Fat Cat Takes the Cake (2 page)

“I would like to leave early, though,” Anna said, “to take this home and fill it out.” She stuffed the application papers into her purse.

“When is the Batter Battle?”

“Two and a half weeks from now. But the deadline to sign up is this coming Saturday. I have to turn in a recipe, so I have to come up with one by then.”

“Can't you use one of our best sellers from here?”

Anna shrugged into her parka. “I'd rather create something. I have no idea what.”

Chase sought inspiration in the ceiling for a moment. “You
were working on the ones that tasted like donuts, remember? A couple of months ago? Did you quit working on them?”

Anna paused on her way to the door. “Yes, I did. Those weren't going to work. Much too heavy. But I've been fiddling around with muffin recipes. Muffin Cookie Bars, I think I would call them. That would be different, wouldn't it?”

“Would you rather call them muffins or cookies? Muffins would be more unusual. But are they sweet enough? Muffins often have a topping.”

“You may be right, Charity. I'll try a topping at home tonight. Game on, Grace Pilsen.”

“Bring them in tomorrow,” Chase shouted as Anna left.

She was now alone in the kitchen with dirty bowls and baking pans, but also with the sweet aroma of Cherry Chiffon Bars, the last thing Anna had baked.

At six, closing time, Chase turned the sign on the front door over to “Closed.” After Inger and Mallory left, it was Quincy's time.

This time, when the office door opened, no one hindered the eager cat. He knew the nightly routine. In spite of some extra heft around his middle, which some people thought made him look even cuter, he easily leapt to the countertop next to the stove. From experience, he kept away from the burners, even though they were cool now. He was intent on finding crumbs. When dessert bars were transferred from baking pans to display bins, there were invariably crumbs.

Chase watched Quincy, patrolling and purring, with affection. He'd been such a scrawny, frightened little kitten when she first saw him, newly rescued from the beach, where his litter had been abandoned. She had hesitated only a moment, picking out one of the six. Quincy's large amber eyes spoke to her and, when she picked him up, he snuggled his way into her heart.

She heard her phone dinging. It was still next to the refrigerator. When Quincy finished with the counters, she would disinfect them, but first, she'd better find out who was texting her. She remembered that she had gotten a text earlier and had ignored it.

It was from Julie and read, “Open your mail and call me.”

The mail was in the office where she'd dropped it. Most of it, the part that wasn't junk mail and more greeting cards, was probably bills, so putting them next to the computer where she paid them was a good place. A wastebasket sat next to the desk for most of the mail.

One piece, though, was not junk, not even a bill. How had she not noticed it when she'd picked out the envelope from the Minny Batter Battle? This one was from Hammond, her high school. She ripped it open as she called Julie.

“A reunion?” she said when Julie answered. “Did you get an invitation, too?”

“Yes, and look at the date,” Julie said. “It's this coming Saturday!”

“Three days from now? That's awfully quick.”

“And who has a reunion in December?”

Chase noticed the name on the bottom of the paper. “Guess who? Dickie Byrd.”

“That figures. What do you wanna bet he's running for some office somewhere?”

“I won't bet against that,” Chase said. Richard Byrd, always called Dickie behind his back—and sometimes to his face—had been their class president. Not because of his leadership qualities, but because of Monique's ability to mount an unbeatable campaign. Richard and Monique had married while still in college and Richard was now on the school board. No one who knew both of them doubted that his sights were aimed higher. “Still, if he has a reunion to announce he's running for office, that's pretty tacky.”

“I'm going,” Julie said. “There are a lot of people I'd like to see again. So many of our classmates moved out of state.”

“Me included, but I came back.”

“What are you wearing?” When Chase didn't answer, Julie insisted they go shopping that night. “The stores are still open.”

Chase knew she was in good hands with Julie, a champion shopper. They whizzed through three stores and both went home satisfied.

As Chase readied herself for bed in her apartment above the shop, she went over some of the people she'd gone to high school with. There were some she wouldn't mind seeing again. But she sure didn't want to run into Eddie Heath.

T
he day after Chase and Julie had gotten their reunion notices, Julie came by for an early morning bike ride. The two best friends enjoyed their bike rides together and didn't get to do them as often as they would like lately. Julie was settling into her new job and, from what Chase could tell, being in real estate law would mean less stress and fewer hours than working in the DA's office.

White twinkle lights were strung in the thin branches of the trees that grew along the sidewalks. They weren't lit now, but the area was a fairyland at night in December. They pedaled down Fourteenth Avenue SE, over to University Avenue, and onto the Tenth Street bridge. When they reached the middle, they stopped to watch the river. Chase always felt something switch on inside her soul, something that
glowed with a serene light, when she stood and gazed at the peaceful Mississippi as it flowed beneath her.

“So, what do you think?” Julie asked after a moment.

“About?”

“Is Dickie Byrd running for office?”

“Why else would he call an impromptu class reunion?” Chase said. “It's fourteen years since we graduated. He couldn't wait for fifteen?”

“Still, we have to go.”

“Well, yah. We bought new outfits.” Chase had gotten out her outfit again in the morning and re-examined it. She still liked it. They both bought jacket dresses. Julie's had a short, flouncy, flirty skirt that matched her favorite silk scarf, while Chase's was a bit longer with a draped-front jacket. The sale rack at Macy's had been a gold mine. When you went shopping with Julie, you got results. That woman was a shopper.

“Didn't he run for mayor of Minneapolis recently?” Julie asked.

A pair of mallards floated past, in the middle of the river, avoiding the ice beginning to form at the shoreline. Chase wondered what they were still doing in Minnesota. Maybe they hung out at a hot spring somewhere for the winter.

“Three years ago,” Chase said. “He lost by a lot, as I recall. I'll bet ten dollars he's going to run again next time.”

“I won't bet against that, but I'll bet you twenty he loses again.” Julie grinned.

Chase's cell phone trilled. Julie raised her eyebrows and Chase shrugged to show she didn't know who was calling. “Yes?”

“This is Ron North, Chase. Remember me?” The voice
was unfamiliar. A man's voice, but not very deep. An image of a skinny, sweaty guy was forming.

She frowned. His face was back there in the nether part of her brain, but out of reach. “I'm sorry—”

“Reporter for the
Herald Gopher
.”

“Okay.” She subscribed to that paper, but couldn't remember seeing his name in it.

“Hey, we went to Hammond High together. I worked for the school paper then.”

Chase had worked for the school paper, but didn't recall that Ron North had. At first. She dug a little further into her memories. Now she had him. A small, thin, wiry, nervous guy.

“Oh. Yes?” Why was he calling her?

“I was wondering. I got a idea for a article.”
An
idea for
an
article, she corrected him mentally. “I'd like to do a piece called ‘Local Girl Makes Good.' You got that shop, right? That bakery?”

“I co-own the Bar None. It's a dessert bar shop. That's the only thing we bake.”

“Hey, don't sell yourself short. Those're good. So, what do you say?”

“To what?” She frowned and shook her head at Julie, who probably thought Chase was fending off a cable salesman.

“I'll come by, do an interview, snap some shots. Get you in the paper.”

“When?”

“I'll let you know. Talk to you later.”

With that, he was gone. “That was odd.” She told Julie about the call.

“I remember him well. Don't you?” Julie made a sour face.
Her hands, shaking her handlebars, sent tremors through her bike. “He had the most annoying crush on me. I couldn't get rid of him for the longest time.”

“Oh, was he the stalker guy? How could I forget?”

“I'll never forget.” Julie glanced at her watch. “Gotta get back.” She turned her bike and jumped onto the seat.

“Me, too.”

Chase remembered Ron clearly now. Julie had been greatly disturbed by the persistent, annoying, unwanted attention. She had started staying in at night, not socializing. Then, suddenly, he had switched his obsession to someone else and Julie had started living again.

•   •   •

An hour later
Chase was showered and opening up the Bar None. The shop was busy in December and got busier the closer they came to the holidays. It was three weeks until Christmas. The tinkling bell on the front door got a workout all morning.

The two salesclerks worked in the front, Anna baked in the kitchen, and Chase worked in the office on orders and payments. When Chase finished up her computer work midmorning, she went out front to help.

“Chase, how are you?”

It was that reedy, young-sounding, male voice. She was surprised to see Ron North in the shop.

“Did we set a time?” She was sure they hadn't.

“I had an errand across the street and saw, hey, here was your store.” He dug a notebook and pencil out of his jacket
pocket and propped his skinny hip on one of the small display tables, dislodging a stack of dessert bar boxes.

Chase jumped to catch them before they hit the floor.

“Oh, sorry.” He fiddled with the pencil between two fingers, then dug a few peanuts out of his pocket and tossed them into his mouth.

She was recalling more bits and pieces about him. She remembered how he had always made her nervous when he was hanging around Julie. He was full of tics and usually sweaty. She remembered now that he had been on the school newspaper staff until he had to leave because of his grades. The smell of peanuts emanating from him triggered her memory, too. He had always reeked of peanuts.

As she restacked the boxes he continued. “How about that article? ‘Local Girl Makes Good'? Looks like you have a nice place going here. You own it, right?”

“I'm the co-owner,” Chase answered cautiously. “Anna Larson owns the Bar None with me.” She wasn't sure she wanted Ron North to do an article on her. She glanced around at the full shop. “This isn't a good time to chat, Ron. Maybe another time?”

“Sure, sure. I'll just walk around and get some local flavor. Get it? Flavor?”

Chase gave him a wan smile and nodded, then moved on to people who were interested in buying dessert bars.

A young couple stood frowning at the display case while Mallory was busy taking money from two college coeds for two boxes of Margarita Cheesecake Bars. Chase explained what some of the ingredients were in several types of bars,
keeping track of Ron North out of the corner of her eye. She hoped he wouldn't knock any more boxes down.

He strolled beside the pink shelves on the sidewall filled with boxes and bumped another table, but not hard enough to topple the stack of boxes. She couldn't figure out what he was doing. He wasn't, she was sure, interested in buying, and she had told him she couldn't talk. Maybe he was waiting for a lull in business? Good luck, she thought. It might stay like this until six.

Chase's next surprise was seeing Dickie and Monique Byrd walk into the store.

“Charity Oliver,” Dickie boomed, sticking out his hand.

At the moment, she wasn't waiting on any customers. She shook his outstretched hand, soft and dry, wondering if he had looked her up in the yearbook immediately before dropping in. If he remembered her, he'd call her Chase. No one called her Charity except Anna.

“Maybe we don't need to have a reunion if everyone is going to come into my shop,” Chase said, using a smile and a tilt of her head to soften her words. “Ron North is here, too.”

“Ho, ho, ho!” Dickie sounded like Santa Claus.

“Monique, nice to see you again.” Chase reached to shake his wife's hand since he wasn't going to acknowledge that she was there. The woman kept her hands to herself and stared at Chase's. That's a little odd, Chase thought. Chase peeked at her own hand in case it was covered in dough or powdered sugar. That wouldn't have surprised her, but it seemed clean.

Ron was inching toward the front door.

“I wondered if you could do me a big favor,” Dickie said. “Mona, give Charity a poster.”

Chase remembered that Monique had been called Mona in school. Sometimes she was called Mona the Mouth because she talked so much. Chattered on and on about nothing. It seemed she had gotten over that. Or maybe she couldn't get a word in with Dickie running off at the mouth like he did.

Monique caught sight of Ron North and flinched, her eyes wide and frightened for a split second. Ron seemed to sneer at her, then threw open the door and left. Monique returned her attention to them, completely composed. She dipped into the large, heavy-looking bag she carried and pulled out a roll of paper. She unfurled what proved to be an eleven-by-seventeen-inch poster, which she handed to Chase, being careful not to touch hands or fingers.

Her phobia about touching people suddenly clicked in Chase's memory. Monique was a little unusual.

A startlingly large picture of Dickie's oversized head, in full grin, stared out at her. If Julie had bet with her about him running for mayor again, she would have won. It was a campaign poster touting “Rich Byrd for Mayor.”

Good luck, she thought, changing your nickname to Rich.

Monique had seen her draw back to read the large print. “Isn't it lovely?” she said, showing all of her huge, white teeth. With those and her perfectly coifed helmet, her stylish belted suit and high-heeled mid-length boots, she was ready to step into the role of mayor's wife and pose for photographs. Maybe even for a portrait above the mantel.

“Did you do it?” She remembered that Monique ran
Dickie's campaign for class president, which had been much more successful than his first run for mayor. Chase thought he was still on the young side to be a mayor—most of the members of their class were about thirty-two years old—but some towns had young mayors.

“I did.” Monique beamed even brighter. “Here, it's yours.”

Chase tried to hand it to her. “That's okay. I don't need one.” Monique stepped back and kept her hands at her side.

“Charity,” Dickie said, moving in close. “We'd love your support. If you could just put this in the corner of your window, we'd appreciate it so much.”

Chase thought as quickly as she could. She couldn't endorse this guy. “I'll have to ask my business partner.”

“We'll wait. We can shop for some desserts, can't we, Mona?”

No way was she going to put up his poster. “She isn't here right now.” She threw a stern frown at Mallory, who was nearby, eavesdropping, so she wouldn't give Chase away. “I'll consult her later.”

Chase took the poster and retreated to the kitchen.