Fat Cat Takes The Cake

Anna and Grace were standing at the front door. Grace waved a piece of familiar-looking paper in Anna’s face, but Anna stood her ground, her arms folded and her chin out.

“What’s going on?” Chase asked.

When Grace whirled toward her, the venom she shot at Chase was so virulent that Chase was very glad Mike was beside her.

“I suppose you helped her steal my recipe.”

Chase shrank away involuntarily. As Chase feared, she held the copy that Patrice had made.

“I had nothing to do with taking that,” Chase said. “And neither did Anna.” She felt her own anger rising. Who did this woman think she was, attacking Anna that way?

“I don’t believe that for a minute,” Grace said with a sneer. She gave a mighty sneeze and Chase noticed how red her nose was. “How did this get into the bag of dessert bars my assistant bought here Thursday?”

How did it? Chase frowned, trying to puzzle it out. She had put it into the pocket of her smock. Then she had gone out front to work. “What does your assistant look like?”

“What does that matter?” Grace took a threatening step toward Chase. She sneezed again, this time in Chase’s face.

Chase could feel Mike close behind her. “I’m trying to figure this out. It was in my pocket. Do you have a cold? Would you like a tissue?” She felt like washing her face immediately, but that wasn’t possible.

“What’s important is how did you get it?” Grace’s red nose was almost touching Chase’s. It was raw, probably from wiping.

“A well-meaning person thought we would like to see the recipe,” Chase said, taking a step away from Grace’s germs. She wasn’t going to drag Patrice into Grace’s sights. “That person brought it to me. I scolded her for doing it and never showed it to Anna. If you’ve shown it to her, that’s the first she’s seen of it.”

Grace squinted at Chase, probably not buying any of her story. Mike stepped up beside Chase.

“Wait a minute,” Chase added. “Didn’t everyone have to turn in their recipes already? A week ago, wasn’t it?”

Grace nodded.

Anna gave Chase an appreciative smile. “I see what you’re saying,” she said.

“It doesn’t make one bit of difference who knows what now,” Chase went on. “The ingredients are finalized. You can’t make any changes now.”

“If you want me to,” Anna said with a smug grin, “I’ll show you my recipe.”

“I could easily deconstruct all your recipes from our samples. They’re not very complicated.” Grace gave a huff and stalked out the front door. She climbed into her car, which sat at the curb. Anna’s blue Volvo was parked behind it.

“What just happened?” Chase asked. “What are you doing here and what was she doing here?”

“I forgot to bring home Inger’s smock. I told her I’d make the ties longer to accommodate her baby bump as it grows. When I got here, I saw that Grace Pilsen’s car out front and—big mistake—let her in when she followed me to the front door.”

“Maybe she didn’t know we closed today for the snow,” Chase said.

“No, she thought we were open. She waltzed in right behind me.”

“You have a sign on the door,” Mike pointed out. “It says you’re closed.”

“Who knows what goes on in that woman’s mind?” Anna picked up Inger’s smock, which was sitting on one of the round display tables where she had set it when she opened the door. She stuffed it into her purse and headed out. “I’ll see you later, Charity,” she called with a wave.

Mike shook his head. “What was that all about?”

“Besides being exposed to a nasty cold? I can’t figure out how her assistant got the recipe. It had to have made its way into a bag of dessert bars somehow.”

“Why was she—or he—here buying your products?”

“Probably wanted to see how good they are. I don’t think Grace has ever had anything from our place.” Chase leaned against the glass case. It was empty and the lights were off, the glass polished, waiting for the shop to reopen on Monday. “I must have fished something out of my pocket, a pencil or even a tissue, and didn’t notice that the recipe copy came out of my pocket. I’ll have to ask Mallory and Inger if they remember anything about it.”

At least Mike didn’t ask any more questions. She didn’t want to tell him his cousin was pilfering for her and Anna.

EIGHTEEN

If Chase had to be shut up somewhere during a snowstorm, inside her own apartment, cuddling with Dr. Michael Ramos, was a good place to be. He had obviously planned his foray to her refrigerator, because he dashed out to his car before he came upstairs and returned with a naturally chilled bottle of burgundy.

The two of them, joined by a purring tabby cat, watched the snow fall from her leather couch, wrapped in an afghan Anna had made for her last Christmas, as they sipped the dark, ruby goodness and munched on a few toffee dessert bars. The snow had picked up again and was now thicker and faster than ever.