The application forms were complete. The cover letter was the best I could make it. The cupcakes were utterly delicious. Fran had outdone herself, as usual. And the time had finally come for me to apply to the Bakers group.
Of course, Rebecca, the new leader of the group, would never know that I was fake applying, but that didn’t make a difference.
Strangely, I was still nervous as I walked up the grand front steps of the Bakers group clubhouse—situated on a small estate on the outskirts of Star Lake that was right down the road from Nora’s mansion, interestingly enough.
The house was a gorgeous three-story with brick walls, a chimney puffing out smoke above, and a wraparound porch with columns that supported the roof.
Relax. It’s not like you’re actually applying. But my nerves pitter-pattered away in my belly, regardless.
I stopped on the top step and knocked once on the door, following the very strict instructions that had been written across the top of the application form. I had memorized them.
Rule Number 1. Do not tell anyone you’re applying to Bakers group.
Rule Number 2. Knock once on the door when you deliver your application. Under no circumstances may you knock more than once or you will be disqualified before your entry interview.
Rule Number 3. Wear all black.
It was a weird set of rules, but I’d followed all of them, except for the first. Naturally, I’d had to tell Fran that I planned on applying, but no one knew about that.
Five minutes passed, and I stood on the freezing cold porch, waiting patiently. Just when I was convinced I should knock again, the door creaked open.
An elderly woman in a maid’s uniform glared out at me from the crack between door and jamb. “Yes?”
What am I supposed to say?
“I have come to talk to the woman in charge,” I said, repeating the words that had been written on the application form.
“Yes. One moment.” The door clapped shut again.
Another five minutes passed.
This had to be the weirdest union in history. Or whatever this group was.
Finally, the door opened, and the elderly woman beckoned for me to follow her into the house. She brought me across the polished wooden floor of a massive foyer, complete with a chandelier, up a flight of stairs, and to the end of a dingy hall. She knocked once on a thick wooden door then listened for something I couldn’t hear. She nodded to herself.
“You may enter. She’s ready for you.” And then she turned and walked off.
What on earth? I wrestled my anxiety under control then opened the door and entered a study. It was expansive, with plenty of light streamed through the sash windows, the curtains drawn back to their fullest extent.
The room was decorated in rich reds and deep walnut browns that reminded me of a villains lair in a movie. The leather chair behind the desk swiveled to reveal a tiny woman seated in it. She was shockingly young to be the head of anything, probably just out of her teens, but she studied me with such a vicious gaze, I recalculated my initial impression, immediately.
“Miss Gold?”
“An applicant.” Rebecca pointed at the desktop. “Put down your application and take a seat.”
I did as I was instructed, placing the plate of covered cupcakes and the application forms in front of her. The leather chair squeaked underneath me and quiet settled in, punctuated by the ticking of a grandfather clock to our right.
“Your name is Milly Pepper,” Rebecca said, perusing my application forms. The plate of cupcakes remained untouched.
“Yes.”
“And you own the Starlight Cafe? Frank’s place?”
“Yes, Miss Gold.”
She rolled her lips from side-to-side. “And you’re sure you want to apply to the Bakers group.”
“Yes.”
“Before you answer so hastily, there are a few things you need to know.” Rebecca talked like a woman twice her age. She pressed the application forms and plate of cupcakes to one side and sat back in the leather chair, folding her arms. “First, that the Bakers group is a serious organization. The application and interview process is rigorous and takes several months to complete.”
Months! I don’t have months to infiltrate this organization. I needed answers about Elijah now. About the case.
“Second thing you need to know is that should you join the Bakers group successfully, you will have access to a range of professional services free of charge. A lawyer, a tax consultant, an accountant, and several other perks in the form of protection and influence. We are a very well-respected and powerful organization in Star Lake, Miss Pepper.”
I nodded, still working over how I could turn the long application process into a win. Maybe this was a bad idea.
“Lastly,” Rebecca said, her voice lower and her stare intensifying, “once you join Bakers group you may never leave.”
“Never?”
“Never. You will die as a member of the Bakers group. You will pay your membership fees every year. You will do as you’re told. And you will represent the group to the best of your abilities at all times. Anyone who breaks the rules will face the full legal repercussions of the law. A contract breach is a very serious thing, you understand.”
“You can’t legally force people to sign a contract that states they’ll be a part of something for life,” I said, rationally. “That wouldn’t hold up in court.”
“We don’t ask you to sign a contract saying anything of the sort. But there are ways to punish those who don’t… do as they’re told.”
Wow. “OK,” I said.
“Do you want to proceed with your application? There’s no guarantee you’ll be accepted, but we always recant the rules at the beginning of the application process. Just so everyone is clear.” Rebecca tilted her head to one side.
“Yes,” I said. “I want to proceed.”
“Good.” Rebecca rose from her chair, sliding open the desk drawer. From within, she drew a pair of burgundy gloves and slipped them on. On the backs, they had a patch of lavender fabric bearing the letters “B.G.” in cursive print.
“What are those?” I asked. “They look nice.” That last part was added in quickly.
I’d recognize that burgundy glove anywhere. It was the same one I’d found at the crime scene. Soggy, half-burnt, except that glove hadn’t had the lavender patch. Rather, the patch had been torn free to expose the burgundy fabric beneath.
“These are just one of the perks of being in the group,” Rebecca said, with a small smile. “Our winter gloves. Every member gets a new pair during winter. We also give out a pair of Bakers group sandals during summer. Your application interview is over now, Miss Pepper. You may leave.”
“Thank you.” She had no idea how helpful she’d been.
I’d just discovered where the glove had come from.
A member of the Bakers group. My gut instinct that this revolved around the Bakers had been correct. One of them had committed the crime.