Cat Trick

She nodded, icing sugar dusting her dark curls. “Actually, there are three of us: Decadence—that’s Olivia— me, and Earl of Sandwich. I’ve been here only a month.”

Olivia Ramsey was a chocolatier who specialized in handmade truffles and caramels. Decadence’s reputation was beginning to spread outside the state. Earl of Sandwich ran two lunch wagons that serviced pretty much all the construction sites in the area. And yes, the owner’s name really was Earl.

I looked around the kitchen. The walls were painted a pale creamy yellow, like whipped butter. The appliances were all gleaming stainless steel. At the far end of the space, I could see two brick ovens built into the wall.

Georgia followed my gaze. “They still work,” she said. “This was a pizza place at one time, I guess.” She gestured at two wire racks to her left on the long butcher-block table. “What would you like? The ones with the green frosting are Chocolate Mint Madness and the others are Devilishly Decadent Chocolate.”

“Could I have half a dozen of each?” I asked.

“Absolutely,” Georgia said. She brushed off her hands and reached for a couple of flattened boxes from a nearby shelf.

“Are you ready for the food tasting?” I asked.

“I think so,” she said, glancing up from the box she was folding into shape. “I’m doing six different cupcakes. And Liam rearranged things so now I’m next to Molly’s Coffee, which should be good for both of us.”

“I hope everything works out,” I said.

Georgia set the finished carton aside and started bending the other one into shape. “I think it will . . . now.”

“Mike Glazer made things difficult.”

She nodded, keeping her head bent over the half-formed box. “Nothing seemed to satisfy him. He was on Liam about every little thing. Then he started in on Mr. Chapman about the style of the tents and if looks could kill—�� She realized then what she’d said. “I’m sorry. That was insensitive.” There were two blotches of red high on the cheekbones of her otherwise pale face. She wiped her hands on her long white apron.

I gave her a small smile. “It’s okay,” I said. “I think Mike had alienated pretty much everyone who was involved with the tour project.”

Georgia finished the box and reached for the cupcakes. “He stuck his nose into things that were none of his business, and now he’s dead.” She exhaled slowly and looked at me. “He just shouldn’t have done that.” I was a bit taken aback by the intensity in her voice.

Georgia finished boxing the cupcakes, and I paid her and put them in the canvas shopping bag I’d brought with me. She walked me to the door.

“Thanks,” I said. “I’ll look for you at the food tasting. I hope it goes well.”

She wiped her hands again on the front of her apron and gave me a small smile. “I think it will, now,” she said.

Walking back to the library, I thought again how sad it was that Wren Magnusson was the only person who seemed to feel any grief about Mike Glazer’s death. Georgia certainly didn’t seem sorry, although to be fair, she’d barely known the man. I thought about the tension in her voice when she’d commented that Mike had been sticking his nose into things that were none of his business and the way that she’d kept wiping her hands nervously on her apron. What had happened had clearly left her feeling unsettled.

Back at the library, I stashed the cupcakes in my office and took over from Abigail at the front desk. Susan came in at twelve thirty, carrying a large crock of soup—the lunch Eric had reminded me about. He was testing a new recipe and we were going to be his guinea pigs. She smiled sweetly as she passed me on her way to the stairs. A small feather duster with Kool-Aid-orange feathers was stuck through her topknot. Obviously Eric had repeated my threat about dusting all the shelves.

“So not funny,” I called after her. She didn’t even turn around, but I saw her shoulders shake with laughter.

The soup—chicken with spinach dumplings—was delicious, no surprise. So were Georgia’s cupcakes. I spent the afternoon doing paperwork and working on the list of new books I wanted to order.