Chapter 18

“You got cake back there or something?” I asked. I can’t say we went for a romantic drive in the country. No romantic drive I’d ever been on—not that I counted myself an expert in these things—ever involved sitting in the passenger seat of a bakery truck inhaling the intoxicating scents of sugar, vanilla, and . . . was that almond extract? Then again, maybe they should.

“Yes,” he said. “Last-minute cancellation. I was supposed to deliver two sheet cakes over to the assisted-living complex just outside of town. Fiftieth anniversary party.” He shook his head and sighed. “Sad thing.”

“Don’t tell me one of them died on their anniversary.”

“Nope. He caught her cheating on him with her canasta partner. Canceled the whole party.”

“You know, that’s almost worse.”

He chuckled. “Still, they made it forty-nine years, three hundred and sixty-four days. They might figure it out yet.”

“I suppose.”

“Some humdinger of a wedding the mayor threw for his daughter.”

I bristled in my seat. Better to face it head-on. “Not my most stellar moment.”

“Yeah,” he said. “I’m afraid the photographer didn’t get your good side this time.”

What did that mean? Did Pippa make my butt look big?

“I mean,” he said, “not that you have a bad side. I didn’t mean to say the picture was unflattering . . . I . . .”

“Nice try. I’m just glad I didn’t take down the whole cupcake tower. I’d have to change my name and move.”

“It wasn’t that bad. Although Carolyn seemed a little upset that you were stealing her spotlight. I heard her talking to her father midway through that little dance-a-thon—”

“Let me guess.” I attempted my best Carolyn impression. “‘Daddy, make them stop.’” Then I tried her laugh, that nasal titter her poor groom would endure the rest of his life, unless Carolyn took up canasta.

Nick’s genuine laughter filled the truck, and it made me laugh, too, the tension-relieving laughter that doctors say is good for you. I hadn’t wiped away the tears of laughter when his next words came.

“So,” he said, “are you and that mortician guy serious?”

“Serious about what?”

“I mean, are you an item?”

“Little Joe and me?” I let out a sigh. “I suppose he’s interested, and there’s more than a few people in Ramble who’d like to see us together. He’s tall, you see, and somehow they think that makes us an ideal couple. But he’s not my type, so I try not to encourage him. Besides, the first time he asked me out, it was still too soon after . . .”

“After?”

I scrambled for an answer. I felt so relaxed in the truck, joking and laughing and inhaling almond fumes, that I’d let my guard down. And I didn’t want to talk about Brad. I waved it off. “Just an old relationship turned south. Say, what about you? You sure have been buying up the bouquets lately. Who’s the lucky girl?”

Grandma Mae would have had a fit to see me asking such a direct question. “Ladies don’t pry,” she’d told us. “At least not obviously. Prying just shuts people down.”

And maybe Grandma was right, because instead of answering, he just said, “Oh, there’s our turnoff.”

I didn’t need to press for an answer. In a small town like Ramble, I was sure to run into her. But as Nick deftly maneuvered the truck through the maze of industrial streets, I decided he could still be a friend. I was at ease with him, as he seemed to be with me. We shared work interests in common, a similar sense of humor. All in addition to being tall. Hey, height wasn’t the most important thing, but it meant I could hang out with him, wearing actual shoes, without looking like an Amazon princess or the Jolly Green-Thumbed Giant. As long as the girlfriend didn’t prove to be the jealous type.

“Here it is,” he said as we drove past the old building. It looked just like the picture, only creepier—like a trendy catering hall for the Addams family. The windows were dark and filled with birds’ nests and spiderwebs that glistened in the streetlights. The picture was broken by a pale shaft of light and the silhouette of a man as he squeezed in the front door.

“Someone just went inside,” I said. “A squatter, do you think?”

“I don’t know. Let me circle the block and see if I can find a place to park.”

“Where did all these cars come from?” I asked. Cars lined the street and filled the weed-pocked parking lot.

“Maybe one of the businesses nearby?” he suggested. “They probably figured since the lot was vacant . . .”

“But the factory building looks dark.” I scanned the area for other signs of life. “And these cars don’t look like they belong to any factory workers I know.” We’d passed BMWs, a Bentley, and two cars with diplomatic plates. Nick stopped to let a stretch limo pull out of a long parking spot before easing the bakery truck into it. From this vantage point on the side of the restaurant, we could see both the front and back doors.

“Someone else is coming,” he said. “Get down.”

I scrunched down in the upholstered seat and peeked out the bottom of the window. A couple, arm in arm, climbed the steps of the supposedly deserted restaurant. The pale shaft of light returned, setting the young blond woman’s jewelry and short sequined dress glittering. They entered the building and all was dark again.

“They’ve got blackout or something on the windows and doors,” Nick said. “It looks dark and empty, but I bet the whole place is filled with people.” He turned to me. “Some hunch you had. Something is going on in that building.”

“But what?”

He grabbed the door handle. “You want me to go find out?”

“What?”

“Let me just go to the door. Maybe I can get a peek inside.”

“Are you crazy?”

“What?” He pointed to all the cars. “People means safety. The worst thing that could happen is that they don’t let me in. But maybe I can get a good enough look to find out why all these people are coming to a deserted restaurant in the middle of the night.”

“You think something illegal can be going on in there?” I asked.

“Audrey, it’s a deserted building. I doubt they have a valid business license. Of course there’s something illegal going on in there.”

“Then don’t go. You could get hurt. Let’s just call the police.”

“And tell them there are cars parked outside a deserted building? Even if they took me seriously, by the time they got a warrant, anything going on in there would be swept under the carpet. No, let me just check it out. If I can get a gander inside, then we might have something to tell them. If I can get a cell phone picture, better yet.”

“But if this building has anything to do with why Derek died . . .” I grabbed on to his wrist. “I’m going with you.”

“Then if you’re right, and it’s dangerous, we’ll both be put in harm’s way.”

“Wait, you can’t argue both sides.”

He chuckled. “Sorry, captain of my high school debating team. An old habit to break. Tell you what . . . we both want to know what’s going on in there, right?”

“Right.”

“Then you wait here. I’ll call you on my cell phone and put it in my pocket. You’ll be able to hear me talk and hear anything I hear. We’ll pick an emergency word. If I use that word, you call 911 right away.” He tossed me the keys. “And hightail it out of here while you’re doing that.”

I didn’t like it, but I agreed.

“Wait,” I said.

“Are we going to argue this again?” His voice carried a note of exasperation.

“No,” I said. “Except it looks like a classy party. And you look . . .” I reached over to straighten his collar. Although he’d changed out of his baker’s whites, he couldn’t be mistaken for couture, just dreamy, and as my hand accidentally brushed up against his stubbly cheek I doubted this friend thing was going to work.

“Do you have a suit coat?” I asked.

“Just a leather jacket.” He reached behind my seat to pick it up. “What do you think?”

“That’ll have to work,” I said.

He dialed my number. We tested the connection, then he climbed out of the truck.

“Nick, wait,” I said.

He looked back. “Audrey, it’s the best way.”

“No, I . . . We need the emergency word.”

“Oh, right.” He ran a hand through his hair. “How about ‘pfeffernüsse’?”

“Pfeffernüsse?”

“It’s a cookie. And I won’t be saying that by accident.” He smiled one of those paralyzing smiles of his, then headed to the restaurant while the Mission: Impossible theme played in my head.

I scrunched down in the seat with my cell phone pasted to my ear and watched as he tried the front door. Locked. But moments later, just a slit of light became visible.

“Yes?” A gruff male voice echoed through the cell phone, sending a wave of adrenaline through me. Just what in the world did we think we were doing? A baker and a florist trying to gain access to a possible criminal hot spot? We must have been out of our minds.

“I heard there’s some action here tonight,” Nick said.

“Sorry. Private party.” And then the slit of light disappeared.

I waited until Nick pulled open the door of the truck. “Did you see anything?”

“One eyeball.” Nick tossed the leather jacket into the space behind the driver’s seat.

A wave of relief flooded me. Something about that not-so-deserted building gave me the willies. We watched as the back door opened and a man stepped outside. His white apron glowed in the moonlight and a small flare, then a smaller glow near his face, showed that he’d stepped out for a smoke.

Minutes later, the glow was extinguished and the man passed back into the building, leaving a narrow band of light around the outside of the door betraying the fact that it was ajar.

“Bingo.” Nick opened the truck door again.

“Where are you going?”

“They said they’re having a party. Let’s make it a party.”

“What are you talking about?” I climbed out of my seat and followed him to the back of the truck, where he raised the hatch.

“Get in here, out of sight.” He pulled me up into the mini kitchen that was the back of his truck and closed the hatch before flipping on a light. He wrapped himself in an apron, shoved a couple of food service gloves into a pocket, then put on a cheesy baker’s hat, one of those paper ones that look like the hats Liv and I once folded using pages of the Ramble On.

“What are you doing?”

“What’s a party without cake?”

He pulled a sheet cake out of the stainless steel racks in the back of the truck and hoisted it onto the counter.

“You’re taking them a cake? Like that’s going to get you in there.”

“Ah, my dear.” He pulled out a pastry bag and wafted it under my nose. “Never doubt the power of cake. I just need to change it up a bit.”

I watched as he artfully pulled icing from the top of the cake. “Happy 50th Anniversary!” became “Happy Birthday!”

“What if it’s not anybody’s birthday?” I asked.

“In a group of any size, it’s always somebody’s birthday. Or near a birthday, anyways. If I’m not out in fifteen minutes, dial 911.” He turned off the lights, tugged open the hatch, and headed toward the back door of the old restaurant.

As my eyes readjusted to the darkness, I slipped out of the back of the truck and felt my way to the cab. As I checked my phone for the time, I realized that he hadn’t called me like he had earlier. I wouldn’t be able to hear what was happening.

I hazarded a glance around the back of the truck, but he was gone.