A Shiver of Wonder (7 page)

“Of course! Her cakes are all works of art,
the store, her house.”

“And your relationship, too.”

David remained silent, thinking.

“She keeps ending it and then beginning it
again. Just as she did in my class, just as she does with each cake
she designs. As she did with Todd. As she’s doing with you.”

“Todd, too? I knew they had some rough
patches, but…”

Her hand waved his digression away. “After
he left Shady Grove, she didn’t go out on a single date for over
two years. Two years! Until she met you. Trust me, she wants to get
it right. Allow her to. Give her the space to find her way.”

“But what if it’s me that she can’t get
right? What if I’m the problem?”

“Oh, you’ve got problems all right, but
those are yours, not hers!”

David laughed. “Fair enough.”

Abby leaned toward him again. “Genevieve
feels alone, David. Her parents both died when she was in college,
her best friend lives across the country, the other girls who know
her best are her employees. Todd was great with her for many years,
but the two of them became different people from what they were in
their twenties. You’re an adult, and you’ve been hurt, you’ve lost
things that mattered to you. She knows that you can understand her,
she knows you can accept her.”

“If she feels so alone, why does she always
push me away?” David hadn’t meant his reply to emerge so
petulantly.

“I’ve already told you,” answered Abby. “She
needs to get it right. One day. One day, she’ll tell you everything
and you’ll understand. Or at least I hope you will.”

David rose. “Thank you, Abby. Thank you for
letting me… be an idiot in front of you.”

She removed her cannula and stood. “Nothing
a few thousand kids haven’t done before you!”

He smiled. “By the way, Genevieve said that
she can’t stop by today, but she’ll visit tomorrow.”

“Anytime! Whenever. You’re both always
welcome, together or apart.”

He hugged her goodbye, and then once again
headed for the exit of The Restful Nook.

The day outside was brilliant, the May
sunshine golden but not overly warm, the hues of the mid-spring
foliage clean and crisp. Willow Street was packed with parked cars,
the owners of which were scattered about the public square along
with children, dogs, Frisbees, baseballs, blankets, and books.

David stayed on the north side of Willow,
wishing Johnson were with him. But his dog was stuck at home,
undoubtedly curled up on the living room couch, waiting to hear the
approach of David’s footsteps.

A young couple exited the front doors of the
Episcopal Church on his left. A pastor had emerged as well, and he
embraced each of them before they joined hands and began to descend
the steps. The pastor nodded at David, who had halted for a second.
He gestured welcomingly toward the interior of the church, but
David shook his head and started walking again. For his refusal he
received both a smile and a polite bow.

The trolley was at the stop at Willow and
Third, but David was headed to Gâteaupia. He’d texted Genevieve
late the previous night: “Talked to Jess. You know that. Thank
you.” And she had texted back. “Hope it helped. It was time you
met. Come by if you want in the a.m.”

He had known that she meant her business,
not her home. Saturdays were early days for the owner of a popular
bakery.

David turned right on Fourth, and then
crossed it at Larch Avenue. Gâteaupia was midway down the block on
the north side of Larch, between a sandwich shop and a
bookstore.

“David, sweetie! Oh my God, we’re busy. No
Johnson today?” Lydia had just dropped off two plates at a table
near the front, and she’d rushed forward to plant a kiss on David’s
cheek.

“Nope. God, you
are
busy. How’s
G?”

She made a face. “Slammed. Eight event
specialties: four locals, two that need to be in Franklin by three,
two new ones that came in this morning. You wanta take over my spot
so I can give her a hand?”

“Uh…”

“Yeah, yeah! Then just come sit by me so I
can whisper all that I want to do to you into your cute little
ear.”

David had no reply for that. After a few
seconds of amused silence, Lydia stepped forward and
did
whisper into his ear: “Green apple and broccoli torte with a
champagne ganache!”

As she stepped back, he quickly retorted,
“Cherry cornmeal jam cake, topped with candied blueberries.”

“Yuck! You win. Find a place to sit, I’ll
bring ya something in a few. Anything you want specific?”

“Surprise me,” David grinned.

“Oh, I want to. I want to,” she answered,
her voice sultry and low.

Lydia swept away, and David couldn’t help
but admire her. Her hair, streaked with purple when they’d first
become acquainted, was now a deep black with shimmery pink
highlights. Her figure was perfect, her demeanor a delight. She
made everyone feel as though she knew them, and in truth, she did.
Quiet about her personal life, Lydia focused outwardly, and took a
profound joy in doing so. Between her service and Genevieve’s
cakes, it was little wonder that Gâteaupia was filled to capacity
most days.

David found a table with a single chair in a
corner by the washroom. At Gâteaupia, however, no table was a bad
table. The storefront itself was an enchantment: elegantly lit cake
display cases, gleaming round tables with scalloped back chairs, a
stamped tin ceiling that shone with the vintage lighting’s
radiance. Genevieve’s spectacular paintings of various desserts
enlivened the walls, and then there was the actuality itself. Pure
heaven on white china, served with linen napkins and real silver.
Once you ordered at the counter, the remainder of your Gâteaupia
experience consisted of relaxing in comfort while being catered to
with style.

“Here you go. Chocolate and Glazed Hazelnut
Mousse Cake.” Lydia slid a plate in front of him before setting
down a lustrous fork atop a tidy napkin. “G says she’ll be out in a
few. She asked if you could entertain yourself. Think of me while
you do so, David?” She bounced back toward the counter, swung
around to make sure that he was still watching her, and then winked
as she began to take another order.

David dug in, famished. This would spoil his
lunch, but so what? Nothing could compare to one of Genevieve’s
desserts, ever. It still amazed him that she could run the business
so well. Aside from Lydia, five other women worked for her, though
two only on weekends when it was frantic. Genevieve also oversaw
the kitchen, managed the books, and
still
found time to
constantly develop and test new recipes. She was practically
superhuman, David felt at times. At other times, he found her high
level of competence daunting, if not downright frightening.

“How is it?” Genevieve stood before him, in
a fetching hair net and dusted here and there with flour.

David gestured toward what little remained
on his plate. “Howdoya think?” he got out while trying not to
swallow too quickly his final bite.

She smiled. “That’s a new one. It’s clearly
a keeper. I snapped some yummy pics this morning; if I send them to
you, can you add a page to the website?”

He nodded. “Easy. This afternoon, if you’d
like. Just hit me over the head with the spelling so I don’t muck
it all up like the last one.”

Genevieve’s smile became a smirk. “I’ll
email you when I take a break to do paperwork. And not
everyone
innately knows how to spell ‘Mascarpone.’ ”

“What about ‘rhubarb’?”

“That was a typo and you know it. Ten cents
deducted from your fee.”

“
What
fee?”

“Your next slice of it. How was Grandpa? Did
you talk to Abby?”

David set his fork down atop the plate. “I
told her. Grandpa was himself. A slightly worse version than last
week. Can we have dinner together tonight?”

“Oh, right to it, huh? Didn’t Lydia manage
to snare you for the evening?”

“She tried, but she’d forgotten she had a
date with a seamstress named Bethany. Bethany no like her
girlfriends to have boyfriends.”

“Ah. But Lydia could sell ice to the
Eskimos. Bethany might be stunned to discover what she’s been
missing out on all these years, and never let you go. If you’re
sure you’re not otherwise engaged, come by around six thirty? You
bring the wine, I’ll bring dessert?”

“Works for me.”

“Okay, see you then. Bye!” She pressed a
finger to his forehead, and then headed back toward the
kitchen.

As always, David couldn’t help but note that
Genevieve was at her happiest and most comfortable with him when
she was at work. An interesting element in their odd relationship,
but he accepted it. He’d never failed to leave Gâteaupia a good
deal merrier than when he’d arrived.

“That’s it? You just eat your fill and
leave?” Lydia once more, cantering by with four plates balanced in
her arms. “Wait a sec, will ya?”

David looked on as she served a table of
eager diners, the smiles on their faces the only evidence he needed
that Genevieve’s constant tweaks to her recipes were well worth her
time.

“I’d so kiss you again,” she said as she
strode up, “but I’m afraid you’d start to like it. And then what?
I’d gain a lover, but be out of a job.”

“I
do
like it, I do,” David insisted,
gazing into her sparkling eyes. “But how would I ever keep
you?”

“Oh, you’d keep me, David,” she simpered.
“You’re a keeper, didn’t you know that? And oh! One more
thing!”

“Mmm?” Lydia had angled forward as though
she were about to deliver a confidence.

“Banana-carrot Clementine cake with
pomegranate sauce,” she said in a hushed voice.

“Ugh. Fruit and date spice cake with cream
cheese frosting.”

“That doesn’t sound so bad. I win!” She
patted his cheek twice, and then was gone.

David pushed open the door to Larch Avenue
with liveliness in his step, and a smile on his face.

At five o’clock, after a couple of hours
spent working and a forty-five minute stroll with Johnson, David
was ready for a quick shower before the two of them walked to
Genevieve’s house for dinner. The streets of Shady Grove were busy,
as they should have been on a weekend afternoon as summer’s
approach began to seem more like a reality than a dream. They had
begun by meandering down to Easton Avenue, but had quickly veered
north, the encroaching desolation of the town’s southernmost street
proving an ill match for David’s ebullient mood.

He had only taken three steps into the
Rainbow Arms’ lobby before that mood was punctured and
deflated.

“Mr. Wilcott. I’ve been wondering how long I
would have to wait for you.” Detective Ormsby had returned. He’d
been studying the names on the building’s mailboxes, but pivoted as
David entered.

“Detective.” David nodded to him. “What can
I help you with?”

“Oh, quite a lot. Quite a lot.” Ormsby
smiled, but the effect was more chilling than comforting. David
understood that this was undoubtedly his intent.

“Why are you here? Why do you live here?” he
began.

David noted that he hadn’t pulled out his
notebook or automatic pencil. “How exactly could my answers to
those questions be relevant to your investigation?” he asked.

An eyebrow rose. A breath was taken.
Detective Ormsby waited, patiently. David breathed carefully as
well, attempting to keep his pulse, as well as his anger, in
check.

A woman stepped into the lobby from the
common area, took one glance at the two men staring each other
down, and hurried outside. David recognized her: Patty Fisher, from
2E. But he hadn’t acknowledged her. He intuited that Ormsby was
searching for weaknesses, looking to strike at any Achilles’ heel
David happened to reveal.

Breathe in, breathe out. Breathe in, breathe
out.
This is ridiculous!
he thought as they passed the
30-second mark.
What kind of policeman utilizes these sorts of
playground tactics?

Ormsby cleared his throat. “Do you have an
answer for me?” he asked, his steely voice tight, “or are you still
trying to think of one?”

“I live here because I do!” David burst out,
unable to tamp down his ire. “I have to live somewhere, I wanted to
live in Shady Grove because of my Grandpa. Why would I need to
think up a different answer?”

“I’m not sure. Why would you?” was thrown
right back. And then, “Why this building? Why the Rainbow
Arms?”

“Why does it matter?”

Ormsby took a step forward. He practically
towered over David at this distance. “Because it does. I told you
on Thursday, no piece of information is useless in a murder
investigation. For example, I’ve discovered that you and Janice
Templeton are friends, a fact you must have conveniently forgotten
to mention to me on Thursday.”

“You didn’t ask me on Thursday!” David
wanted more than anything to back up and reclaim his personal
space, but didn’t dare.

Ormsby cocked his head. “I don’t know,
Wilcott. I tell you that a man’s been murdered, I tell you in which
unit, and which tenant is on the lease for that unit. It might have
occurred
to you at some point in our discussion that to
bring up your friendship with the deceased’s girlfriend might be a
good idea.”

“It wasn’t exactly a friendly discussion,
and I honestly didn’t think it mattered.”

A meaty finger flew straight at David’s
chest. He gasped sharply at the sting, stepping backwards while
trying not to tread on Johnson, who’d begun to growl. David gripped
the leash tightly.

“It’s not your job to determine what matters
or doesn’t here,” Ormsby said, his words drenched in derision. “And
my sincerest apologies if you didn’t feel our talk was friendly. I
do my best to be a civil police detective, but on occasion I
actually have to perform my duties, which don’t always involve
being a Mr. Goody two-shoes. That undoubtedly works well in your
line of business, but not in mine. Now! Why did you choose to live
at the Rainbow Arms? An educated man like yourself, opting to live
down on Piston Avenue? I’m not seeing this clearly.”