Chapter 3
“I didn’t want you to think I was just some nobody. You see, I usually find myself among strangers because I drift here and there trying to forget the sad things that happened to me.”
—Jay Gatsby in F. Scott Fitzgerald’s The Great Gatsby
At four p.m. I arrived with Darcy at Dream Cuisine.
I loved cooking there. Following strict health guidelines, I’d arranged it so I could also fill orders at home, if necessary, but there was something about baking in the ghost kitchen that made me feel free and ultra-creative.
It was three times the size of the kitchen in my cabin and outfitted with dozens of pans, utensils, counter space, a pantry, and a walk-in refrigerator.
Plus the location, not far from Feast for the Eyes, was superconvenient.
Darcy meowed from inside his cat carrier.
I never allowed him to leave the bag when I was cooking, which didn’t make him happy—cat hair in the food I made was a no-no—but given the alternative, he’d rather be with me than home alone.
I rested the bag on the desk to the right of the front door, tossed my keys beside the bag and, after thoroughly washing my hands, slung on an apron.
For the next few minutes, I arranged mixing bowls on the stainless-steel counters, pulled two blenders from the shelf beneath the island, and removed a number of utensils from the magnetic strip affixed to one of the walls.
“I’m here,” Vanna trilled, entering through the rear door. She was wisely dressed in a loose-fitting blouse, leggings, and flats. Like me, she parked her personal items on the desk, washed her hands, tied an apron over her clothes, and tucked her hair beneath a mesh-style chef’s cap.
“We need two dozen scones,” I said.
“For?”
“Legal Eagles.” The law firm was one of my most prestigious clients. “Plain.”
“Why not spruce them up with ancho chiles and paprika?”
I wrinkled my nose. “Heavens, no. They don’t go for anything frou-frou.
” Vanna was the kind of chef who thought micro whatever was chic.
“Also, we’ll need two dozen raspberry scones for Perfect Brew.
I’ll get started on the apple-rosemary muffins for Blessed Bean.
Then I’ll frost vanilla cupcakes for Milky Way.
I have four dozen in the freezer, which will work perfectly.
” On light baking days, I often made extra muffins and cakes and froze them, in case I needed them in a pinch.
“I’d like to wrap up everything in a couple of hours.
I have a big day scheduled tomorrow. Deliveries. Meetings. Helping out at the bookshop.”
“Why don’t I make all the deliveries and free you up? I’ll arrive at seven sharp.”
“Perfect.”
Surprisingly, with no chatter about the incident between her and Chloe making a dash for Jason Gardner, Vanna got to work.
Despite our differences, in the short while we’d been working together, we did seem to move around a kitchen as if choreographed. We never bumped into one another. Vanna started to hum a Swifties’ favorite. I joined in. No lyrics. Singing lyrics might make us miss a step in a recipe.
A half hour later, the rear door opened again. Tegan tapped the frame as she sauntered in. “Knock, knock.”
I groaned. “No jokes.”
“I was merely announcing my arrival, but since I can tell you’re dying to laugh …” She winked. “Dying.”
I motioned for her to continue. She would taunt me until I caved.
“Knock, knock.”
“Who’s there?”
“Cat.”
“Cat who?”
“Allie Catt you take a joke?” She chortled.
“Ha ha. Groan. What’s up? Why are you here?”
She perched on a stool beside the island, shifted her cross-body purse to the other side, and pulled her cell phone from it. “I did some digging.”
“About?” I regarded her.
“Jason Gardner.”
Vanna was mixing dough by hand. She paused, her curiosity piqued. “What did you learn? Did you find it on the Internet? You know you can’t believe everything you read there.”
“No.” Tegan tapped the cell’s screen. “I’m referring to my phone because I made notes. Patrick Hardwick filled me in.”
“Patrick?” I waggled my eyebrows. “When did you run into him?”
“He stopped by the shop for the copy of Dune we put on hold. A little birdie told him it was in.”
I said to Vanna, “I’m the birdie. I bumped into him at Ragamuffin.” I turned back to Tegan. “So … fill us in. Don’t keep us in suspense.”
“Until recently, Jason was living in California.”
I said, “I overheard Iggie Luckenbill say Jason was a bigwig in Hollywood, but then he reneged on building a mall and came here.”
“True. Partly.”
“What happened? Did he run out of funds? Come up against an adversary?”
“Nope. It seems he was in love with a woman named Delilah Brenneman, but she married someone else thirteen years ago.” She swiped to a page in her notes and showed it to me. “This is her.”
Delilah had beautiful blond curls, a Cupid’s-bow mouth, and arresting eyes.
“She’s quite pretty in a delicate way,” I said.
“Yep. Apparently, he was so heartbroken, he abandoned all the projects he had in the works.”
“Thirteen years later?” I shook my head. It didn’t make sense. I could see how losing the love of one’s life in the present might make one’s interest wane … but thirteen years later? Something didn’t add up.
“Patrick didn’t have an answer,” Tegan said.
“How much of the mall had been built?”
“The foundation and framing.”
“So it’s a shell.”
“Yep.”
“How sad,” Vanna said. “Why did the woman Jason loves marry someone else?”
“Patrick wasn’t sure.”
“Why does he know so much about a newcomer to town?” I asked.
Her mouth quirked up on one side. “Because Patrick is miffed Jason is here, so he did a deep dive into his past.”
“Why is he miffed?” I started scooping the apple-rosemary muffin batter into the pans I’d lined with cupcake liners. “It’s not like his renovation business is competitive with a builder who creates malls.”
“He says he’s worried the mall won’t be eco-friendly. He loves Bramblewood and doesn’t want to see the landscape tarnished.”
“How silly,” Vanna said as she inserted a tray of scones into one of the oversized ovens.
“A mall doesn’t necessarily ruin the landscape.
Some are quite beautiful. Have you ever seen the mall in Melbourne, Australia?
Stunning architecture. It features faceted gold ceiling panels and travertine flooring.
And Palm Court in Miami, Florida, is breathtaking with its blue glass facade. ”
Tegan gawked at her sister.
“I subscribe to Architectural Digest,” Vanna said. “I find it relaxing to browse.” She switched on the oven light and peeked at the scones. “You heard Jason. He said it’s going to be classy, and he promised he’d keep the town’s heritage and current architectural style in mind.”
“We’ll see.” I inserted the filled muffin pans into another oven, set a timer for eighteen minutes, and took the mixing bowls to the sink. “By the way, Tegan,” I said over my shoulder, “I think Patrick has the hots for you.”
“He does not.”
Vanna joined me at the sink and deposited her dirty items on the drainboard. “I liked Patrick for a nanosecond, until I found out he’s a raw-food omnivore. Can you imagine?”
I chuckled. “There’s nothing horrible about it. It means he eats raw fish, meat, dried meat, and plant-based foods.”
“But nothing is cooked. Spare me!” Vanna wriggled with displeasure. “Also, he didn’t go to college. Straight out of high school he started working for the family business.”
“Lots of people wind up working in a family business,” Tegan stated.
“It’s a farm.” Vanna made a face like she’d smelled something rotten.
“A family farm,” I clarified, “with over two hundred acres. They grow farm products and also offer a farm stay in their opulent barn. Plus they have classes and events to teach people about organic living.”
Tegan’s eyes widened. “How do you know so much about them?”
“Because I consulted them when I wanted to find the best places around Asheville to buy eggs and fruit. They told me Patrick gave up farm life eight years ago to become a home renovator.”
“To his credit, he reads a ton more books than you do, Sis.”
“Pfft.” Vanna fetched another mixing bowl. “I must say I’m intrigued by Jason Gardner.” She disappeared into the walk-in refrigerator and reemerged with a colander of rinsed raspberries. “He’s my style, right down to his adorable grin. And the way he dresses? Pure class.”
Tegan hopped off her stool, plucked a raspberry from the colander, and popped it into her mouth. “Allie, how’s it going with you and Zach?”
Zach Armstrong was a detective for the Bramblewood Police Department. He and I first met at Feast for the Eyes, and I’d been instantly attracted to him. He had a strong jaw, mesmerizingly dark eyes, and a dry wit.
“You haven’t spoken about him for a few weeks,” Tegan went on, “so I’ve been afraid to ask.”
I ogled her skeptically. Tegan was never afraid to ask about my love life.
Ever. Why, almost every time I’d slept over at her house while growing up, she’d wakened me from a sound sleep to pelt me with questions about this or that boy.
To be fair, I had been reluctant to discuss Zach of late. “Dating didn’t work out.”
“Why not?” Tegan squawked. “You two are perfect for each other. The girl next door and the policeman? A match made in heaven.”
I wasn’t a girl next door by any stretch of the imagination. Yes, I had an easy smile—nothing sensual about it—but I had ample curves. Plus I had sage-green eyes, which my ex-fiancé had told me were smoldering.
“Well?” Tegan tapped the counter.
“We …” I crinkled my mouth.
“Out with it.”
“We kissed.”
“Woot!”
“Once.”
“Once?” Vanna echoed. “On the lips or the cheek?”
“On the lips. It didn’t click. For either of us.”