Killer Cheesecake Tart Page 2

  “Sounds fine,” Bert agreed, climbing back in and following Sarah’s lead as she directed them to the building at the side of the castle. Once parked, they got out and started moving food into the garden area.

  Stone walkways acted as bridges over manmade ponds. Fountains sprouted up from the center of the water and a stone statue of a cherub had water streaming from its mouth. Everywhere Bert looked there were fresh spring grape flowers starting to bloom. At least, that was what Bert deduced they were—seeing as the estate also acted as a small winery.

  They looked like thousands of tiny white little bells hanging down in bunches from the stems, preparing to sprout into the tasty grapes that would be made into white wine.

  “They’re beautiful, aren’t they?” came a woman’s voice.

  Bert looked up and saw a young woman with flowing blonde hair on a ladder against the building. At the foot of the ladder were beautifully decorated tables with white linen and pink ribbon—the same color palate that Bert had been asked to match. She was glad to see she’d gotten the shades right on her dessert.

  Setting down the tray on the table next to the fine china the women would be eating from, she looked up to the young woman on the ladder. She was hanging a sign signifying the Tenth Annual Mother’s Day Wine and Cheese Party.

  “If you mean the grape blooms, I agree. I’ve never seen them before.”

  “They are my favorite bloom of spring,” she admitted, straightening the sign a little.

  “I can see why,” Bert agreed, leaning in toward the wall where some of the blooms were growing and smelling them. They had a distinct sweetness that was pleasant.

  “They’re actually called clusters, just like the grapes that will come from them.”

  Bert put her hands on her hips and leaned back, satisfied to even be allowed to be here on such a beautiful day. “And I bet they make a killer wine, too.”

  “You must be the caterer, Bertha Hannah,” the blonde-haired woman noted, securing the sign onto a hook and climbing down the ladder.

  “That I am, and this is Shiv, my assistant.”

  “Nice to meet you,” she greeted, flashing a brilliant white smile. She shook Shiv’s hand politely. “My name is Persephone. I’m Vera’s graphic designer,” she motioned to the sign, indicating that she had made it herself.

  “I see.”

  “I also did the invitations and few other things, but it’s a miracle Vera even accepted them.”

  Bert began arranging the various tarts to look nice on the decorated tables. “Oh? I’d heard she was picky. Did you have some troubles?”

  “You might say that. I had to print the sign three times because the colors weren’t exactly right,” she sighed, putting her hands on her hips and examining her own work.

  Bert couldn’t help but look down at the arrangement of tarts they’d brought and wonder if the color might be off. To her professional eye as a pie and pastry chef, the pale pink flowers looked spot on with the ribbons of the table.

  However, would Vera agree? Bert was no stranger to unruly customers who simply couldn’t be satisfied. It was as if they were just looking for an outlet for their frustrations.

  Would today be a day like that? She sure hoped not.

  “Well, if that’s true, I hope that she doesn’t throw my tarts in the trash,” Bert half-joked. This young lady obviously had some experience working with Vera, and Bert just wanted to gauge what to expect.

  “I’m sure you’ll be just fine,” she beamed.

  “We’re glad to hear that,” Shiv chimed in.

  “Honestly, Vera dislikes younger people to some degree. Because you’re older, more along the lines of the other women who will be here today, I think she will see you in a different light. Me, on the other hand, I’ve been doing graphic design and printing work for her for nearly seven years. Fliers for the winery, ads for the newspaper and magazines, that sort of thing. She’s never once hesitated to criticize me or my work.”

  Bert cocked one eyebrow up. “That seems a little odd. Why would she hire you back again and again if she dislikes your work so much?” Could it be possible that Vera truly did like the work Persephone did but was just a perfectionist? Maybe she saw something special in the young woman but wanted to push her to the very best of her limits.

  “She was friends with my mother back in the day, before she passed away unexpectedly, which is one reason I think she may have continued hiring me even though I might not measure up to her usual standard.”

  “Maybe she just really thinks you have great potential and wants to keep giving you work,” Shiv suggested with a positive spin, sharing some of the same thoughts Bert was having.

  Persephone shrugged. “Maybe, but I doubt it. I think she just likes having another person to criticize and boss around. Thankfully, I also have my own personal artwork I do on the side. That keeps me sane.”

  “That’s very nice,” Bert agreed. In spending time on social media via her smartphone, she’d seen several impressive pieces of art—all made digitally—by young creative minds. It never surprised her what people were capable of thinking up and making, and the computer made it even more impressive.

  Bert had great respect for the girl as a graphic designer. “Maybe you should show Vera some of your art,” she teased.

  Persephone shook her head. “Naw. Vera would never appreciate it because she doesn’t much respect or appreciate anything but herself. She’s always been sort of a stick in the mud, that way.”

  “And it has served me well, mind you.”

  Bert instantly felt her blood run ice cold at the sound of an older woman’s voice coming from the veranda. Even though she herself hadn’t said anything, she couldn’t help but feel embarrassed for Persephone’s lack of tact—and awareness.

  It was situations like these that got Bert’s heart pumping.

  Vera Blackwell walked along the veranda in a slim rose-pink dress with a cream-colored shawl swathed elegantly on her arms. She wore gloves and had a matching hat pinned atop her head.

  Bert expected the young woman to stumble over herself and apologize for her rude words, but she did no such thing. Persephone stood by in quiet silence, clasping her hands together and smiling as if nothing had happened. “Hello, Vera.”

  “It’s Mrs. Blackwell to you, young woman,” she scolded coming around and down the stone steps into the garden. The very first thing she did was pause to examine the desserts without even looking at the young woman who’d just insulted her.

  Feeling like a contestant on a baking reality TV show, Bert watched from the sidelines as her tarts were examined up close—inch by inch—by the hostess. Taking a dainty sniff, she straightened up and turned to Bert. “You must be Bertha Hannah from Pies and Pages.”

  “Yes, Ma’am,” Bert said, holding out a hand of offering to the woman.

  “Oh, poo. Enough with the ma’am stuff. You’re renowned as the best pastry chef in all of Culver’s Hood.” Her eyes fell on the tarts again and this time she cracked a smile. “By the looks of these delectable treats you’ve brought us today, I’d have to say the rumors hold true. If these taste anywhere as delicious as they look, you and I may have a long and lucrative business relationship.”

  Taken aback by the surprise compliments, Bert was only able to stand still with her mouth open for a few short seconds before replying. “Why, thank you, Mrs. Blackwell.”

  “Please, Vera,” she said.

  “Vera, thank you for your warm words,” she said.

  “I’m impressed that you were able to match the shade of pink I wanted so exactly. You have a real eye for these things.”

  Bert couldn’t believe her luck. She glanced over at Shiv who was beaming from ear to ear at her employer.

  Placing her hands on her hips, Vera turned and looked up at the sign, her smile melting like chocolate on a hot stove. “Persephone, the sign is crooked.”

  “I’m very sorry, Mrs. Blackwell,” the young woman responded, turning to cli
mb back up the ladder.

  “And the color still doesn’t look just right, you know, but I suppose it’ll have to do,” Vera sighed, all too dissatisfied with the product she was presented with.

  “I’m very sorry, Ma’am.”

  “Well, in any case, get it straightened out and then you can be on your way.” She waved a dismissive hand as she turned back to Bert, her smile returning.

  “On my way?” Persephone protested. “I was under the assumption that I was to stay for this year’s festivities.”

  Vera’s smile disappeared once again, and her eyes widened with utter shock as she turned back. “Heavens no, girl. What on earth would make you think that?”

  “My name was on the invitation list that your secretary sent over,” she said, trying to talk and adjust the sign at the same time.

  Vera’s lips tightened, and one eyebrow shot up. “Is that so? Well, it was a mistake and Sarah will have to be put straight on the matter.” Turning back to Bert, she clasped her hands. “Now, I still have to make sure my boys will have the wine ready to come out onto the tables. The cheese caterer should be here any second. If you don’t mind, keep an eye on their displays, since you seem to have a knack for it.”

  “I will,” Bert agreed, not knowing how else to answer.

  “Very well. This party will be off the ground before we know it,” she announced with a flourish of the hand, walking off toward the castle manor.

  Chapter 3

  * * *

  “Why, if it isn’t Bertha Hannah. What a pleasant surprise this is,” one of the women said approaching the catered table of delicious foods.

  The party was now underway, and all the most well-to-do (and well dressed) women from Culver’s Hood were there mingling about. Some had already started in on the cheese service and a few others on the wine.

  Bert had already cut several tarts for the women to eat. She expected to do that again for this next guest. However, something about her voice was familiar. Glancing up, she instantly recognized Claudia Thompson from her church’s congregation.

  She wore a fine floral-patterned dress and a matching sun hat. Despite how nice the items looked on her, they seemed somewhat out of place—and even a little too busy—for the current company of women.

  Claudia just didn’t seem like the typical guest to be invited to such a function.

  “Claudia?” Bert asked, wondering if the resident gossip from the church was party crashing to get the latest news. However, even that seemed a little extreme and out of character for her. While Claudia wasn’t above eavesdropping or butting in where she wasn’t wanted, showing up at one of the richest women’s house uninvited just seemed unlike her. “What are you doing here?” Bert finally asked, determined to figure out just what was going on.

  “Surprised to see me, dear?” she asked in a snide tone, sticking her nose out in the air.

  “I am a little, yes,” she admitted.

  “Well, if you must know, I received an invitation,” she announced, presenting the embossed cardstock with the event’s name and date on it along with Claudia’s name. You are invited, it announced in bold lettering.

  “You got invited?” Bert asked, unable to stop herself from emphasizing the word you in a somewhat rude manner. After all, Claudia was taking great pride in shoving the invitation in Bert’s face and boasting about it.

  It wasn’t that the pie shop owner cared about being invited to high-class parties or events, but it did bother her that Claudia—a very mean and wicked tongued woman—somehow had an invitation in her hands. Worse yet, it only added to the woman’s ego.

  “It seems that someone recognizes class when they see it,” Claudia declared, putting one hand on her chest in a proud motion.

  Bert refrained from saying something she might regret to a fellow church member, seeing as she would have to see the woman almost every Sunday when there wasn’t a catering event like this one, as well as at church functions.

  “You see what happens when you just apply yourself a little?” Claudia scoffed.

  Bert was inclined to believe that there were some feelings of jealousy here, seeing as Bert had opened a successful business which was booming and garnering all sorts of attention. If Claudia’s one moment of pride was an invitation to a hoity-toity party, so be it.

  “Would you like a slice of tart?” Bert asked, skirting away from Claudia’s boasting and toward the food at hand.

  “Ah, yes. You’re here to serve the food, aren’t you?” she declared like it was something she’d just realized.

  Bert clenched her jaw and had to strain to keep from rolling her eyes.

  “She asked if you wanted some tart,” Shiv cut in with a snip in her voice. She’d been listening in and Bert could see the blush of anger in the young woman’s cheeks.

  Before Claudia could answer, a shadow appeared behind her.

  Bert instantly recognized the party’s hostess, Vera, standing by with a none too happy look on her face. It was if she were straining to smile to keep up appearances in front of the other guests of the garden, but her irritability was threatening to make the expression collapse altogether. “Pardon me, Mrs. Hannah, but is this one of your employees?”

  Bert blinked a few times, caught off guard by the question. What did she mean?

  “Why, of course not, Vera dear,” Claudia said, turning to the hostess. “Such a sense of humor you always have.”

  “She is not here because of you?” Vera asked again, narrowing her eyes at the pie maker.

  Bert again felt that chill in her blood. Vera could murder someone with that look alone. “No, I’m afraid not, Vera. She’s here by your invitation.”

  Vera’s flushed cheeks went pale with horror. “By my invitation?”

  “And I feel honored to be here,” Claudia declared, holding out the invitation.

  Bert watched the hostess’ face as she fumed, her nostrils flaring out like an angry dragon. “This is a mistake. I’m sorry, but you will have to leave,” she whispered, motioning toward the side of the house. “You can quietly see yourself out.”

  “B-but this is an invitation from your estate,” Claudia sputtered, having gone almost pea green as if the embarrassment of being kicked out of a fancy party would quite literally make her ill.

  Looking around to make sure no one was too close or listening in while she remedied a very delicate problem, Vera repeated herself. “As I said, it was a mistake. I’m very sorry.”

  With that, she turned and walked toward a trio of other ladies all standing in a circle and laughing, sipping wine and nibbling on a finely smoked gouda.

  Claudia, watching the hostess walk away, started to mist up in the eyes. Despite her attitude only moments earlier, Bert couldn’t help but feel sad for the woman. In her experience, someone like Claudia wasn’t that different from herself.

  Claudia was a widow in her late sixties and trying to figure where she fit in the world after all these years.

  Bert was the same, the only difference was that she had found herself by opening Pies and Pages. Something Bert always said to younger people was, “you will spend your whole life reinventing yourself over and over. Don’t be afraid to change.”

  Now, looking at how lonely Claudia appeared to be, Bert knew that she needed to change and be a friend instead of passively polite.

  “Claudia,” she whispered.

  “No thank you,” she cut in quickly, fighting back the waves of tears.

  “Huh?”

  “I don’t want any tart right now. In fact, I think I forgot something back at home. Have a nice day.” With that, she marched off around the building and disappeared.

  * * *

  A few minutes after Claudia had left in shame, Vera came back up to the table. This time around, Bert didn’t feel as intimidated. In fact, she felt a sort of deep frustration with the woman.

  “I apologize for what you had to see, Bert. That woman and I . . . we have a touch of history that doesn’t warrant speaking
about.”

  Bert crunched her eyebrows together. “A history?”

  “The point is, I would never have invited her of my own accord. Therefore, I must only deduce that this was a horrid mistake, or a sick practical joke, on the part of my graphic designer. Needless to say, she won’t be receiving another job from me ever again. In fact, I think it’s safe to say she won’t be working in this city again.”

  Bert couldn’t believe her ears. Could Vera really be threatening the poor young woman’s livelihood? Worse yet, why was Vera so intent on sharing everything with Bert?

  “Perhaps, Vera, it wasn’t Persephone’s fault at all,” she found herself defending the woman.

  Vera turned on Bert again, her eyes narrowed in suspicion. Bert pushed down the sensation of a chill that the look had given her previously. “Why do you say that?” she challenged.

  Bert fumbled for a good answer, biting her lip. Then she had it. “Well, there was already one mix up on the guest list Persephone received. Maybe Claudia Thompson’s invitation was another. Persephone may have just been going down the list given to her.”

  Vera’s expression stayed stone cold for a moment. However, after a second it stretched into shock. “Of course, you’re right Bert. How could I not have seen it myself?”

  Bert blinked a few times, surprised that she’d managed to pull it off. “Yes. Exactly. It was just a wrong list. Maybe an older draft?”

  “And I know just who is responsible.”

  “You do?” Bert inquired, not liking the fact that the blame had shifted to someone else.

  “Yes, that secretary of mine has gotten so lax these past months. It’s time she was done in.” She looked around the garden as if seeking out the woman in question.

  “Are you sure?” Bert pressed.

  “I’ll bet she’s inside,” Vera said, more to herself than to anyone. “I’m going to fire her on the spot for making so many mistakes with the guest list.”