“Well, it’s a hot day, I’ve got
more work than I can handle, and I miss you like crazy. How’s the training
course going?”
“Boring. I’d hoped we would
concentrate on the gun range and tactical techniques. Instead, it’s mostly a
matter of studying a fat book full of rules. And I know for a fact that a hot
day in Phoenix will trump any hot day Taos has to offer.”
She laughed. “You’re so good at
putting things into perspective for me.”
“I’ll ditto the part about
missing you like crazy, though. Boy am I glad I’m outta here in one more day.”
She wanted to tell him about her
new caretaking dilemma; running things past Beau often helped sort out the
puzzling parts, but she heard voices in the background and he rushed through a
goodbye so he could get back to his class. She stepped out of her van and
approached the trucking company’s offices.
An icy blast of air conditioning
hit her as she walked in, a reminder that the repairman should have gotten hers
fixed by now.
A girl with black, unnaturally
puffy hair sat behind a grungy brown counter that ran the full length of the
small office. She continued to chew her gum and didn’t look up.
“Excuse me?” Sam said, after
tapping a fingernail on the counter didn’t elicit a response. “I’m with the
USDA and I need information on one of your employees.”
That statement was not exactly
true—Sam was an independent contractor for the agency—but this seemed like the
kind of situation where some measure of authority would be needed to get
answers. The girl quickly covered the fashion magazine she’d been reading and
looked up a little nervously.
“Marshall Gray. Is he in at the
moment?” Sam had no idea what Gray’s position was supposed to be. She’d
forgotten to ask Martha Preston if that was in their file. He could be anything
from a manager to a driver, she supposed.
The young woman continued to
stare. Sam would have asked if she
habla’d
inglés
but the magazine was clearly in English and the girl
had been devouring that.
“Marshall Gray? He works here,”
Sam prompted.
A tiny wrinkle formed between her
brows. “I don’t think so.” It wasn’t a smart comeback, just genuine puzzlement.
“He doesn’t work here?”
“I never heard of him. I been
here three years.”
“Really?” Sam wasn’t sure where
to turn next. “Are there other branches of the company—maybe in other towns?”
The girl shook her head.
Sam thanked her and left.
Clearly, the man had lied on Sadie’s admission papers. She got back into her
van and let the engine idle while she dialed the cell number Martha had given
her for Gray. It rang the requisite four times and went to a generic voice mail
where she left a message without giving many details, just in case that, too,
was a lie. With no other ideas she put the van in gear and headed toward
Sweet’s Sweets.
Although the repairman’s truck
was gone, one step inside the bakery told Sam that her problem had not been
fixed. It was hotter inside than out. Her two portable fans were running full
blast but Becky, with her hair clipped up off her neck, looked about ready to
crack.
“This buttercream isn’t acting
right,” she moaned. Waxed paper squares on a tray held blobs of frosting that
should have been roses. There was not a sharp petal edge to be seen.
“Oh, sweetie, that’s okay,” said
Sam. “You’re right, and there’s nothing to be done about it. It’s the heat.”
She looked around. “Just scrape
the icing back into the bowl and get it into the fridge. And those tubs of
frosting we made in advance for tomorrow’s wedding cakes—we better keep those
refrigerated too.”
They picked up everything in
sight that couldn’t withstand a hundred degrees and carried it to the walk-in.
With baked tiers for six wedding cakes and another dozen birthday cakes waiting
to be assembled and decorated, things were getting crowded in there.
“What was the repairman’s excuse?
Why didn’t he fix the AC?”
“I’m not sure. He talked to Jen.”
Sam left Becky to handle the
kitchen while she went up front to get the rest of the story.
“He said it needs a part that
wasn’t available here in town,” Jen told her. Although her job kept her away
from the large bake oven in the back, a sheen of perspiration gave her face a
rosy glow. “He called someone and it’s on order from Albuquerque. It’ll be two
days before the part gets here.”
Sam suppressed a snarl. If old
man Tafoya ever properly maintained anything this probably wouldn’t have
happened. She wondered if she could hold him responsible for any losses the
bakery might have as a result, but what would be the point? Customers didn’t
care if the landlord reimbursed Sam for a damaged cake. They just wanted their
cakes delivered on time and with decorations that didn’t drip down the sides.
Why, oh why did the wedding season have to come in June and July?
She glanced at the clock. It was
nearly closing time and the evening would cool off.
“Once the outdoor air starts to
cool a bit, let’s open everything up and see if we can catch a breeze to blow
some of this heat out of here. We’re done with the oven for the day and we’ve
shut it off.” She bit at her lip. “Tomorrow, I’ll come in way early and get the
breakfast breads baked. For the next couple of days we’ll have to shut down the
oven early in the day. Otherwise, we’ll never get anything decorated.”
The thought occurred to her that
she’d once run the whole business from her home. If worse came to worst, she
could take cakes home and decorate there. But what a pain—all her equipment and
tools were here now. She let out a huge sigh and decided to take it one step at
a time.
Sam arrived home, grumpy and
frustrated, about the time she really should be going to bed if she wanted any
sleep at all before starting work all over again. Marshall Gray had never
returned her call, but Delbert Crow had called twice to step up the pace so he
could put the Grays’ house on the auction schedule.
“Mom, this just isn’t you,” Kelly
said after Sam had stomped into the kitchen ranting about how crummy the day
had gone. “You, the original Little Mary Sunshine, the lady who is never
rattled by anything.”
Sam came to a stop. Her daughter
was right. Going around in a bad mood was not her style.
“I think you’re simply horny.
Beau has been gone too long.” Kelly shrugged and gave her mother a half-smile
then headed toward her own bedroom.
Oh, god, Sam thought. I needed
that pointed out by my thirty-four year old daughter? But it was
so
true. She felt her mood lift and she melted into laughter, leaning against the
refrigerator.
After a few minutes she decided
that life didn’t need to consist entirely of work and that stressful times
always came and went. All she had to do was make it through this stretch. She
poured a glass of iced tea and carried it to the living room, switching on the
ten o’clock news with the futile hope that the weather report would announce an
impending cold front.
When her bedside alarm jolted her
awake at two a.m. she had to work at reminding herself of her
this-too-shall-pass mantra. It was actually a little chilly in her bedroom,
where she’d slept with the window open, and that helped bolster her resolve to
get the pastries done early.
By four o’clock she had a good
assortment of muffins, scones and coffee cake on display for her patrons, and
she’d baked layers for the next day’s cake orders. She shut down the large bake
oven and stood in the center of the kitchen with the back door wide open to the
predawn air.
She made good progress, tackling
the most difficult piping techniques in buttercream well before the sun rose.
By the time Becky arrived, Sam had finished a wedding cake and four birthday
pieces.
“Wow, I’m impressed,” her
assistant said.
“I whipped up this batch of teal,
for that bride who’s into vivid colors,” Sam said, “so if you could just make
up two dozen roses . . .”
“Absolutely.”
“And I’ve made a couple of
executive decisions. For every cake that doesn’t specifically require
buttercream we’ll go with fondant. It’s more durable. And sugar flowers instead
of piped ones. It’s a bit more work up front, but at least we don’t have to do
it over again.”
No argument from Becky.
Yesterday’s disastrous tray of lumpy roses was still fresh in her mind,
apparently. She set to work on teal roses, carrying trays of them to the fridge
as soon as they were done. They could do this. As long as the repairman
received the part and got himself back out here, they only had to withstand a
couple more days at this pace. Or so she thought.
At nine o’clock a young woman
came in and told Jen she needed a wedding cake and would be back to pick it up
that afternoon. When Jen informed her that wasn’t how it worked, that they were
backed up nearly three weeks with orders, the lady became agitated and Sam got
called away from the chocolate fondant that was giving her fits anyway.
She pasted on a smile and walked
out front.
“This girl says I can’t get my
wedding cake today,” the bride whined. “I have to. The invitations are out. The
wedding is at ten in the morning.”
“We’ll do our best, but you have
to realize that your options are limited. Most people order their wedding cakes
at least a month in advance.” Sam pulled out her portfolio of pictures,
thinking about all the other orders that weren’t getting done at the moment
because she was humoring this latecomer.
Within thirty minutes, they’d struck
a deal. Sam knew they had some generic layers, both round and square, which
they’d baked ahead to put on display as birthday cakes. She could accommodate
the bride’s colors but the young woman would have to give her some leeway with
design and shape, and the cake itself would have to be vanilla, chocolate or
red velvet. No specialty flavors on such short notice. And someone would have
to pick up the cake after eight the next morning.
“Gotta love those hangers,” Jen
commented as the woman left, using their code word for those customers who left
important details hanging until the last moment.
Sam heaved a sigh and headed back
to the kitchen, ready to throw this customer’s layers together as soon as she’d
finished draping the chocolate fondant for a birthday order that had to be
delivered before noon.
When another hanger showed up as
she was heading out the door for the delivery—a man who’d planned every detail
for his wife’s surprise birthday party, except for the cake—it took all Sam
could muster to greet him with a smile. He’d just assumed that a cake to feed a
hundred was something you could walk in and buy off the shelf. He was very
apologetic and offered to pay extra. Damn right, you will, she thought. She
smiled and quoted him double the normal rate.
“We have a twelve-inch square and
an eight-inch square in the fridge, don’t we?” she asked Becky as she hustled
through the kitchen. “Cover them both in white fondant, will you? And do we
have any spare sugar flowers made up, something that isn’t committed to another
order?”
At her assistant’s nod, she
breathed a little easier. “I always make extras of everything, in case of
breakage.”
“I’ll be back in thirty minutes
from delivering this birthday, and then I better have some kind of brilliant
inspiration. The guy is coming back at four and wants to surprise his wife with
something dazzling.”
Becky rolled her eyes as Sam
headed out with the chocolate birthday cake in hand. A picture of the surprise
cake was already forming in her head and she started to relax as she turned up
the air in her van and took the back roads to her destination.
She passed the turn where she’d
gone the previous day to Sadie Gray’s house, reminding her that she’d still
heard nothing from the elusive husband, Marshall, who never answered his phone
and couldn’t even be truthful about where he worked. The agency was setting an
auction date for the house despite her information that there was un-expired
milk in the fridge. Delbert Crow must be feeling some pressure from above
because he normally wasn’t quite so prompt about his duties.
She dropped off the birthday cake
to a party where kids were roaring around the backyard, already in a frenzy of
red-punch-induced energy. The little birthday boy barely gave his cake a second
glance but his mother gushed over the circus motif that Sam and Becky had
created from peppermint sticks and candy clay animals.
On her way back to Sweet’s
Sweets, Sam decided to cruise past the Gray house once more, just in case. But
the place seemed the same as before. No fresh tire tracks, no change in the
lights or draperies, no mail or newspapers piled up. What was going on here?
Back at the pastry shop, Becky
brought out the two white fondant covered square cakes and an assortment of
leftover sugar flowers. It took Sam moments to stack them and start adding
yellow daisies, orange lilies, and purple asters to create a flower garden on
top that trailed down to the base. Touches of tiny pink anemones and a dusting
of clear edible glitter made the piece zing. A stickpin with Happy Birthday on
it, and the birthday surprise was ready for the man who would be there soon to
pick it up.
“He’ll be very relieved,” Becky
said, admiring the finished cake.
“Not bad, considering how quickly
it came together.” Sam boxed the cake and carried it to the front so Jen would
have it ready the moment the customer walked in.
She glanced at her cell phone.
Still no call from Marshall Gray but there was another from Delbert Crow. She
ignored it and pulled the next order form from the top of the big stack on her
desk.
Sam’s alarm brought another two
a.m. awakening. Way too soon. She rolled over to ignore it but knew that she
didn’t dare close her eyes. Despite the fact that her back ached and her legs
felt perpetually cramped, there was too much at stake. She’d had dreams all
night about trying to deliver cakes, but all the homes were abandoned and she
couldn’t locate the owners. With a groan she sat on the edge of her bed and
switched on the lamp.