Éclair and Present Danger (20 page)

W
innie 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.”

*   *   *

W
innie 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.”

S
hort 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.”

Winnie rested her chin on the pillow and stared at Lovey (happily licking her private parts). “You know, I've never understood why people say that.
Blue hairs
 . . . I mean, what's with that? I'd get saying silver hairs or white hairs or even
no
hairs. But
blue
hairs? It's false advertising.”

The ding of the timer saved her from further discussion (and Lovey from completely finishing her preening). “Cookies are done!”

She was halfway to the kitchen when she noticed Renee hadn't moved. In fact, a glance over her shoulder revealed a gape-mouthed woman who looked as if she'd gotten run over by a truck.

Or a Dessert Squad . . .

Laughing at her own funny, she slid an oven mitt onto her hand, opened the oven, and pulled out four sheets of perfectly baked Smart Cookie cookies. “Mmmm. These came out perfect!”

“You're too much, you know that?”

“No, I'm extraordinary—” She thumped the last pan down on top of the cooling rack and jogged back into the living room. Stopping beside Lovey, she reached a hand
between the cat (hissing, of course) and the cushion and extracted her idea book. “I just came up with another rescue dessert! You're Egg-straordinary Custard for someone who needs a little stroking!”

*   *   *

I
t wasn't until she was a solid mile from the house before Winnie finally let herself breathe.

Somehow, someway, she'd managed to dodge Renee's questions (and frustrated glares) about Jay right up until the moment it was time to head out to Silver Lake Elementary School. She'd finished the cookies, filled the IV bag with melted chocolate, packed her rescue bag, and carried everything to the car. Every time her friend tried to insert another question, Winnie had found a way to work it into another dessert name.

With any luck, the members of the Big Thinkers Club would have lots of questions about her Dessert Squad and she could delay returning to the house until after Renee had left for the day . . .

At the traffic light she reached for the power button on the radio, only to pull her hand back at the weight of Lovey's stare. “Don't you start on me, Little Miss, or I'll take you back to the house right now.”

No. Renee's still there . . .

Releasing a sigh born of equal parts frustration, irritation, and downright disappointment, Winnie dropped her head onto the headrest and waited for the light to turn green. “I really liked him, Lovey. Liked him a lot. But his daughter needs to come first.”

Lovey stood up, stretched, and then lowered herself back down to the passenger seat. If she had an opinion on the subject of Jay Morgan, the feline kept it to herself.

When the light changed, they lurched forward with the rest of the early afternoon traffic headed toward the outskirts of town. Some were probably heading to the mall in nearby
Jennings, some to the park to play or work out, and some back home after an early shift at work or a much-needed stop at the grocery store.

Along the way, people stopped and looked at Winnie as she went by. The first few times, she found herself peeking in the rearview mirror to see if she'd forgotten to comb her hair (she hadn't) or to see if she looked as strung out as she felt (she did). But eventually, she began to realize passing drivers and the occasional pedestrian were checking out her ambulance and the Emergency Dessert Squad logo that claimed both sides of the vehicle.

“You know something, Lovey? I think we might really have a shot with this idea.” At Lovey's yawn, she pulled her right hand from the steering wheel and pointed at the cat. “Which means
you
might actually get a cat toy the next time I stop at the store.”

She slowed as they approached the school crossing sign and then turned into the upper level parking lot for her pick of at least a half dozen unoccupied visitor spots. Shutting off the car, Winnie couldn't help but smile at the way Lovey jumped up and surveyed their surroundings. “I hate to break it to you, Lovey, but I can't take you with me on this call. It's a school. No pets allowed. Right now, in this weather, it's okay for you to wait for me. But once it starts getting hot, you'll have to stay at home for stuff like this.”

Reaching across Lovey's seat, she rolled down the window just enough to provide air flow through the cab and then made her way around to the back of the rig. Two (okay, it was really closer to three) minutes later, she rolled the stretcher and its four dozen You Are One Smart Cookie cookies up to the main entrance and pressed the button for admittance.

She didn't need to look over her shoulder toward the car to know Lovey was watching. She could feel the animal's eyes burning a hole in the back of her head. Still, she managed to smile when the school's secretary buzzed her in.

“You must be with the Dessert Squad.” The woman pulled out a phone and snapped a picture of first the cookie-topped stretcher, and then Winnie. “I saw the article in the paper over the weekend and then read something about it on one of those social media sites last night.”

“That's great to hear.” Winnie reached into her pocket and pulled out a thin stack of business cards she'd printed off the computer. “If you know of anyone who might be interested in a dessert rescue, feel free to pass on my card.”

“Oh, I will. I most definitely will.” The woman set the cards on the desk just inside the door and then returned her attention to the stretcher and the pole Winnie had affixed to the top edge of the stretcher before coming inside. “Is that an IV pole?”

“Yes, it is.” She set her rescue bag on the bottom edge of the stretcher and unzipped it to show the woman the melted icing inside. “Once I get to the room where the kids are, I'll attach the icing bag to the pole and drizzle the top of each cookie as I hand them out.”

“Oh, they're going to love that.” The woman pointed Winnie's gaze down the hallway. “The children are in the room at the end of the hall.”

“Thanks.” She zipped up the bag, hoisted it back onto her shoulder, and guided the stretcher in the correct direction. Halfway down the hallway, though, she stopped.