Chapter Thirty-Eight
Bethany wiped tables for the last time and tried to keep herself from breaking into tears. It had been two days since the news had reported that they plagiarized their contest entry, and she and Travis had done everything they could to save the business, but it still wasn’t enough.
She slapped the dishcloth on the wood and scrubbed the surface until her wrist ached. Life was so unfair.
The back door slammed shut, and Travis shuffled in from the kitchen. “I’ve finished moving the boxes into Mitch and Paula’s van. There are only a few things I haven’t packed. Are you gonna be okay?”
“Yes.” She took off her rubber gloves and tossed them next to the bucket of soapy water along with the dishrag.
“You’re slinging things around. Are you sure?”
“No, Travis, I’m not sure of anything anymore. I’ve been trying to be strong but this . . .” she looked around the empty restaurant, “this is awful.”
Bethany collapsed onto the nearest chair and rubbed her hand across her eyes.
She couldn’t bear to look at the empty shelves and walls devoid of pictures.
“We’ve had so much sadness over the last few years.
Losing Mom and Dad, having all our money stolen, and now, Grandma’s recipe, by Desmond—who knows what else the rat took from us?
—then watching Hank leave town and losing this old place. My heart can’t take any more.”
Travis pulled out the chair opposite her and sat. “I have an idea. We shouldn’t go out like this, all sad and depressed. Let’s do something fun.”
Bethany put her chin in her hands and wrinkled her nose, giving him an are-you-crazy look. “I can’t dredge up excitement when I’m depressed. I need to wallow.”
“Let’s whip up one last batch of Grandma Lou’s Chocolate Cake with Buttercream Frosting in her kitchen.
We’ll make a hundred cupcakes and hand them out to all our loyal customers.
Desmond may have robbed us of the contest win, but the recipe still belongs to us, right?
Let’s not let the creep steal our joy. This will be a wonderful way to honor Grandma’s memory and all the great times we’ve had in this building.
We’ll gorge ourselves on cake and drown our sorrows in milk. What do you say?”
Bethany smiled and sniffed and blew her nose with a tissue she dug from her pocket. “You had me at cupcakes.”
Travis stood. “Let’s go then. I didn’t pack the mixer. We’ll have to dig out the ingredients and the measuring spoons and cups and baking pans.”
He headed into the kitchen, and Bethany followed. This would be the last time she would ever cook in their kitchen. Who knew what the new owner would turn it into?
They pulled the ingredients from the boxes and the milk and eggs from the cooler.
Bethany combined flour, cocoa powder, baking soda, baking powder, salt, sugar, and brown sugar in the mixing bowl.
Travis added oil, milk, and eggs. Then she picked up the vanilla and handed it to Travis.
“Do you remember when you first smelled vanilla and begged Grandma to let you taste a spoonful?”
Travis groaned and measured the vanilla into the teaspoon. “How could I forget? I never understood how something that smelled so good could taste so bad. What about the time your hands were wet, and you filled ice-cube trays and got your knuckles stuck to the ceiling of the freezer?”
Bethany giggled. “Mom said I was the only kid she knew who could get frostbitten in the middle of the summer. They were something, weren’t they?”
Travis added vanilla to the mixer. “Mom and Grandma? Yeah, they were.”
“Mom, Dad, Grandma, Grandpa. I can’t believe they’re all gone now.
” She poured boiling water, her hands trembling.
“They would hate what’s happening. Grandpa said he started the restaurant on a wish and a prayer and a two-thousand-dollar loan he got from his uncle. All that hard work down the drain.”
Travis emptied the batter into the cupcake pans and put the pans in the oven. “Don’t blame yourself, Bethany. I don’t. Even if we have to close the business, no one can ever take our memories from us. We keep those memories alive whenever we make the old recipes.”
“What do you mean, if? Are you still holding out hope? There is none, Brother. Better let it go now.”
“There’s always hope. You never know what can happen.”
Bethany shrugged. If Travis wanted to keep hope alive for a little while longer, who was she to burst his bubble.
While Travis washed the dishes, Bethany turned on the mixer and sifted in powdered sugar a little at a time until familiar peaks began to form in the buttercream frosting.
“I do blame myself for the restaurant closing,” she said.
“None of this was your fault. It pains me you’ll suffer the consequences too. ”
“I’m okay. Closing Grandma Lou’s is hitting you harder than me.
You’re the one who inherited Mom and Grandma’s cooking skills.
I’m just your sidekick. If it weren’t for Desmond, you would have been set to keep this place running forever.
Besides, think of all the cake I’ve gotten to eat over the past few years. ”
As if Travis had ordered it to happen, the timer went off on the oven, indicating the cupcakes were done.
Bethany grabbed the hot pads to remove the pans, and then she and Travis played cards and waited for the cupcakes to cool.
By the time the dishes were back in the large plastic container, and they had resumed their seats on the stools, the cupcakes were ready to frost and eat.
“You first,” Travis said, pointing to the nearest cupcake.
“Nope. We’ll do it at the same time.” She handed her brother his own. “On the count of three. One, two—”
A pounding sounded at the front door, and Bethany set down the cupcake and looked at Travis. “Who could that be?”
Travis quirked his eyebrow and stood. “I don’t know. Let’s go find out.”
Bethany reached the door first and opened it. “Elizabeth? I’m sorry, but we’re closed.”
Elizabeth’s hair was so windblown, it looked like she’d won a race. “Can I come in? Please, I’d like to talk to you.”
Bethany gestured for Elizabeth to step inside.
She was followed by Susan Winchester, the reporter from Channel Ten News, the cameraman from last time, and dozens of spectators, some of whom Bethany recognized as customers.
“What’s going on?” Bethany asked, the hair on the back of her arms rising as if in revolt.
The last thing she wanted was to be on camera.
She didn’t care if she never saw another one in her lifetime.
“I owe you a heartfelt apology. I’ve made a terrible mistake,” Elizabeth said.
“What’s with all the cameras?” Travis asked, beating Bethany to the question.
“I’ve asked them here.” Elizabeth stood by the counter, turning to face the camera. “I have a confession to make, and I want to be sure it’s recorded and shared on television.”
“Why?”
“You’ll understand in a moment. Trust me, there’s a good reason.”
Bethany couldn’t imagine what would be good enough to require a news story she would welcome, but Elizabeth had already turned to Susan Winchester.
“Let’s roll.”
Susan smiled at the camera. “As we reported earlier in the week, Grandma Lou’s Kitchen and Pantry, and its owners, Bethany and Travis Parker, were eliminated from being named the winners in a national baking competition sponsored by Fresh & Easy, makers of high-end cooking utensils.
Up for grabs? Five hundred thousand dollars in prize money.
Today, this story has taken an amazing turn, with Bethany Parker’s entry being reinstated, and the Chef King’s integrity being called into question. ”
Bethany’s stomach churned like her mixer, starting out slowly and moving into high speed. She stared at Susan Winchester, trying to make sense of the reporter’s words. Her heartbeat stuttered, her thoughts frozen in space and time.
Susan turned to Elizabeth and held the microphone in front of her.
“I’m here with Hank Haverill’s publicist, Elizabeth Fortenay, who first reported the thievery, resulting in Grandma Lou’s entry being disqualified.
Elizabeth, can you describe for our viewers how you figured out the Chef King had stolen the Parkers’ family recipe? ”
Bethany and Travis leaned forward like spectators at a racetrack.
Elizabeth held up a piece of paper, which all eyes, and the camera, zoomed in on. Grandma Lou’s recipe! How had it landed in Elizabeth’s hands?
“I met the Chef King, Desmond Mitchell, when I was in town assisting my client, Hank Haverill, with his newest business interest. Hank had purchased the historic Parker building as an investment. Bethany Parker, one of the former owners, mentioned the contest on more than one occasion to Hank and me, so we were well aware that she intended to enter her grandmother’s recipe in the contest.”
Bethany strained to hear Elizabeth even though the place was so quiet you could have heard a whisper.
“But in my conversations with Desmond, he described the recipe to a tee and insisted it was his paternal grandmother’s, whose name was Louise Mitchell.
He told me he’d shared it on his television show not too long ago and sent me a link to the episode, so I knew what he said was true.
I took the Parkers’ only copy of the recipe in their grandmother’s handwriting, intending to return it to the person I believed was the rightful owner, Desmond Mitchell. ”
Bethany gasped. Travis looked like he was going to kick someone. Bethany laid a restraining hand on his arm.
Elizabeth turned to where they stood by the counter, and the camera followed her movement. “I owe both of you a sincere apology. When I took the recipe, I thought I was preventing you from capitalizing on the theft of a treasured family recipe. I had no idea I was assisting a thief.”
Susan Winchester thrust the microphone under Elizabeth’s nose. “How did you discover your error—that the Chef King actually stole the recipe from the Parkers and not the other way around?”
Elizabeth nodded at the camera, her look apologetic. “From my client, Hank Haverill.”
Bethany’s heart skipped several beats before thumping madly in her ears.
Elizabeth continued. “When Hank learned Bethany was accused of plagiarizing the Chef King’s recipe, he was convinced of her innocence.
Two days ago, he hired a firm of private investigators to get to the bottom of this.
They interviewed a number of elderly Tremont residents.
Dozens of them came forward in support of the Parkers. Many are here today.”
She gestured behind her, and it was then that Bethany registered how many people had entered the shop. There must have been at least thirty, and there were even more outside the building.
Elizabeth continued. “Several of those interviewed recall enjoying the cake when Grandma Lou Parker first shared the recipe in her kitchen in the early 1950s. As it turns out, Desmond’s paternal grandparents were in grade school in the 1950s, and his grandmother’s name is Rosalind and not Lou.
But to dispel any doubt, the private investigator interviewed Desmond’s grandparents, who are still living.
They had no idea their grandson had claimed the recipe was theirs and have issued a statement denying any knowledge of it, as well as an apology on their behalf. ”
“So, what does this mean for the Parkers?” Susan asked. “Have you shared your findings with Fresh & Easy?”
Elizabeth smiled at the camera. “We have. I’m happy to tell everyone that the company has reinstated Grandma Lou’s as the winner of their contest today.”
Elizabeth gestured behind her toward a woman with dark curls, who’d been standing in the shadows. She stepped up to the microphone, a large cardboard check in her hands, and gestured for Bethany to join her.
“My name is Francine Richmond, chief marketing officer at Fresh & Easy. On behalf of the company, we want to congratulate you on your winning entry, Grandma Lou’s Chocolate Cake with Buttercream Frosting.
We are proud to present you with this check for five hundred thousand dollars. Congratulations.”
Francine held the check out to Bethany, but Travis had to guide her forward until she clutched the giant cardboard rectangle in her shaking hands. Was this really happening?
Travis’s grin was wider than that of a kid with a cupcake. A ray of hope sparked in Bethany’s mind like someone had swung a flashlight beam over the dark cavern of despair she’d been living in for the last month.
The camera operator trained his camera on her and snapped a few photographs. Bethany hoped she was smiling, but she had a strong feeling her face still showed some of her shock at the turn of events.
“What will you do with the money?” Susan Winchester asked Bethany and Travis. “Do you plan to keep the restaurant open?”
Bethany cleared her throat. “Yes, that’s the plan.”
“What do you think of the Chef King stealing your recipe and then making it seem like it was his? Are you angry?”
“I was angry at first, but honestly, all I feel right now is sadness. He must have been desperate to steal someone else’s work.”
“Well, I’m certain I speak for all Clevelanders when I say congratulations. We hope you’ll remain a fixture in this neighborhood for many more years to come.” She turned toward the camera. “For Channel Ten News, good night and sweet dreams from Tremont.”
The camera guy swept the room a final time before turning off his camera.
Travis cupped his hands around his mouth. “Hey, everyone. How about some of Grandma Lou’s chocolate cake in cupcake form . . . on the house.”
The crowd cheered.
“Mitch, why don’t you run and get a few gallons of milk and plastic cups from the corner store?” Paula asked her husband, who nodded and offered Bethany his normal quiet smile.
Mitch headed out the door, while Travis went to get the cupcakes, and Bethany turned to Elizabeth. “Thank you for setting the record straight.”
Elizabeth wrinkled her nose. “Oh, don’t thank me. Thank Hank.” She flipped a hand over her shoulder, as if . . .
Panic plunged through Bethany’s veins like she’d been shot with adrenaline.