J Stanley - The Battered Body

“Who you talkin’ to, boy?” Jackson asked gruffly as he entered the kitchen in an old bathrobe.

James slammed the lid back on the cake plate and stood up guiltily. “No one. I’m… I’m off to the library. Are you planning to work on a painting of Paulette’s hands today?”

“Yep. Soon as I polish off that leftover cake for breakfast.” He patted his flat stomach as James watched on with envy. “I reckon it’ll help inspire me, ’cause I’m gonna show her frostin’ this very cake in the paintin’. I liked how she angled her wrist just so to get it on there all nice and smooth.”

James wished his father luck, and after gazing longingly once more at the cake plate, he headed off to work. Instead of driving to the library, however, he swung into a parking spot in front of the Sweet Tooth, the town’s bakery.

Megan and Amelia Flowers, the mother/daughter team who kept the townsfolks’ bellies filled with homemade breads, cookies, and pastries, were bent over the display window, smoothing a sheet of red velvet fabric across the bottom ledge.

“Good morning, Professor,” Megan greeted James briefly, and then she stood erect and put her hands on her narrow hips. “I had the pleasure of meeting your newest family member yesterday.”

“Uh-oh,” James moaned softly, and then he frowned. “Why would Paulette come in here? She does her own baking.”

“For a croissant to go with her latte ,” Amelia answered, her full lips turning into a practiced pout. “But she told my mom that our croissant wasn’t flaky enough and bought a baguette instead. She didn’t like that much either. Said it was only supposed to be crusty on the outside , not inside and out.”

“I’m sorry.” James tugged on his scarf, which suddenly felt too tight. “Paulette can be really impolite, and she seems determined to offend everyone in Quincy’s Gap.”

Megan picked up a large box wrapped in red and green foil and stuffed with wax paper, and she began to fill it with candy-cane-shaped loaves of egg bread. Megan had ingeniously dyed half of the dough red and left the other its natural shade of whitish-yellow, so that when braided, the bread looked striped, just like the sugary version of a candy cane.

“She didn’t stop her criticism with my breads either.” Megan continued crossly. “She made her shrinking violet of an assistant buy three of my cakes-whole ones, mind you-and then they left, no doubt so that our visiting celebrity could hold that girl down and force-feed her slices of my cake. I thought I was rid of them, but twenty minutes later they were back! That TV cake baker was chock full of suggestions on how to improve my recipes!” Megan furiously sifted powdered sugar over the candy-cane bread.

“They weren’t suggestions.” Amelia placed another gift box filled with iced gingerbread animals in the window. “That witch came in here lookin’ to pick a fight. She told my mom that her cakes were dry and her icing was crunchy as kitty litter! I’d have liked to pull her white hair out strand by strand when she said that.”

Megan shot a proud look at her daughter, and her tone immediately softened. “Honey, you go on and get to your studying now. I know you’ve got exams tomorrow, and I can handle things for the rest of the day.” She watched her daughter leave. “I can’t believe she’ll be done with college soon. Where does the time go? She’s dying to move to New York, but how could I let her go there if the city is populated by people like Paulette Martine?”

“Oh, I wouldn’t judge all of Manhattan based on her,” James cautioned. “In fact, I hear New Yorkers are pretty friendly. They just seem intimidating because they wear black so much.”

Megan looked unconvinced. “I’ll really miss Amelia’s artistic touch when she leaves me to pursue her fashion design career. I mean, look at this candy house she made for the window.” The baker gestured at an enormous gingerbread house built in the style of a southern plantation.

“It looks like Tara from Gone with the Wind.” James marveled at the immense, two-story structure. It had a roof created from vanilla wafers, two chimneys crafted of colored sugar cubes, graham cracker shutters, icing railings complete with green gumdrop garlands, flowers and shrubs made of marzipan, and a split-rail fence built using chocolate-covered pretzel sticks. It even had wreaths on the double front doors, made of mini red and green M &Ms and a marshmallow snowman with a black licorice hat in front of the veranda.

“Can you help me carry this masterpiece to the window?” Megan asked James. As they lifted the house, which would form the centerpiece of the window display, Megan’s mouth deepened into a frown. “That woman actually had the nerve to tell me that I should run right out and buy the book she wrote about baking cakes. I was so mad I could have shoved her into the oven! She’s mighty lucky it was turned off.”

“For what it’s worth, I love your cakes.” James eyed one of his favorites: Megan’s butterscotch cake.

Dusting off her hands, Megan touched James on the sleeve. “It wasn’t my intention to take my ire out on you, Professor. You know you’re one of my best customers and I’ll never stop being grateful to you for sticking up for Amelia and me when our reputation was on the line.” Looking at her colorful window display, Megan’s frown dissipated. “Enough of my yammering. What can I get for you today?”

“I think I’ll take my employees some hot cross buns. Scott and Francis are still up in arms over our missing library elf.” The bells hanging from the front door tinkled as another customer walked in. James continued speaking without turning around. “I might have to take out an ad in the Star , imploring the thief to bring it back before those two conduct a house-to-house search.”

“It so happens we’re offering a holiday discount to all our advertisers,” a familiar voice said.

James pivoted slowly on his heel, reluctant to meet the hazel eyes of Murphy Alistair, editor of the Star , author of the soon-to-be-released novel about the death that had occurred inches from where he now stood, and his girlfriend of almost half a year.

Ex-girlfriend, he reminded himself, noting how attractive Murphy looked in a black turtleneck, jeans, and a red toggle coat.

Murphy gave James a thin smile. “How are you?”

“Fine,” he answered tersely, and then couldn’t help but add, “I saw the postcard promoting your book.”

“Cool cover, don’t you think?” Her face glowed. “Advance sales are great too. My agent says there are actually two movie studios that want the rights as well. Can you believe it?”

Megan silently placed a white bakery box tied with green-striped string onto the counter. Along with most people in Quincy’s Gap, she knew that James had broken up with Murphy because the good-looking reporter had neglected to tell him that she had written and then sold a novel featuring James and his supper club friends as bumbling amateur sleuths.

“Anything else, Professor?” Megan queried with a false cheerfulness, hoping that her two customers wouldn’t get into a heated argument. Having had a corpse in her bakery a few years ago and her daughter briefly viewed as a murder suspect was more than enough excitement for the single mom.

“No, thank you.” James paid for his buns and then brushed past Murphy. “Have a nice holiday,” he told her with a polite formality he normally reserved for strangers.

Murphy’s enthusiasm was instantly quelled. “You too,” she replied, and then, as James opened the door, she called out, “You’re going to need to face the fact that this book is coming out! Try to consider that it might do some good for the town. Tourism will increase if people come here to see where the novel’s events took place. Especially if it gets made into a movie.” She glanced at Megan. “Your business might triple! Same with Dolly’s Diner! Couldn’t everybody use a bit more money in the bank?”