know that’s not going to happen.”

“No we don’t.” I was getting angry now. “At least give me a chance. Don’t I deserve that?”

Edie’s brows knit over her pert little nose, and she thought for a very long time. “Yeah. Okay.” She stood and tugged the hem of her blouse over her hips. “Just don’t do anything stupid.”

Twenty-two

I pondered options while I finished mixing together the cake, then sat down to make a list of pros and cons while it baked and cooled.

Pros for letting Edie quit: As office manager, she earned one of the largest paychecks on Zydeco’s books, factoring in just below Ox’s and mine. If she left, we’d save money on salary and benefits every month. Cons: I’d have to take over her duties in addition to my own, and the resulting therapy sessions would negate any perceived financial benefit. Morale would suffer. Plus, everyone at Zydeco loved Edie. They wouldn’t respond well if I just let her walk out the door. I didn’t need a mutiny on top of an increased workload and unrelenting worries about money. (See note re: therapy above.)

Pros for pushing Ox’s agenda: We might pick up new clients willing to pay a moderate price for moderate cakes, and make enough money to keep our real business afloat. Cons: Miss Frankie could very well decide to dissolve our partnership, and I’d end up back in Albuquerque chopping onions for Uncle Nestor’s executive chef at Agave. (Again, refer to previous note about therapy.) Besides, I questioned how many
moderate
cakes we’d have to sell to realize the same profit margin we could pull in from a single exclusive one-of-a-kind cake with its accompanying hefty price tag.

Still contemplating possible solutions, I went back to work on the now-cooled cake, smoothing raspberry filling and a chocolate buttercream between cake layers and covering the three-tier cake with white chocolate buttercream. Tomorrow before the picnic I’d add fresh raspberries, and the result would be a light, delicious cake perfect for a warm spring day.

I left the cake on the counter, clearly marked so nobody would cart it off to the break room as a midday snack, and then did the only thing I could do: I drove over to Miss Frankie’s house.

* * *

It was shortly after two that afternoon when I pulled into Miss Frankie’s driveway. The sky was still overcast, but there didn’t seem to be an imminent threat of rain. I waved to Bernice, who was puttering outside in her flower garden next door. She dropped what she was doing and waddled across the lawn toward me. She’s a sweet Southern lady with a halo of white hair and an accent as smooth as aged Kentucky bourbon. She’s also Miss Frankie’s closest friend. That means she takes a lot of pressure off me to be available every time Miss Frankie wants to do something or go somewhere, and puts her pretty high on my list of favorite people.

“You are coming tomorrow, aren’t you?” she asked as she puffed up the driveway. “Frances Mae did tell you about the barbecue?”

I hugged Bernice quickly. “She told me.”

“And you’re coming?”

“If I can. I’ll be tied up for most of the morning, but I’ll do my best. But don’t you worry, Miss Bernice. If I can’t be here, I’ll at least make sure the cake is. I just finished making it.”

Bernice swatted my arm playfully. “Oh you! I’m not worried about the cake. It’s you we want. I just hope the weatherman is right and the weather clears.” She brushed some dirt from her sleeve and then cut a glance at me. “What kind of cake is it, anyway?”

“White chocolate raspberry with raspberry filling and chocolate buttercream,” I said with a grin. “You’ll love it.”

Her eyes danced with anticipation. “I’m sure I will. And in case you’re worried, you won’t be the only young person at the party. My nephew and his wife and kids will be here. I just know you’ll get along with them like a house afire. Bennie’s the sweetest boy.”

I’d seen Bennie from a distance a time or two. He was a buttoned-up accountant with thinning hair and pasty skin, and his wife was a plump woman with a hairstyle I don’t think she’d changed since high school many years ago. I didn’t expect to have much in common with them or their three ill-behaved children, but I smiled politely. Besides, after the company I’d been keeping at the Love Nest, I figured all the people in Miss Frankie’s neighborhood would seem like teenagers. “I look forward to it. Do you know if Miss Frankie is home? I need to speak with her about something.”

Bernice gave a brisk nod that set her chins wobbling. “I haven’t seen her leave, and she didn’t say anything about going out this morning, so I expect she’s in there.” I thanked her and turned to leave, but Bernice laid a hand on my arm and stopped me. “Do try to come tomorrow, honey. Frances Mae is going to need you here.”

“I’ll do my best,” I said again. But I was still weighing the barbecue against my promise to Old Dog Leg, and the scales weren’t evenly balanced.

Bernice locked eyes with me. “Good. I’m glad. I know she wants to take flowers to Philippe, and I know it would mean the world if you’d go with her. She’s been counting on it for weeks.”

Flowers? Agh!
My heart fell, and I swear I shrank to about two inches tall. Putting flowers on the graves of loved ones each Memorial Day—even those who hadn’t served in the military—was common practice where I come from and it’s a tradition that Aunt Yolanda held dear. Every year she’d cut flowers from the garden and spend time selecting the perfect assortment of potted mums from the displays at her favorite grocery store. On the last Monday in May, she’d place flowers on the graves, pulling weeds and clearing away pebbles, twigs, and dead leaves that had blown in over the winter. I, on the other hand, had made it a point to avoid cemeteries and gravesides as much as possible since my parents died, and I hadn’t once considered that Miss Frankie would feel different.

“Why didn’t she say something to me?”

The clouds parted and the sun hit Bernice in the face. She shook her head and shielded her eyes with one hand. “Oh, you know how she is. She doesn’t want you to feel pressured. She doesn’t want you to go just out of obligation.”

Miss Frankie wanted me to
want
to go. She needed to believe that I cared enough about her son to remember him on a day set aside for remembering. I sighed softly and ignored a twinge of guilt that I’d even consider doing for Miss Frankie what I’d been unable to do for my parents.