Miss Spelled (The Kitchen Witch 1) (3 page)

Chapter 5

I looked up at the bright blue sky as I walked toward my new store after the funeral that afternoon. I thought about how ironic life could be at times. Of all of the types of shops I could have inherited, it just had to be one that sold food, and at that, food that had to be baked. As I got closer, I saw the cake store for the very first time.

I studied the front of the building from afar as I made my way down the sidewalk toward it. For some reason, the shop’s exterior reminded me of the Victorian house that I had seen when I first arrived in Bayberry Creek. It wasn’t a physical likeness. Rather, it was a strange, yet inviting, presence.

I was almost at the door when Thyme burst through it, her arms waving erratically in the air. “Well, there you are!”

I clutched my throat, startled. “I hope I’m not late,” I said, checking the time on my cell phone.

“No,” Thyme said, “but you’re pretty darn close.” She chuckled, and then motioned for me to follow her inside.

“This place looks beautiful from the outside,” I said.

Thyme raised her eyebrows. “This is the first time you’ve ever seen it? Please tell me you’ve at least seen your new home.”

I shook my head. “Not yet, but Ruprecht’s taking me there after work today.”

“Well, that’s great, at least. I’m sure you’ll be in for a pleasant surprise.”

“I’ve already had plenty of surprises recently,” I said. “And don’t get me wrong; I’m happy to own a new home and a new store, but I don’t think you will understand how bad I am at cooking until you try something I attempt to make.”

Thyme laughed. “You can’t be that bad. Baking is easy.” She turned the doorknob and pushed the door open, revealing the store to me for the first time.

When I walked in and looked around, my mouth fell open. The shelves and counters of the storefront were lined with works of art. There were rows and rows of delicious looking cakes, cupcakes, and other various creations. “Wow, this isn’t what I expected at all,” I confessed.

“And you’re only seeing it from the customer’s point of view,” Thyme said. “Wait until we go through everything and you get a better understanding of what goes on behind the scenes. Then you’ll really be amazed.”

I wasn’t quite sure what Thyme meant, but I smiled. “I just hope you know how to teach a horrible cook not to burn a cake.” The last thing I wanted to do was bring down such a lovely looking store all because cooking wasn’t my forte.

“Don’t be so hard on yourself. There’s nothing to it, seriously.” Thyme spun around with a broad smile on her face. “Come this way.”

“I don’t think you understand just how terrible my cooking actually is,” I said. No one ever did, and there were really no words to explain it. I had a mental block when it came to baking, and something always went wrong, no matter how diligent I tried to be.

“You’ll be fine. I promise. Just come with me.”

I followed her toward the back of the store and into a kitchen. A large countertop island stood by itself in the center of the room, with large drawers and cabinets lining its exterior. Three ovens sat next to each other, and on the opposite wall were refrigeration units.

“So, these are the ovens,” Thyme said.

I nodded. I was a bad cook, but that much I did know.

Thyme pulled open one of the oven doors to give me a look inside. “When we have a lot of orders and customers coming in and out, you’ll learn to love these things. We can fit about four cakes at a time if need be.”

My breath caught in my throat as the thought of trying to balance four cakes at once nearly caused me to faint. “Four? Can we just start with one at a time?” I said with horror.

Thyme smiled. “I’m going to help you until you get the hang of it, but I think you’ll be fine. I understand that you’re apprehensive, but everything will be okay.” She walked over to a group of large, square containers. “See these things? This is where we keep the fondant.”

I frowned. “What’s fondant?”

Thyme laughed. “Well, think of it as an edible icing that allows you to sculpt cakes to look however you wish. The possibilities are endless, but only if your imagination is as well. Angelica created a special recipe for her fondant. Most people use sugar and water and work with just that, but she added something that brings her cakes to life in ways other stores just can’t.”

Confused once again, I looked at Thyme and shrugged. A wave of nausea hit me as I came face to face with reality: I was going to have to live up to Aunt Angelica’s customers’ high expectations, despite the fact that I could not boil an egg without making it explode.

“You seem to be stressing yourself out over trivial things,” Thyme said, oblivious to my distress. “Your aunt left this store to you for a reason, Amelia. There’s something about her that you should know. This store meant the world to her. It was everything to that woman. She wouldn’t have left something so precious to you if she didn’t have complete faith in you.” Thyme smiled widely.

Aunt Angelica left the store to me because I was her only living relative
, I thought, but aloud said, “That’s easier said than done,” thinking about my ex-boyfriend and how my failure at baking had sent him to the hospital with food poisoning.

“Nonsense. But anyway, let’s get back to business. These containers are where we store the fondant that we make for the day. It’s usually one of the first things we do in the morning. We have to make enough to last throughout the entire day. Oh, and never refrigerate it. I accidentally did that once and Aunt Angelica was not happy,” Thyme said with a laugh. “Anyway, always seal it tightly in Saran wrap or a Ziploc bag. Then, just toss it in these air-tight containers and it’ll be good for the day.”

I took mental notes of each thing that Thyme explained to me, but trying to remember minor steps and details had always been a difficult task for me. “Okay, got it. Is there anything else I should know?”

Thyme laughed. “How about actually learning to bake?”

My face went blank as I realized what was about to happen. “Now?”

“Duh. The most important part about running a cake store is making the cakes,” Thyme said with a chuckle. “Let’s see what we have on the itinerary today.” She walked over to the countertop and pulled open one of the drawers. I peered over her shoulder and saw that it was actually a filing cabinet. “These are the orders that need to be made today,” Thyme said, as she pulled out a sheet of paper and handed to me.

I looked over the order and noticed the customer’s name at once. “We’re making a cake for that guy?”

Thyme grinned. “Brant McCallum? Yes, he’s getting married soon, so we’re in charge of the wedding cake.”

I wrinkled my forehead and sighed. “I’ve only met him at Aunt Angelica’s funeral, but he seems like a bit of a creep.”

“Well, he’s not exactly the nicest guy in town, but he’s a customer so we have to pretend we like him even if we don’t. We won’t have to deal with him much longer, though, so don’t worry about that. Today we’re just going to make a sampler so he and his fiancée can pick out which cake they want for the big day.”

“Oh,” I said, looking back down at the sheet of paper. The instructions were concise and the list of ingredients was carefully typed in bold print. “I already have a bad feeling about this,” I said.

“No need,” Thyme insisted. “Just pay attention to what I do. I’ll do it all.”

I nodded with relief and watched as Thyme sprang into action. She darted around the kitchen, choosing various ingredients from the shelves and spice racks. She pulled open one of the cabinets under the countertop and selected a few baking utensils and a large mixing bowl. She plopped the items on the counter and smiled at me as she walked by. Thyme then pulled a few latex gloves from a dispenser near the sink, and tossed a pair to me. “Now you can help.”

I squeezed my hands into the gloves and tried to ready myself mentally for the cooking. I stood beside Thyme and looked over the recipe one more time. “What is that ingredient?” I said, pointing at a strange word that I’d never seen before. I looked again. “Is that written in a different language?”

I received no response, so I looked over to see Thyme pouring flour into the large bowl. When she finished, she leaned over toward me and looked at the word to which I was pointing. “Oh, that’s just an old term for one of Aunt Angelica’s special ingredients. She writes in Latin for the ones that she wants to keep private.”

I wasn’t sure what to make of Thyme’s remark, but I just took her word for it and brushed it off. “Okay, can I help?”

“I just threw the flour in. Could you get some eggs from the refrigerator, please?” Thyme said, pointing at the large units that I had noticed earlier.

I took out a tray of eggs and headed back to the counter. I gently set down the eggs as Thyme began narrating her every step. “So, after the flour, we have to add the vanilla extract and the eggs,” she said, pouring a small amount of brown liquid over the flour and then breaking four eggs over the mixture.

After the batter was prepared, I finally began to feel more confident that I wouldn’t be asked to do anything. Thyme laid out several cake pans on the countertop, and then basted each of the pans.

“Now this is the part where you’ll mess up, if at all,” she said to me. She then pointed to a small electronic device that sat on the wall next to the line of ovens. “Always add the exact time that Angelica put on the recipe. I’m sure you’ll have to create your own recipes someday, but for now she’s done all the hard work. All you have to do is follow her directions to the letter.”

I nodded. I watched as Thyme poured the batter into the pans and placed them in the ovens.

After the cakes had cooled, Thyme walked me through the basic frosting process. “Since these are just samples, we don’t have to pull out the fondant and make them look amazing, but we still want them to look delicious and intriguing.”

I nodded and watched as Thyme used an icing bag to decorate the samples.

The rest of the morning was spent with me watching Thyme bake and serve customers. We had just gone into the little back room used as the staff kitchen when the bell sounded. Thyme sighed. “Typical. A customer, right when we want to have lunch. It’s probably our guy for the samples,” she said, grabbing the box before leaving the kitchen.

I followed her back out to the storefront, and when I walked out, I saw Brant McCallum standing in front of the display case. “Good day, ladies,” he mumbled, looking us up and down.

I wasn’t quite sure what it was about the man that gave me chills, but I just didn’t feel right when I was around him.

“Here are your samples,” Thyme said, indicating the sample box that she placed on the counter.

Brant looked at the cakes. I could tell he didn’t seem impressed. “My fiancée, Laura, seems to prefer the double chocolate, which I see one or two of in there, but I’d rather have the mocha any day of the week. I figured I’d let her choose the cake though, since it’ll be the last time she’ll be making any decisions at all.” He laughed nastily, showing a row of his large white teeth, and then pulled out one of the samples. “See, you can always tell the difference between the mocha and the chocolate by the consistency.”

I wanted nothing more than to be done with the man. I turned away, intending to leave, but I was stopped by the sound of a hacking cough. When I looked back, Brant was lying on his back on the floor. He twitched violently, and then stopped moving.

Chapter 6

I couldn’t bear to go out into the showroom, considering there was a dead body lying out there on the tiled floor. So instead, I stayed in the back, sitting on a brown stool and breathing into the paper bag that Thyme had given me. Thyme was out in the showroom, past the swinging doors, waiting for the police to arrive.

By the time they did arrive, I felt marginally better. At least I didn’t have to breathe into a paper bag anymore. My head was buried in my hands with my elbows on my knees when I heard the swinging doors open. I looked up and saw two cops, both in blue uniforms. A man and a woman. The man was in his forties and had bushy eyebrows as black as the hair on his head. His chest was large and barrel-like, and he looked very strong. The woman had a wide smile, but her eyes looked stern.

“Are you Amelia Spelled?” the woman asked, and I nodded. “Mind if we ask you some questions?”

I shook my head. Of course, I knew the police would need to ask me questions, and I knew there wouldn’t be much point in putting it off. I would rather get it over with, and then maybe they could work on getting the dead man out of my brand new business, a business, of course, that I didn’t know how to run.

The cops stopped in front of me. The man introduced himself as Sergeant Greer and the female officer as Constable Stevens.

“We talked to your employee,” Greer said, hitching a thick thumb over a broad shoulder. “She’s going to give us a few minutes.”

It was odd to think of Thyme as my employee, and for a moment I thought they had the wrong person. I had never been someone’s boss before.

“Oh,” I said. It was all my muddled brain could think of at the time.

“You know the man out here?” Greer asked, flipping through a few pages of the small notebook he had produced from one of his pockets. He licked the tip of a pen and prepared to write my answer.

“I met him yesterday, at the funeral,” I said.

The woman cop nodded. “Your aunt died, right?”

“Yes.”

“I’m sorry to hear that,” Constable Stevens said, again with the wide smile.

“Your aunt left you this place?” Greer asked, his voice scratchy and gruff, matching his eyebrows perfectly.

“Yes,” I said.

“You bake cakes?”

“I guess so,” I said.

The male cop lifted one of those brows, an inquisitive look. “What’s that mean? ‘I guess so’?”

I was irritated by the question. “I mean, I was left this business by my aunt. I have no idea how to bake cakes.”

“So why not sell it?” Greer asked. “A nice little place like this! Why, you could sell it and go back to where you came from.”

I shook my head. I did not want to tell them the whole sordid story of what led to me moving to town. I simply said. “It was my aunt’s wish that I stay and run the business.”

“That’s good of you,” Constable Stevens said, smiling again.

I wished she would stop smiling all the time. No one smiled that much in real life, and her smile did not look genuine. It creeped me out.

Greer went on with his questions. “You know the guy’s name? The deceased man in your store out there?”

“Brant,” I said. “McMurphy?”

“McCallum,” Greer corrected me.

I nodded. “Right.”

“He took a bite of your cake and keeled over, huh?”

“Yes, he took a bite and looked at me oddly. His eyes widened; he clutched at his throat, and he fell,” I said, and suddenly I was reliving it all. For one wild moment I was sure I would need that paper bag again. I reached for it but then stopped myself. I took a deep breath, and tried to get myself back under control.

“She must really not know what she’s doing,” Constable Stevens said under her breath to Greer, who shot her a warning look.

“I did not bake the cake he ate!” I exclaimed, but then realized that Thyme had.

Greer towered over me. “Is there any of the cake he ate left?”

I nodded. “A little. He was testing samples.”

“What was he sampling cakes for?” Stevens asked.

“He was getting married,” I said, and tears welled up in my eyes. I hadn’t particularly liked Brant, but he was getting married. It was a terrible situation. I thought about his poor fiancée, and wondered if she’d heard the terrible news yet.

“Brant has some money,” Greer went on. “Well, he did, at least. A lot of people would have liked to get their hands on it. Do you think anyone was out to get him?”

I was surprised the cop had asked me that. Was it a trick question? “How would I know?” I said. “I just arrived in town. I’ve only just met everyone.”

Greer nodded and wrote something in his notebook. “Have you ever been to town before?”

“No, it’s my first time,” I said.

“But your aunt lived here her whole life?” Greer barked at me. “You never visited?”

“No,” I said simply.

“She left you her business?”

“My father was Aunt Angelica’s brother, but they didn’t get along. I was surprised when I got the letter in the mail.”

Neither of the police officers said anything for a moment. Both just nodded. Finally, Constable Stevens spoke. “I’m going to go bag that cake, and speak to Thyme.”

“Can I go now?” I asked her. For some reason I thought everything would have taken longer.

“I need your number,” Greer said.

I gave it to him.

“This place will need to stay closed for a while. A couple of days, I mean,” Greer said as Constable Stevens made her way back through the swinging doors.

“Oh, okay, that’s fine, of course,” I said.

“There’s a forensics team on the way, so you’ll need to vacate the crime scene.”

“Crime scene?” I heard my voice come out shrilly, and the room appeared to spin slowly. I felt like I was in a bad dream, and I couldn’t wake up. “It’s a crime scene?”

Greer’s expression did not change. “It’s routine, ma’am. You said he took a bite of cake and then fell down to the floor and died.”

“But Thyme made that cake this morning. We were the only ones who touched it. So it wasn’t the cake; it had to be something else.”

Greer nodded, as if he had heard a million excuses about a million different things. “You do know not to leave town?”

“Do you think I did this?” I asked, reaching for the paper bag. I felt as if I were on the edge of breaking down into hysterics.

“Routine,” he said again. “Don’t leave town. I’ll need to escort you out so you don’t contaminate the scene. Go get your things.”

I waited for a few moments until I was sure that I wouldn’t faint, and then I took a deep breath and climbed to my feet.

After I retrieved my purse and coat from the back room, I slipped through the swinging doors and almost turned right back around when I saw Brant, dead, and still lying on the floor. Thyme was outside, her back pressed against the glass door of the cake store. I hurried to the door, averting my eyes from the corpse as I did so. I pulled the door slowly, so Thyme wouldn’t fall if the door was gone from her suddenly.

She turned around. “Did they give you the third degree?”

I nodded. “Pretty much. And they told me not to leave town.”

“Me, too.”

Just then, men in white suits wheeled the body out, right past us and into the back of the ambulance. Before they left, they fixed strips of thick yellow and black police tape across the store’s door. Passers-by stopped to stare, but Thyme simply waved to them cheerfully.

I bit my lip. “Well, that certainly won’t help business. People won’t want to come into the store after someone died in there, and even if they did, the police said we’d need to be closed for a couple of days. Obviously they want to collect…” my voice trailed away, “evidence, I suppose.”

Thyme shook her head. “Don’t worry, all right? It will all be okay.”

“I can’t see how. I’ve had enough shocks lately,” I said, and fought the urge to cry.

Thyme smiled. “Trust me.”

“All right,” I said. I couldn’t see how it would be okay.

“You’re seeing your house for the first time this afternoon, aren’t you?” Thyme continued.

“Yes, Ruprecht will be here any minute. I’m going to follow him there.” That thought cheered me up. I didn’t care what the house looked like. The main thing was that Aunt Angelica had owned it outright. I never thought I’d own my own house, not in a million years.