Dream a Little Scream (21 page)

23

By the next morning, it was clear that Dana's fliers were a huge success. Ali started scheduling guests for the Toddler Chef cooking classes, and twelve members of a local book club signed up for The Magic of Cupcakes. Ali and I had agreed that adult classes should be limited to a dozen participants and the kiddie classes would only have eight.

I still was having visions of little kids in chefs' hats merrily spreading chocolate frosting over everything; I pictured sheer chaos. Ali swore she would keep everything under control, and she enlisted Dana to help her manage the supplies and work with the kiddies. I warned Ali that unless she wanted to completely embarrass me, she would assign me a very easy cooking project.

“The cupcake class!” she said happily. “You know how to make cupcakes, right?”

“From a mix?”

“From scratch!” Dana looked appalled. “Why would we
teach anyone to make cupcakes from a mix? They can figure that out for themselves. All you have to do is read the directions.”

“I had the feeling you'd say that.” I bit back a sigh. “Okay, what exactly will this entail?”

“Oh, it's easy and it's fun,” Ali said with a grin. “We'll do two kinds, vanilla and chocolate, and then use a nice buttercream frosting before we decorate them. Buttercream is so versatile, and it really holds up well.”

“Buttercream frosting. I assume that doesn't come in a can?”

“You assume correctly,” she said primly. “No canned frostings or cake mixes allowed in this kitchen. Canned frosting would never work; it would collapse. Sometimes people try to thicken it with powdered sugar, but that never works. Besides, if you're going to use powdered sugar, you might as well do it right and make frosting from scratch. That way it's guaranteed to turn out perfectly, every time.”

“Got it,” I agreed. I remembered that Ali had watched a cooking show with Cheryl Day from Back in the Day Bakery here in Savannah. Cheryl had made some delicious vanilla cupcakes with buttercream frosting and had used a piping bag to create beautiful swirls. How did she do it? It seemed a bit intimidating, but maybe with practice, I'd catch on.

“How are you at rosettes?” Ali asked, thumbing through a copy of Cheryl Day's cookbook.

“Rosettes?” I asked blankly. She pushed a colorful photo of a chocolate cake toward me. It was a masterpiece, a towering delight of dark chocolate, topped with three roses: one lavender, one yellow, and one pink. The cake looked so beautiful, I couldn't imagine anyone actually cutting into it.

“These are rosettes,” Ali said, tapping the page with her
fingernail. “See how delicate they are, and how the green leaves really make them look more dramatic against the dark chocolate frosting? You can add just a few rosettes to the top of the cake, or you can cover the entire cake with rosettes. I'm thinking we'll do just one rosette on each cupcake. They're pretty, aren't they?” She turned the page, revealing a dozen perfect cupcakes in rainbow colors, each topped with a perfect rose.

I was so out of my element, I could only nod appreciatively. “Yes, they're gorgeous”—I swallowed hard—“but you have to understand, this stuff is way above my level.”
Rosettes with pretty petals and delicate green leaves—is she kidding?

“But you have to start someplace,” Ali protested. “And look at all these cupcakes with the beautiful swirls. Cheryl Day is a genius.”

“How do you usually frost your cupcakes?” Dana asked, as if this was something I did every day. I squinted and tried to remember the last time I'd made cupcakes. I think I was ten years old, back in Indiana. And naturally, I'd used a mix. A box of cake mix, a can of frosting, and I made enough Halloween cupcakes for everyone in my class. Nothing fancy. Just basic chocolate cupcakes with vanilla frosting that was tinted orange with food coloring. Except I used too much food coloring and the resulting color looked like Cheetos.

“Well, first, I would spread frosting on them with the back of a spoon,” I began. I didn't confess that sometimes I licked the spoon as I worked. Some secrets should remain buried.

“I remember you doing that. The cupcakes weren't too pretty, but we had fun, didn't we?” Ali smiled at me. “You can't get good coverage with the back of a spoon, though,” she added, on a more serious note.

“And you certainly can't get a nice swirl design,” Dana chimed in. I was outvoted; it was two against one.

“And then sometimes I would just dunk the top of the cupcake into the bowl of frosting,” I admitted as the memory of my mother's kitchen came into focus. “If I was in a hurry.”

Ali and Dana nodded their heads sadly. I think they realized they had their work cut out for them. “I can see we have some catching up to do,” Ali said soberly. “That's okay, we have a couple of days before the cooking classes start. Dana and I can walk you through it.”

“Don't worry, you'll pick it up really fast,” Dana said. I don't think she believed a word of it, but it was nice of her to be encouraging.

•   •   •

“Did you say
Lucinda was coming over early tonight?” I was making a fresh pitcher of iced tea and vacuuming the living room in preparation for the Dream Club meeting that was starting in twenty minutes.

“Yes, she has something she wants to show us. She didn't want to talk about it over the phone. She said it was something of a surprise and it may—or may not—be significant.”

“How mysterious. Did she seem worried or upset?” I found myself wishing Lucinda had given us a hint and wondered if her surprise had something to do with the case.

“No, not at all.” Ali shrugged and lifted Barney off the sofa. “But you never know with Lucinda. It could be nothing; she might want to show us some new drapery fabric. Or it could be something important.” She moved Scout from the armchair to the rug in front of the fireplace. The cats seem to sense when we're having company and immediately snare the comfiest spots in the room. I always have to go over the furniture with a roll of tape before guests arrive.

I left a quick message for Noah and arranged some raspberry thumbprint cookies on a plate along with tiny squares of German chocolate brownies. If the brownies were a hit, I planned on adding them to the menu downstairs.

Noah was something of a puzzle. I hadn't heard from him in the past few days, and he hadn't answered my last couple of texts. Was he busy working a case, or was there something going on in his life?

I was debating what the next step with Noah should be when I heard Lucinda coming up the stairs. I always leave the downstairs door unlocked for our Dream Club guests, and Lucinda called out a cheery hello when she reached the landing.

“I have something to show you,” she said, her eyes shining with excitement. She pulled a yearbook out of a paper bag. “This was quite a surprise. You never know what you're going to find when you go poking around in the attic.”

“What is it?” Ali said, hurrying over. She motioned for Lucinda to take a seat on the sofa and poured her a glass of iced tea.

“One of my friends taught at Centreville High School, and we retired at the same time last year. She wanted me to see some photos of her retirement party, and she also brought along an old school yearbook. I took a few minutes to leaf through it, and who do I see but William Giles!”

“William Giles?”

“Edward Giles's nephew,” she said, the words tumbling out in a rush. “Remember when Edward talked about that weird nightmare he had about his nephew? This is William, the nephew. He even looks a lot like Edward, doesn't he? A young version of Edward.”

“Are we sure this is the same William Giles?” Ali asked.

“Yes, of course I am.” Lucinda raised her eyebrows and
there was a slight edge to her voice. “Look. William wrote about the most influential person in his life, and it's none other than his uncle Edward Giles.” She paused and locked eyes with me. “
Our
Edward Giles,” she said. “William was the class valedictorian and they printed his graduation address in the yearbook.”

“It sounds like Edward was instrumental in him getting into college,” I said, my eyes scanning the speech. “He's been involved with him every step of the way and guided him into a career.”

“Keep reading,” Lucinda said with a cat-that-swallowed-the-canary smile. “Look where William did his college internship.”

I read the next paragraph and my mind did a cartwheel. “‘Next year, William Giles plans to be an intern at Sonia Scott, Inc. He's looking forward to working in her broadcast division and will be a crew member on her TV show.'”

“Edward's nephew worked for Sonia and he never said a word? How is that possible?”

Lucinda shot me a puzzled glance. “Well, you know we agreed that he's reticent,” she said mildly. “I suppose he doesn't want anyone to know his business.”

“But this is important,” I sputtered. “I can't believe he sat here listening to us talk about Sonia's murder and he never volunteered this information.”

“Why should he?” Lucinda countered. “It couldn't possibly be relevant to the case.” She hesitated. “Besides, his nephew isn't working for Sonia's company anymore. He was only there for a very brief time.”

“How do you happen to know that?” Ali asked.

“I spoke to his former teacher, of course. She read all about it on TMZ. Apparently they wrote a rather unflattering story about Sonia and described her as a diva. They mentioned
William Giles as an example of what happens when Sonia blackballs someone.”
TMZ? Lucinda
never fails to amaze me
. She sipped her iced tea. “I was hesitant to mention this, because one should never speak ill of the dead. At least that's the way I was brought up—”

“Yes, yes.” I cut her off. The rest of the Dream Club would be here shortly, and I wanted Lucinda to cut to the chase. “Lucinda, I don't mean to be rude, but please go on with your story.” I tapped my watch. “The rest of the group will be here any second and I'd like to hear why he left Sonia.”

“Well, that's the part that's a bit unsavory,” she began.

“Unsavory?” Ali exchanged a look with me.

“I mean, it makes Sonia sound rather unkind. Not a very nice person,” she said, shaking her head. “It seems that William was working on a technical crew and hoped to become a lighting designer. I think that's what they're called. Of course, the competition is fierce in television; there are very few jobs open.”

“Yes, I know,” Ali said, sneaking a peek at the kitchen clock. “But what happened?”

“Poor William made a mistake in rehearsal. Somehow he pressed the wrong buttons and the whole set went dark. It wasn't a live show; it was just a rehearsal, you understand. So it wasn't a complete disaster, but Sonia went absolutely ballistic and fired him on the spot. She said that the episode would have to be reshot and since it was nearing the end of the day, the cast and crew would be paid overtime. What a mess for William. He was so apologetic. He begged her to reconsider, but she went storming off to her dressing room to cool down. That was the last he ever saw of her.”

“It sounds dreadful,” Ali said sympathetically. She pumped up the pillows and sat on the sofa. “It must have been a terrible blow to an ambitious young man. Of course,
everyone has some setbacks in their career. I suppose he went on to find another job in television?'

“Oh no, my dear, that's the whole point of the story. He never could get another job. Sonia was very powerful, you see. She told him he would never work in broadcasting again, and she was right. She blackballed him. Very vindictive of her. She made sure that no one hired him. It must have been devastating for him.”

“That's awful,” I burst out. “Anyone can make a mistake.”

“Not if they want to keep working for Sonia's company,” Lucinda said, raising her eyebrows. “There's no forgiveness, no going back.”