The Diva Says Cheesecake!

My perfect grandson wants a New York Cheesecake for his birthday cake. I’m happy to oblige him. How does it differ from a regular cheesecake?

Angel’s Grandma in New York Mills, Minnesota

Dear Angel’s Grandma,

New York Cheesecake is the height of indulgence. Loaded with cream cheese, eggs, and heavy cream or sour cream, it’s often taller than the average cheesecake. It’s dense and plain, no fruity flavors, candies, or cookies. It’s most often served plain or with a strawberry garnish. Happy birthday to your grandson!

Sophie

A special note to Worried in Old Town: Please contact me immediately at Sophie@SophieWinston-Events. com.

Nina won the bet at four o’clock in the morning. I woke to the ringing of my landline not two feet from my ear. I felt for the receiver and murmured, “Hello?”

“I can’t find him. I can’t find him anywhere.”

It took a moment for my brain to engage. “Bobbie Sue?”

“I’m so sorry. I know it’s the middle of the night but I’m just desperate. I’m at the restaurant. Could you and Nina come down here? I don’t know what to look for.”

“Have you called the police?” I asked.

“No!” She said it loud enough to shake me fully awake. “I. . . I don’t want to involve the police.” In a much smaller voice, she added, “Not yet.”

A big part of me wanted to roll over and ignore her. But I wouldn’t be able to sleep now anyway and I liked Bobbie Sue. She was competent and smart, which made me think something was up. “Okay. Give me a few minutes.”

I let Daisy out, and back in, while I called Nina, then went upstairs to change. It was chilly outside in the wee hours, so I opted for stretchy jeans, a periwinkle mock turtleneck without sleeves, and a matching periwinkle jean jacket. I gave Daisy and Mochie a little midnight snack and met Nina just as she emerged from her house.

The streets were quiet, with not a soul to be seen. Not even a car purred in the distance.

“Have you heard anything about Tate on the grapevine lately?” I asked. Nina volunteered at the animal rescue and had loads of chatty friends.

“Not a word. Neither he nor Bobbie Sue ever come up in gossip. As far as I know, they’ve always looked like the perfect couple. To the public at least. It’s hard to know what goes on behind closed doors.”

We reached the restaurant. The gaslights on either side of the glass double doors flickered. But the lights inside were dim like it was closed and no one was there.

When I knocked on the glass, Bobbie Sue emerged from the shadows to unlock the doors.

My heart sank when I saw her. Eye makeup had smeared under her eyes and she wore the same vividly colored dress she had on the night before. The only difference was her shoes. Sneakers had replaced heels.

“Tate never came home last night,” she blurted, locking the door behind us. “I have awakened half a dozen of our friends. No one has seen him. They don’t have any unidentified patients at the hospitals. His car is in the garage. It’s like he vanished.”

She was going to have to call the police. Maybe we could talk her into it. “You still can’t reach him by phone?”

“No! Yesterday morning when I left the house is the last time I actually saw him. He phoned me around noon to find out if the problem at the factory had been resolved. It was a perfectly normal conversation, just checking up on the situation.”

I had been so hopeful, but the circumstances were beginning to sound far worse than I had imagined. “Have you checked his calendar?” I asked. “Do you have a password for his computer?”

Flicking on lights as we went, she led us through the dining room and upstairs to a second-floor office in the back where a brass lamp shone on a highly polished antique desk with claw feet. “He kept a hand-written calendar. Both of us do that. Old-school, I guess, and the fear of computer hiccups.” Bobbie Sue plucked a book-style calendar off the desk and opened it at the ribbon marker. “There are just notes about meetings and a charity dinner that’s coming up.”

I held my hands out for it. On yesterday’s date, there were no entries, but there were dots. Ink dots. As though Tate had tapped his pen on the day several times. Had he meant to write something? Had he thought better of it? Or had he been on the phone talking with someone and tapping the date that was open?

While Nina asked questions of Bobbie Sue, I studied Tate’s desk. A green leather blotter lay on top of it, no doubt to protect the surface. I lifted it and noted Bobbie Sue’s frown.

There was nothing underneath. “Is there a safe here somewhere?” I asked.

She shook her head. “Not that I know of.” She hurried to add, “I have never been involved in the management of the restaurant, but I think I would know if there were a safe.”

I pulled out the top drawers and felt underneath them for envelopes or papers that might have been taped to them but found nothing. I crawled under the desk and looked up. Tate hadn’t affixed anything he meant to hide.

I stood up, brushing off my clothes.

Bobbie Sue stared at me, her jaw twitching. “You think the police are going to get involved.”

It was a good bet. I answered carefully, trying not to upset her. “Why don’t you want to report him missing?”

She didn’t respond right away. “I am so scared that I can hardly breathe. Tate is older than me. I suspect he fell or may have had a heart attack. The police won’t help with that.”

“They could help you find him,” I pointed out. “They might be able to ping his phone. What if he needs medical help?”

“What if he’s been kidnapped?” asked Nina.

Bobbie Sue’s expression changed to one of horror. She could barely speak. “There . . . there’s been no ransom note. No phone call. Why would you think that?”

I shot Nina an annoyed look. “I’m sure you’re right, Bobbie Sue. If Tate had been abducted, you would have heard from the kidnappers. Maybe we should look around here to make sure he wasn’t taken ill, and no one noticed. You two check around up here and in the attic. I’ll take the dining room and the kitchen.”

I probably should not have left Bobbie Sue with Nina, who might put ideas in her head. I suspected the real reason Bobbie Sue hadn’t notified the police yet was publicity. She and Tate were prominent in Old Town. Neither the cheesecake business nor the restaurant needed lurid headlines about one of them having gone missing. Especially if another woman was involved. It might come to that, but she was probably being prudent to look around first. I trotted down the stairs and into the large kitchen.

A refrigerator issued an annoying hum. The faint scent of bleach lingered in the air and the stainless-steel counters gleamed. I left the kitchen. A door in the rear led outside. I opened it and peered into the alley behind the restaurant. I couldn’t see much in the dark, but I didn’t notice anyone lying on the ground. There weren’t even many cars parked there. A high brick wall acted as a barrier to the houses that backed up to the alley.

I closed the door and locked it. As I turned, a spot on the floor caught my eye. Probably a drip from garbage that had been taken out, I thought. It was dark cherry red. From a sauce, perhaps. Or maybe it was blood. Just in case, I didn’t dare touch it.

A nearby door opened to stairs that led to a dank basement. It was creepy, even when I flicked on the lights. Boxes of wine, spirits, and supplies were stacked on top of each other. Some had been opened. Along the wall to the right, bottles stood in a commercial wine rack that ran from the floor to the ceiling.

I edged slowly through the stacked boxes. Something crunched under my shoe. I stepped back to see what it was, but it had embedded itself in my sandal. Balancing on one foot, I bent my knee and examined it, expecting to see a pebble. But a piece of glass had stabbed the sole of my thong. I cautiously wiggled it out and realized there were more on the floor. Wine bottles probably broke down here on a regular basis.

The trail of scattered glass shards led toward the wine rack that ran along the wall. And in their midst, an arm lay outstretched on the floor.