Chapter 22
We returned to Honey’s place to figure out what to do next.
Lidia showed up at the door with Dahlia fifteen minutes after we arrived.
At the kitchen table, I sipped on the glass of sweet iced tea Honey had given me. “Well, we know when Valerie came back to the hotel. The question is what her business was about, and who was she meeting. It sounds like she planned to talk to someone that night, doesn’t it?” I asked after we filled Lidia in on the conversations.
“Yeah. Strange that she said she had business. Could she have gone out again?” Honey asked.
“The hotel clerk said that she came in before midnight, and the police think she died in the following hour, so I doubt she went anywhere else.”
Chance came over, waving a piece of paper. “Tess, can you get me pictures of your family for my science fair project?”
“I’d be happy to. I’ll go through my pictures tonight and see what I can pull out.” I wracked my brain, wondering what I had handy. There were plenty of pictures of me hanging on the walls from when I was growing up. I supposed I could always have color copies made for him.
“Do you look more like your mom or your dad?” he asked, studying my face.
“A little of both. I have my dad’s hair and nose, but my eyes and a lot of my face look like my mom. Just like you have your dad’s eyes and your mom’s nose.” I tweaked his nose between my knuckles and made a honking sound.
He didn’t look amused. Note to self: apparently kids don’t enjoy that anymore by the time they’re eight. “I have my dad’s eyes and chin,” he said.
“True, but I still see your mom when I look at you.” There was so much of her in his face. I didn’t expect it to stay that way for long. In a few years, the testosterone would kick in and he’d start to fill out. The thought amazed me. I still remembered when he was a new baby. Eight seemed so old—the mental image of him as a man made me feel ancient.
“That’s gross. She’s a girl, I’m a boy,” he protested. “I can’t look more like her.”
I held back a grin. “I see your dad in your face, too. Don’t worry—in a few years you’ll probably look way more like your dad than like your mom.”
He scowled, not soothed by my words. Then he turned to Lidia. “You’re Dahlia’s aunt, right?”
“Yes.”
“Do you have pictures of her mom and dad? Can I use them too?”
She looked a little surprised by his request—flustered even. “I’m sorry, I don’t have any pictures with me, but I’ll see if I can find some with Valerie from the wedding rehearsal. I should be able to get a few from the photographer. I’m told she took dozens of pictures there.”
“Okay.” He took off again and started working on the poster board laid out on the table at the other end of the room.
Lidia looked at her watch. “Honey, I appreciate you letting Dahlia stay here with you. There is so much to do still.”
“No problem. We’re glad to have her.”
“I need to head home too.” I turned to Lidia. “Would you mind giving me a ride?”
“No problem,” Lidia said. “I wanted to see inside your restaurant. I heard you’ve been working hard to fix it up.”
“Let me show you around.”
Lidia gave Dahlia a kiss goodbye and we headed out to her Mercedes. Apparently her husband was doing well financially.
I slid onto the butter-soft leather seats and felt the warmer kick in. The interior was spotless—perfection that far exceeded anything my Outlander ever saw. I doubted she’d ever have to apologize for cracker crumbs and spare cereal bits on the seats. Her dash shone from treatments and her windows were spotless, holding only a parking permit and the sticker in the corner that indicated when it was time for the next oil change. Ever diligent, she’d had it done only the week before. The woman was an organizational menace, I thought, and smiled.
When we were on the road, I asked, “So what does your husband do?”
“He’s a software consultant. He travels all over the world for big companies, troubleshooting and helping fix systems in trouble. Sometimes I travel with him, but right now he’s in the Philippines, and two weeks there was more than enough for me.” She firmed her lips in distaste.
“So is he’s gone most of the time? That must be difficult.”
“It is, yes, but it’s always been like that, so we’re used to it. When he was in France, I spent all day touring museums and eating crusty bread at little sidewalk cafes. It was lovely.”
“So there are benefits.” I grinned at her. “I love France. I spent a year there myself on internship, though I wasn’t living in Paris. I managed a few trips into the city of love. I had to work out every morning to keep from gaining a hundred pounds while I was there. Lovely area, as long as you’re careful about your pocketbook and what parts of Paris you wander into.”
“But that’s true everywhere,” she agreed, tipping her head in my direction. “Good thing my masseuse training taught me so much about pressure points. It came in handy the one time I wandered into the wrong neighborhood.” She smiled as she pulled into the back parking lot at my home. “So what are you calling this place?”
“Honey’s going to get her way, of course.” I chuckled because we’d gone back and forth on names in the week leading up to the wedding. She had mentioned this one at least three times a day. “It’s the Sweet Bites Bakery.”
“Catchy.”
We got out of the car and I pulled out my keys to the back entrance. We walked through the narrow kitchen, past the freezer and walk-in fridge, past the empty spot in the wall where the oven would be installed the next week and along the stretch of stainless-steel countertops. Boxes of equipment and supplies were stacked everywhere.
“Purple, I see,” she said as she looked at the walls. “It looks surprisingly great.”
“I hope you’re not the only one to think so.” We passed through to the customer area of the business. Big cutouts in the wall would allow people to see me work—which had me a little uncomfortable, really—but they wouldn’t be able to touch anything or get in the way. In the long run, I hoped it would create interest in my cakes and be a draw that sold goodies. “More purple in here. I’m not quite done, but I hope to finish up by the end of the week.”
“Too bad about the ugly tables and benches,” she said with a frown of distaste.
“Yeah, hideous, but orange and purple are complimentary colors, right?”
She lifted her brows and gave me a look that said I was stretching the Pollyanna attitude.
I tipped my head in acknowledgement. “I’m looking into replacing them with bistro-style tables soon. The sidewalk is wide enough that I thought I’d see if I could put a table or two out there when the weather’s good.”
“And what kind of drinks will you offer?” Lidia ran her fingers over the existing order counter.
“I’m bringing in a cappuccino machine, and I’ll have a cooler with sodas and milk. I’m also replacing that hideous counter with a display case for cupcakes and cookies.” I’d considered Italian sodas as well, but that wasn’t high on my priority list.
“Good call.” She turned to me, smiling. “Looks like you know what you’re doing. I’m sure it’ll be a success.”
“I hope so.” We exited through the kitchen again and I locked up. “Have a good evening.” We waved goodbye before I headed up the stairs to my apartment.