1 Death by Chocolate

The incessant buzzing of the alarm finally tore me from
my dreams.  I pulled on the jeans from the pile of clean, but as yet, unfolded clothes and snagged one of the Dessert First t-shirts from the box.  I had fifty printed, but they hadn’t been a big seller in the first few months of business, so rather than store them at the bakery, I took them home.  It did make choosing something to wear for work much easier. 

After brushing my long hair and twirling it into a braid, I went into the kitchen, poured a packet of instant oatmeal into the mug, added water and put it into the microwave.  It made me laugh that the owner of a bakery, who makes yummy treats for a living never cooked breakfast, or any meal for that matter.  The cinnamon oatmeal made the kitchen smell good and I quickly spooned the hot lumps into my mouth when I realized that it was after 4 am already.  I put the mug in the sink and grabbed my coat.  One perk of living in a small town was that you were close to everything. 

Seven minutes of walking later, I turned the old-fashioned key in the lock and the click echoed along the silent Main Street.  At 4:15 in the morning, the sleepy little town of Fish Creek Falls had even less going on than usual.  The waterfall and small stream that named the town seemed hushed on the early fall morning.  I just stood for a minute enjoying the bright moon and crisp air.  Moving here had been a good choice after the divorce.  It’d been a fresh start all the way around.  Getting away from the city to a small town that even had fresh air helped to clear my lungs and my head from all of the complications of city life and an ending relationship.  I took another deep breath and fingered the letters: Myra Bailey, Owner. The door to my dream bakery; it was solid and a reality.  I smiled and went inside to start the day.

Inside the tiny shop, I hung up my coat, washed my hands and got busy filling the urns with water for the morning’s coffee: regular, decaf and French Vanilla.  Then I grabbed the chopped apples, blueberries, cranberries, milk and eggs from the huge refrigerator and slipped my now much worn apron over my head. Flipping the dark braid onto my shoulder, I smoothed the chocolate cake logo on the apron. 

“Today, I think I’ll make four Death by Chocolate cakes.” I announced to the empty bakery.

The big oven groaned to life as I began mixing batters and cutting scones. I loved everything about baking. Making a variety of baked goods kept things interesting, but making the old standby’s held a certain satisfaction, as well.

Not only had the Death by Chocolate been my signature baked item, but it’d had become the single offering that made Barbara’s Brilliance bakery customers beat a path right to my shop because of the great chocolate cake.  Barbara’s Brilliance had been in business for nearly twenty years as the sole bakery in the town.  My Dessert First presented the first competition that she had ever had.  The Death by Chocolate had given me a customer base to start with and now since I’ve lived in the town awhile, people also knew me and that helped too, I thought. 

At five o’clock, I switched the first urns and popped the batches of muffins in the oven. Along with the muffins, I tossed in some scones, turnovers and assorted breads and rolls. By the time I punched down a batch of bread dough, the coffee wafted through the air and mingled satisfyingly with the homey smells of the baked goods.  Then, I cleaned up the prep area and washed my hands, brushed flour from my apron and went to turn on the computer/cash register. I counted the few dollars in it and shut the drawer. It made the familiar beep to signal it had woken up and stood ready to work. Finally, I mixed the bleach water and wiped the counter down.  I noticed that the card holder held no more cards.

“Wow, those went fast!  Thanks, Lizzie.”  I said.  Lizzie, my closest friend since college had suggested that I make some cards that offered recipes on them that could double as business cards. I had been doing it, but the first cards didn’t disappear like this one did. 

“I guess this town is sweet on chocolate,” The molten chocolate cake recipe had disappeared in only a few days.  I needed to make more cards. I went to the cluttered desk that I’d tucked into the corner behind the counter and scribbled a note.  I stuck it right on the computer screen that rolled the bakery name in circles as a screen saver.  “Dessert First,” I loved that name because as a kid, I’d always teased to have dessert before dinner. My mother had never gone for it because she didn’t especially like sweets, but I thought that if she were around today, she’d get a kick out of the name anyway. I looked up at the clock and smiled at picture of mom hanging near it.  It reminded me to put on the hot water for tea.

“Right, Mom, hot water for tea.” I went and put on the enormous kettle for the tea drinkers in town.

Though, I’d been keeping a steady pace while doing the opening prep, I liked that I didn’t have to really rush.  The shop had been open for about four months and had been doing very well, the true “rush” in the tiny town, however, still belonged to Barbara’s Brilliance down the street.

Just then the door opened and in walked the first customer of the day.  Willie, a handyman who traveled wherever his work took him came into the shop wearing paint-stained clothes and his signature blue bandanna on his head. A bit of red hair poked out from under it.

“Any muffins this morning, Miss Myra?”

“Morning Willie. Sure, berry or apple. What’s the winner today?”

“An apple and a vat of coffee this morning,” he patted a worn-looking thermos.

“A vat?  Sounds like you have a long day ahead and off to an early start, too.”

“I do, gotta, um, get going.” He put his head down and reached into his pocket.  I noticed his sleeve had a brownish stain that reminded me of chocolate cake as he handed me the five dollar bill. 

“It’s three with only one muffin,” I said and tried to hand his change back.  He waved me off and rushed out the door. 

“He’s acting a bit weird this morning,” I said to the empty shop.

Barely five minutes passed and my second customer came through the door.  The tall man sported a tweed jacket that showed a hint of the well-defined muscles beneath and a dark tie.  He had a slightly shadowed look from an unshaved face.

“Hi Green Eyes, what’s cooking?” Detective David Bentley asked.

Suddenly, it had gotten really warm in the bakery.  I took a breath before turning to the counter.

“Don’t you mean baking, Detective?”  I couldn’t keep my smile contained.

“Maybe, but it ruins my line that way,” he smiled and his icy blue eyes fixed on me.

“What can I get for you this morning?” I asked clearing my throat and trying to stop smiling.  I wiped my hands casually on my apron hoping he wouldn’t know that my hands were sweaty. Get a grip, you’re not twelve, I told myself.

“How about something different; I’ll have French Vanilla today.”

“You always have French Vanilla. Only cream right?”

“Yup, don’t need to be any sweeter,” he said as he adjusted the volume on his radio.

I put the lid on the cup and handed it to him.

“So, we’ve been neighbors for nearly what? Three months or so?” he asked as he handed me cash for the coffee.

“Four months and six days, give or take.” I blurted.

“Well, since we’re old friends, I think we should have dinner tomorrow.  You’re free right?  Great, I’ll swing by your house at 7.”

With that he turned and left before I could even get a word formed to say. I had a date.  I smoothed the apron, took a deep breath and tried to wipe the dopey smile off my face. No use, I thought and went to get my phone to text Lizzie.

The door opened a third time and in came Rachel Anderson, the owner of the best and only clothing shop in town.  She had a royal purple cape on this morning with an apple green and sky blue silk scarf.  Her knee-high black boots and cream leggings rounded out the outfit. At nearly six feet tall, she was quite a presence.  I straightened and stood a bit taller as I waited on her.

“Good morning, Rachel.”

“Dahling Myra, what is delicious this morning?”

“Everything, of course,” I added with a small chuckle and a wave over the case.

“Well, how about a cup of Earl and one of your exquisite orange scones.”

“As you wish.”

“Thanks ever so much.  You know, last night I talked with Barbara at the theater and told her how much I just loved your scones.  She doesn’t make them, you know.  She did point out that she has a larger menu than your little shop here and that makes you both able to coexist in town.  Then, I had the best chat with Mark about his next season’s shows.  You know I am a season ticket holder at the theater and do you know what I found out last night?  That you two had some history in college, well, I know it must’ve been ages ago, but well, I thought maybe you might join me for a little get-together tomorrow night.  I’ve invited simply everyone and since you and Mark haven’t had much time to catch up, I thought it might be nice…”

“Here you are,” I interrupted pretending to not hear the invitation or the dig about my age.  I guess nearly twenty-five years is ages, but I didn’t need to be reminded.

The door opened again and in walked Mark Corner, owner of the theater in town.  His thin and wiry body clad in a dark blue running clothes and neon vest made him look oddly like a street sign.

“Good morning,” I said.

“Oh Mark, Dahling, I have just been telling Myra about my little soiree and how nice it will be for you two to catch up.  When I told Cynthia, you know the Mayor’s wife, that you might have been the one to bring Myra to our little town, she simply couldn’t contain herself.  You know how she can be with news about people in town.” She dropped her voice to a whisper, “she’s a bit of a gossip, you know.”

“Morning, Bailey.  How’s business? Can I get a bottle of water?” he said simply, ignoring her.  Mark had seemed really anxious lately about how the bakery competed with Barbara’s.

“Hi Mark. Pretty steady, thanks. Just the water?”

“Yup, forgot mine this morning and I want to get an early run in,” he wiped a bit of sweat from his forehead and looked at Rachel who seemed to be staring at one and then the other of us.  While Mark had made a point to stop in to see me from time to time, he still gave Barbara his morning business and he had her cater all cast parties and other theater events.  It seemed a bit weird for him to come in this early instead of going to Barbara’s.