Éclair and Present Danger, page 18
“Ava yells at the driver?”
“No. Sissy does. In front of Ava.”
“So Sissy is always at the bus stop with Ava in the mornings, right?”
“She is.”
“Does she ever leave Ava to wait alone?”
“Never.”
She tried another avenue. “Have you ever seen them approaching the bus stop from a different direction? Like, say, Bart’s driveway?” She knew it was a long shot, especially considering that would have meant Ava being present when her mother suffocated an old man, but it was worth a chance.
Mr. Nelson’s brow furrowed in thought as he undoubtedly forced his mind back to the previous week. When his head started shaking, she knew he’d come up empty.
“What about Cornelia?” she asked on the heels of a frustrated exhale that was far louder than she’d intended. “Is she walking Con-Man that early? And if she is, maybe she . . . or Harold . . . saw an unfamiliar car or an unfamiliar face that morning?”
“If there was someone who didn’t belong on our street that morning, I’d have seen him myself,” Mr. Nelson insisted around a series of yawns. “I—I was . . . right there . . . like I always am. Playing chess.”
Playing chess . . .
Translation: in his own little world . . .
She made a mental note to talk to Cornelia and Harold the first chance she got. Maybe they saw or heard something.
Stepping forward, she whispered a kiss across the man’s forehead and then gently guided him toward the front door. “Well, keep thinking. If something comes up, let me know. Until then, Sissy Donovan remains a person of interest.”
Chapter 23
Winnie glanced at the timer tasked with monitoring the third and final batch of thumbprint cookies and groaned. Loudly.
“What? We’re coming up with some good stuff here.” Renee thrust her hand into the near-empty chip bowl and pulled out one of the only remaining intact pieces. “Of course, I’ve probably gained five more pounds in the process, but Bob’s no longer counting, so who cares?”
There was no mistaking the catch in Renee’s voice at the mention of her ex-husband. There was also no mistaking the anger that catch stoked inside Winnie.
Bob was a fool. Plain and simple. Changing him would be like trying to change the fact that Bart was dead. All she could do was work with the aftermath.
In Renee’s case, that aftermath was finding a way to build up the woman’s self-esteem. In Bart’s case, that aftermath was making sure justice was served.
“Renee, you’re gorgeous just the way you are. If you doubt me, go knock on Mr. Nelson’s door downstairs. Or walk down Main Street in those heels of yours.”
Renee helped herself to another chip. “I stand by my original question. What’s with the groan just now?”
She looked down at the idea notebook and all the new dessert names and shrugged. “I don’t know. It was kind of a two-folded—maybe even tri-folded—groan.”
“You decipher; I’ll get the cookies.” Grabbing the oven mitt from the table, Renee stood and crossed to the oven. Then, flipping on the interior light, she checked the cookies and declared them done. “I have to say, Uh-Oh You Jammed Your Finger-Print Cookies has to be one of the most creative rescue desserts so far. I can only imagine the coach’s face when you bring these by his office.”
“I wish ones to rescue a person’s motivation would come as easily as that one did. Then we could take the menu into some of the companies in and around Silver Lake.”
One by one, Renee transferred the cookies from the baking sheet to the cooling rack. “So is that one of the reasons for the groan? The lack of motivation-themed dessert names?”
“Yup.”
“I came up with one last night, but it doesn’t have anything to do with motivation.” Renee gave a quick check on the first two batches and then turned around to face Winnie. “Ty thinks it’s silly, but I think it’s kind of cute. Wanna hear it?”
“Sure.” She exited off the left side of her chair and reached for the disposable platter on which she’d deliver the cookies to the Silver Lake Hornets coach.
“It’s for a guy who’s head over heels in love with someone.”
Winnie arranged the first dozen cookies around the center of the plate and then reached for the second, pausing to take in her friend as she did. “Oh, this should be good . . .”
“Ready?”
“Yup.”
“Nut ’n But-er cookies or cake.” Renee’s eyes narrowed and then widened with pride. “Get it? It’s like saying, ‘nothing but her’ . . . and it’ll be a butter cake or a butter cookie with nuts in it!”
She stopped mid cookie placement and laughed. “Cute. Very, very cute.” And it was. It just didn’t help attract companies . . .
“Can I add it to the book?” Renee asked.
“Add away. It’s great.”
“Cool.” Renee crossed to the table, added the dessert to the menu list, and then returned to the counter to help Winnie. “Didn’t you say you were going to make these white chocolate raspberry thumbprints?”
“That’s right.”
“Then shouldn’t we drizzle on the white chocolate before you put them on the plate?” Then, waving off her own question, Renee added a few cookies herself. “Don’t answer that. The white chocolate is already in the warming bag.”
“Thanks.” Winnie finished plating the first two dozen cookies and then wandered over to check the next batch. Another few minutes and they could be added as well. “I couldn’t do this without you, Renee. I hope you know that.”
“Yes, you could. But it’s fun to pretend otherwise.” Renee retrieved the bowl of chip dust from the table and carried it over to the sink to be cleaned along with the cookie pans. “So, back to the groan and its second reason . . .”
“Bart’s killer needs to be found. It’s been a week and a day. Surely someone saw something.”
“What about Mr. Nelson? He’s always sitting on the porch in the morning.”
“But he was playing chess.”
Renee filled the left side of the sink with soapy water and dunked the chip bowl inside. “Oh. So he saw nothing.”
“Exactly.”
Once it was good and soapy, Renee dipped the bowl into the right side of the sink and then sprayed off the rest of the soap. “You know, we do have a police department in this town, Winnie. They’re the ones who should be stressing over who killed your neighbor.”
“We don’t have a suspect yet,” Winnie pointed out. “At least the cops don’t.”
“Meaning?”
“Meaning I’m leaning heavily toward Sissy Donovan.” Pulling her rescue bag with its warming compartment onto the counter, she began to pack the essentials for her next rescue—plates, napkins, forks, and a jar of red sugar crystals. As she worked, she shared details of her conversation with Sissy the previous afternoon. When she was done, she added the last of the cookies, grabbed her purse, and headed for the door. “I gotta get these over to the college now.”
Renee turned off the water and quickly dried her hands. “You need any help?”
“No, I’ve got it.”
“You sure?”
“I’m sure.” She stopped at the top of the steps just long enough to glance back at her friend before beginning her descent down to the ambulance. “Call me on the cell if any new deliveries come in.”
* * *
Winnie was on her way back to the ambulance when she heard her name from across the faculty parking lot at Silver Lake College. She contemplated the many positives associated with pretending not to hear, but, in the end, she just couldn’t do it. After all, the whole reason she was back on campus for the third time in three days was because of the person now slaloming his way around cars to say hello.
She brought the stretcher to a stop and raised her hand in greeting, but Jay kept coming. And while one part of her wished he wouldn’t, another part (the part that wanted to squeal with excitement) was glad he did.
“I was hoping I’d catch you,” he said as he glided to a stop on the opposite side of the stretcher. “So how’d it go?”
“How’d it . . . go?” She knew she sounded like a moron, but it was the best she could do at the moment.
“With Coach Simpson.” He raked his long fingers through his hair and dropped his focus onto the empty stretcher between them. “I’d wanted to be there when you made the rescue, but a student showed up at my door as I was getting ready to head over to the athletic building, and he needed my help.”
More than anything, she wanted to dull her senses when it came to Jay Morgan and the megawatt smile now making its way across his face, but he didn’t make it easy, that was for sure. Especially when said smile was topped off with eyes trained on no one but her . . .
“Winnie?”
When it became apparent he was actually expecting a reply, she willed herself to say something, anything.
Keep it short. Keep it sweet.
“He loved it. So did his entire staff, based on how many of them were taking pictures and videos when I came through the door and started administering IV to his dessert.”
“Awesome. That’ll surely get you some more customers in the days and weeks to come.”
“Thank you. I—I know you were a huge factor in today’s delivery.” She hated that her voice broke a little, hated the reason for it even more. But the last thing she wanted to do was reach for something that couldn’t happen. “Well, I imagine you’ve got a class to teach, so I better let you go.”
He consulted his watch and then helped guide the stretcher over to the ambulance. “My next class isn’t for another forty-five minutes, so I’ve got time.”
“Oh.” She unlocked the rear latch, took control of the stretcher, and loaded it into the rig. Once everything was secure and ready for transport back to the house, she closed the door. “Well, I probably should be returning to my, um, house . . . in case another rescue request comes in.”
There was no denying the way his smile faltered and his eyes dulled, but still, he pressed on. “Okay, then how about this weekend? There’s a great local guitarist playing in one of the cafés downtown on Saturday night. Maybe we could go to dinner together and then check that out afterward?”
Music?
Dinner?
She tried to ignore the image now playing in her head—an image that had her sitting at a corner table laughing and talking for hours with the handsome man now waiting for her answer. But it refused to go away. Instead, it expanded to include the very real, very wonderful feeling of his hand on hers . . .
“Winnie?”
Call it silly, call it childish, but all her life she’d believed in Mr. Right—believed she’d know him as such the second they met.
She still believed that.
In fact now, thanks to the man holding her hand at that exact moment, she knew Mr. Right existed.
The only part she hadn’t seen coming was the part about him having a daughter who wanted nothing whatsoever to do with Winnie.
Impossible circumstances . . .
Blinking against the sudden wetness in her eyes, she tugged her hand from his grasp and stepped back. “I have to go, Jay. Thanks. For everything.”
Chapter 24
Short of fast-forwarding to the weekend and its vast opportunities to be antisocial, the next best scenario for avoiding the pain knocking at her heart was baking. Especially when that baking came with a fast-approaching deadline that was little more than an hour away.
“I considered telling the school we couldn’t turn around an order for four dozen cookies this quickly, but I also didn’t think we should be turning away business so soon in the game.”
Winnie looked down at the dough in her bowl, added a drop of vanilla, and then pressed the power button on the electric mixer one more time. “You did the right thing, Renee,” she said over the whir of the beaters. “The more we do, the more word of mouth we’ll drum up. The more word of mouth we drum up, the more customers we’ll get. The more customers we get, the more likely it is Ty and Lovey won’t starve.”
“Phew!” Renee ripped off the last of four pieces of parchment paper and lined the final pan called into service to help recognize Silver Lake Elementary School’s Big Thinkers Club. “I just wish you could have had more time at the college.”
“Why? I did everything I needed to do. The coach and his staff were thrilled.”
“I was thinking more along the lines of you getting to have some time with this new guy—Jay, right?” Renee placed the first pan and a cookie scoop in front of Winnie and then leaned against the refrigerator. “So when are you guys going out again?”
Winnie’s mumbled response must have sounded enough like a real answer, because Renee continued on, her enthusiasm for the subject building to a hand-clapping crescendo. “Oh! I can help you with your hair and makeup if you want!”
Her hand shook as she dug the scoop into the dough and hoped Renee was too wrapped up in her own thoughts to notice.
“You could even borrow some of my shoes.” Renee parted company with the fridge long enough to reach inside and grab a soda. “So where are you going? That’ll help determine how we should style your hair. If you’re going to dinner, we’ll leave it down. If you’re going to do something outdoors, like a hike, we can put it into a high ponytail with some flirty waves.”
“So, um, what do you think of my adding a chocolate drizzle to these cookies? Do you think the kids would like that?”
Renee paused the soda can in front of her mouth and shrugged. “Sure. Why not? Aside from the fun of watching the drizzling process, it’s more chocolate.”
“Drizzle it is.”
“Anyway, back to your hair—”
“Can you check the oven?” Winnie finished filling the first tray and moved on to the second. “Make sure I set it to preheat?”
Renee took a sip, peeked at the digital display, and then narrowed her eyes on Winnie. “Why are you being such a killjoy right now?”
“I’m not being a killjoy.”
“Yes, you are.”
She added two more scoops of dough to the second pan and then stepped to the right to start on the third. “I’m getting everything ready for the next job. How’s that being a killjoy?”
“I’m trying to talk about your hair and clothes for your next date with Jay, and you’re trying to sidetrack me with . . .” Renee smacked her can down on the counter and crossed to Winnie and the baking sheets. “Wait. This is deliberate, isn’t it?”
“I always space my cookies apart like this. You know that.” She knew she was being evasive, but it was preferable to answering questions she simply didn’t want to answer. Maybe another time . . . When her emotions weren’t so close to the surface . . .
“C’mon, Winnie. Talk to me.”
“I am.” She filled up the third and fourth trays with rapid-fire speed and then popped them all into the oven. With her distractions now baking, she seized on another. “Imagine you’re stressed beyond belief and something comes along to make it even worse. How’s The Last Straw-Berry Shortcake grab you?”
“What did he do?”
Crossing to the table, Winnie reached for a pen and their idea pad and added the dessert to the running list. “It doesn’t have to be a guy. Women can have days that push them to the limit, too.”
“I’m having one right now, thanks to you.” Renee marched over to the table, stole the idea pad from Winnie’s hand, and stuffed it into the living room chair next to a clearly perturbed Lovey.
“Me?” Winnie parroted.
“Yes, you. Tell me what happened with Jay right now!” Renee sat on the couch and patted the vacant cushion to her left. “Come. Sit. Talk to me.”
“But I’ve got cookies to watch.”
“Cookies that have another six minutes before we even have to check them.” Renee patted the couch again. “Come. Sit. Now.”
Winnie did as she was ordered but not without a fair amount of feet dragging and mumbling.
“I don’t get this, Winnie.” Renee tossed one throw pillow in Winnie’s lap and used the other to support her own back. “You were over the moon about this guy yesterday.”
I still am.
Careful not to share that thought aloud, Winnie did her best to sum up the issue as succinctly as possible. “We’re not suited to each other.”
“Excuse me?”
“I bake. He . . . teaches.”
“And?”
“And, um, his schedule . . . as it is . . . and, um . . . the fact that he has a kid . . . means he has to lead a pretty buttoned-up life.”
At first, Renee’s laugh was merely startling, but as it continued (and continued) it crossed into annoying territory. “You, Winnie Johnson, are the most buttoned-up person I know.”
Winnie blinked, and then blinked again.
“Don’t you dare pretend you don’t know what I’m talking about,” Renee protested.
“I—I don’t . . .” Pulling her hand from its near death grip on the pillow, Winnie reached up and checked her nose.
Same size . . .
“How many times over the past few weeks have I asked you to go to a club with me on weekends that Ty is with Bob?”
“Um. A few?”
“That’s right. And your reasons for turning me down?”
She lowered her hand back down to the pillow and pulled it to her chest. “I think one of the times I was having dinner with Bridget. And . . . another time I was helping Mr. Nelson with something.”
Renee’s head bobbed along with each reason Winnie shared. When the reasons stopped, so, too, did Renee’s head. “Don’t forget the time you had two more chapters to read in your book . . .”
“It was a really good book,” she said in her defense.
“You’re thirty-four. You’re single. And you’re beautiful. Yet you aren’t dating, or even trying to date, because you prefer to be home reading and hobnobbing with the blue hairs.”
