Cream Puff Read online

  Table of Contents

  Excerpt

  Cream Puff

  Copyright

  Dedication

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Thank you for purchasing this publication of The Wild Rose Press, Inc.

  Five feet from his workstation, he froze. The seven-story tower of vanilla cake was right where he’d left it, held together with raspberry mortar. But sitting next to it as if it belonged there was a crumpled little brown pinstriped bag.

  Charlie’s hands trembled and his heart began to jackhammer.

  He tried to remind himself that he was a grown man and didn’t believe in spooky things. Instead of allowing himself to wonder where it came from, he focused on putting things away in an orderly fashion. And fast.

  He hustled the cake into the cooler with as much care as possible, feeling unseen eyes on him the entire time. Then he shut off all of the lights, locked the back door, and headed for the car. Both hands were shaking as he chucked the bag containing what he knew was Pearl’s beading wire into the dumpster. He watched to make sure it went in.

  It wasn’t meant to be her anniversary gift anyway.

  Charlie distinctly remembered throwing it out the car window on the drive into town. His logical side wanted to analyze how it had reappeared in the bakery, but to do so might mean he really was having some sort of nervous breakdown. Considering the circumstances of the last year it would be understandable, but he wasn’t ready to accept that.

  He wouldn’t be able to handle any more ridicule and he sure didn’t want anyone’s pity. Charlie was unaware as he got behind the wheel that he was talking to himself. Every so often, he answered.

  Cream Puff

  by

  Demaree Iles

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales, is entirely coincidental.

  Cream Puff

  COPYRIGHT © 2016 by Demaree Iles

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission of the author or The Wild Rose Press, Inc. except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.

  Contact Information: [email protected]

  Cover Art by RJ Morris

  The Wild Rose Press, Inc.

  PO Box 708

  Adams Basin, NY 14410-0708

  Visit us at www.thewildrosepress.com

  Publishing History

  First Mainstream Mystery Edition, 2016

  Print ISBN 978-1-5092-0818-0

  Digital ISBN 978-1-5092-0819-7

  Published in the United States of America

  Dedication

  To my editor, Laura Kelly, with many thanks.

  Chapter One

  “Just looking, thanks,” Charlie said as he leaned over the counter.

  The sales girl had noticed him perusing the ladies watches and walked over with the apparent intention of pouring on the charm. He could see her hovering reflection in the glass of the display case and looked up. She put on her best smile.

  “Buying a gift, Mr. LaRue?”

  “Thinking about it.” He returned to the case that held gold necklaces sparkling against a bed of black velvet. “I’m just not sure.”

  The girl knew him, but he didn’t recognize her at all. She couldn’t be older than eighteen or nineteen—too young to be one of Ruby’s friends. Was his memory getting that bad, or did the headaches have something to do with it? It wouldn’t surprise him; they were coming more often now and hurt worse than ever.

  He leaned over the glass again and stroked his chin. His fingers found sandpaper cheeks. Forgot to shave again.

  With her eyes on him, Charlie suddenly stood and shook his balding head, causing his glasses to slide down the bridge of his nose. He thumbed them back into place and headed for the door.

  “Thank you,” he said over his shoulder. “Have a nice day.”

  “You, too,” she replied, the good cheer fading from her voice as the door closed.

  Charlie couldn’t bear to see that same disappointed look on the face of another salesperson, so he kept moving down the promenade. He had nothing to show for the last couple hours of window shopping and their anniversary was day after tomorrow. To top it off, his temples were thumping like a bass drum at a college football game.

  Just what he needed…another headache.

  His skull reverberated with tiny cannons and he never heard the roll of approaching wheels on the concrete walk until they were right on top of him. The teenage boy swerved his skateboard and flew past.

  “Excuse you,” the kid said.

  With his eyes closed from the pain, Charlie had almost walked right into him.

  “Sorry,” he said.

  “You should be, asshole!” the boy called back.

  Charlie watched as the sidewalk surfer barely avoided colliding with a sign that prohibited skaters of any kind on the promenade. The boy saw him looking in his direction and flipped him off.

  Sweet kid, Charlie thought. Please don’t skate out in front of a car or anything.

  He walked on. Just down from the jewelry store he passed a travel agency where a large poster in the window caught his eye. It was a palm-tree-and-shoreline scene inset with several photos of people having a ball at the beach. The caption below proclaimed COME TO HAWAII in big, bold letters. Charlie continued rubbing his temples and the pain abated somewhat as he gazed at white sandy beaches and crystal blue water under a warm and carefree sun.

  Sure would be nice.

  Reality came back in the form of a late autumn breeze. It kicked up with force along the downtown boulevard, causing him to sink into the high collar of his coat and stuff his hands deep into his pockets. The wind rattled fancy awnings and whistled between alleyways. Up and down the promenade on both sides of the street, shoppers disappeared into their own coats or ducked back inside one of the stores to avoid the sudden Ransom chill.

  People who never lived in Louisiana might find it surprising that autumns could be downright chilly in the South (and with the humidity, winters could freeze you to the bone). A glance at the slate gray sky promised an even cooler evening, and as he looked back at the cheerful poster once more he sighed. Someday.

  He kept walking and tried to ignore the voice inside telling him ‘someday’ was never gonna happen. God knew he’d made his fair share of money over the years, but circumstances had just never been right for a getaway vacation. It had taken too long for the money to be there. Now that it was, there was never any time.

  That’s not the whole story, is it? the voice asked.

  Charlie shook off the thought and shuffled past a couple more shops that held no interest.

  His own reflection appeared in the glass of a storefront window, and he paused, studying himself. Between the ears he still felt thirty-five, but a man almost twice that age stared back at him. With all he’d accomplished, he’d have thought the passage of time wouldn’t bother him all that much. But it did.

  He’d worked hard for years to turn his passion
into a thriving business. They had a nice home (paid for, thank you very much) and were almost out of debt. And as of this coming Saturday, he and Pearl will have been together for fifty years. The Big One—a golden anniversary. So what was the problem?

  Because at some point, Chuckles, life stopped being fun.

  It was more than just life, Charlie thought. It was life with her. Being married to Pearl had become more trial than any one man deserved.

  He himself was amazed they had ever come together in the first place.

  Pearl Granville had once been a vivacious knockout. Everyone at Wilson High had been astounded to see the head cheerleader going out with the likes of him. Beautiful as she was, he too often wondered what she saw in him, but why look a gift horse in the mouth, right? At least he used to think that way.

  Over the years she must have grown tired of keeping up an image based on her looks. Maybe she felt that with him she didn’t have to try anymore. Considering the extra couple hundred pounds-plus she’d put on over the last few decades, it was a pretty safe bet. Whatever the reasons, it didn’t matter. These days, he was just concerned for her health.

  He still liked doing nice things for her and had been trying all morning to think of a gift that could represent a half century of marriage. Some people didn’t even live that long. It reminded him that his own seventieth birthday was right around the corner.

  Charlie continued scanning the storefront windows and trying to rub away the pounding in his temples. It was becoming more persistent. Lack of sleep, he knew, but it was hard to get a lot of shuteye when you ran your own bakery.

  “A baker’s day starts early,” he often told people. Getting older didn’t help.

  He pulled the collar of his coat even closer against the stiff breeze. The limp in his left leg was a little more pronounced and always seemed to hurt more as winter drew near.

  The sudden toot of a car horn made him jump.

  “Good morning, Dad,” Ruby LaRue said from the Volvo rolling up to the curb. “Mom said I’d probably find you down here.”

  “Hey, Punkin. What’re you up to?”

  Ruby scowled. She’d told him before that Punkin sounded too much like pumpkin, and pumpkin sounded fat. A comparison could already be made between mother and daughter, and Ruby hated being reminded of her tendency toward her mother’s genes.

  “Just picking up a few last minute items,” she said. She shut off the car and got out, joining him on the pavement. “Everything needs to be perfect, you know.”

  Ah, the wedding. It was all she’d talked about for months.

  She and her mother had decided that Ruby’s wedding should be on the same day as their anniversary. Charlie thought fifty years together should take precedence over his daughter’s third union in a growing string of bad marriages, but apparently not. What’s more, the guest list for the wedding consisted only of people that seemed to hate Charlie’s guts.

  “I’m sure it’ll be just fine, hun,” he said, leaning in for a hug.

  She stopped him, placing a hand to his chest and kissing the air on both sides of his face like a Hollywood starlet. “Please, Dad, the suit,” she said. “I have to meet with a client at three.”

  He stepped back and stuffed his hands into his coat pockets. “So…everything set, then?”

  “Yup. Church is all good and I’m picking up the dress this afternoon. Just getting little thank-yous for the girls.”

  On cue, Ruby held out her hand. A practicing attorney for five years now, she still seemed to expect Charlie to pay for everything. He reached for his wallet.

  “I don’t think I have that much cash on me.”

  “Come on, Dad. The father of the bride coughs it up, you know.”

  Since she was six his daughter had exhibited two irritating habits: forever saying ‘you know’ as if everything she said was common knowledge and assuming that her father was an endless wellspring of money. She wiggled her fingers; the universal sign for gimme.

  “Can’t break tradition,” she said with a giggle.

  He handed her a handful of twenties. “Here…you can’t have it all. I’m still shopping for Mom’s big gift.”

  Ruby wadded the cash in a pudgy hand and dropped it into her open handbag like she was dumping an ashtray into a garbage can. “Shoot, that’s right,” she said, rolling her eyes. “Your anniversary—I almost forgot. So is Mom going to be able to make the wedding?”

  Charlie knew that she and Pearl had already discussed that. Where most mothers wouldn’t miss their daughter’s wedding for anything in the world, his wife tipped the scales at over four hundred pounds and had more ailments than any one person should.

  If it wasn’t Pearl’s weight, it was her arthritic knees. The woman never left the house. In fact, she seldom got up from the sofa.

  “No, honey, she can’t,” he said, “but she wants lots of pictures.”

  “That won’t be a problem. I’ve hired a great photographer.”

  Not a problem when you’re not paying for it, Charlie thought, then admonished himself for thinking like a cheapskate.

  Ruby shrugged. “Well, it sucks that she won’t be there.” She kissed the air once more in his general direction and crossed the street toward the antique shop. “I’ll call you later,” she yelled. “And don’t forget my present while you’re at it.”

  She somehow must’ve forgotten that he was making her wedding cake for free. A seven-tiered velvet and buttercream behemoth, it would be his largest creation and likely the best one yet. No, he thought, she didn’t forget. She’s just angling for more.

  Again, he beat himself up for thinking such things.

  Another strong breeze gusted and Charlie braced himself. The day was picking up speed, he still hadn’t found Pearl’s gift, and the hammering in his head was relentless. Severe headaches had become a regular part of his life the last couple of years, but he refused to see a doctor. He told himself he just needed more sleep.

  If they didn’t ease up soon, though, he’d consider stepping in front of a city bus. Or maybe pushing someone else in front of one.

  God, it hurt.

  Chapter Two

  Born and raised right there in Ransom, Charlie LaRue had always been slight of build and shorter than the other boys in school, and though his family kept waiting for that one big growth spurt, it never came. When his father found out his boy was being picked-on with regularity, Charlie was given the age-old adage for confronting bullies.

  “Ya gotta punch ʼem in the nose, son,” Dad had said. “Stand up for yourself. Then they’ll leave you alone.”

  Experience, however, had proven his father wrong. When Frankie Lane cornered him in the junior high boy’s room, he tagged the older boy with everything he had and right on the button—just like Dad taught him. Charlie’s bravery earned him a black eye, a concussion, and a dunk in the crapper. As an afterthought, the bully pissed on his head.

  His father was sure to tell him he probably just didn’t hit the guy hard enough. While Mom had always been supportive and caring, Dad always seemed to find fault. Nothing Charlie ever did was good enough.

  Frankie may have been finished with him that day, but Fate wasn’t.

  “Come with me, son,” the principal had said, leading him from the nurse’s office with a hand on his shoulder. “Would you like something to drink?”

  The nurse had come along and Charlie remembered thinking Mr. Kendall had never been that nice to any student. Maybe he was going to be rewarded for his courage in fighting back. Instead, the man sat him in a comfortable chair in his own office, gave him a Coke from the teacher’s lounge, and told him his parents were dead.

  “I’m so sorry, Charlie,” the principal said over and over.

  What he didn’t say was that while on the way to the school to pick Charlie up, his parents had driven right through a stop sign. Witnesses said the couple appeared to be arguing. They probably never saw the semi.

  ****

  “Excuse me,
sir. I think you dropped this.”

  Startled, Charlie turned from the glass to find a young man in military uniform holding out a billfold that looked just like his. He couldn’t help reaching into his overcoat to confirm an empty pocket and a frayed hole at the bottom. About time for a new coat.

  “Very nice of you, son,” Charlie said, accepting the wallet. “Thank you.”

  “Welcome, sir.”

  Charlie watched the soldier walk away. Dressed in garrison green with spit-shined low quarters that gleamed despite the overcast skies, the young sergeant strode with confidence along the promenade and disappeared into the Army recruiting office a few doors down.

  Moments later, Charlie passed by, waved, and recalled a time when he wore the same uniform. It hadn’t worked out the way he had planned, but life was kind of like that. Had he stayed in the service all those years ago, the career and success he was meant for may never have come his way.

  Without realizing it, he soon found himself walking with a little more purpose and a little better posture as he went. He was never meant to be a soldier, but he’d still once been young, proud, and full of hope for the future. Hard to believe it was so long ago.

  ****

  Following the double-funeral for his parents, his dad’s brother had taken him and his sister in and cared for them. On Charlie’s seventeenth birthday, however, that same uncle drove him to a similar recruiting office and—as his legal guardian—signed the permission form to enlist in the U. S. Army. It was Charlie’s idea, but Uncle Jeff was just as glad to be rid of him.

  He thought being a soldier might be a great career. If nothing else, it would toughen him up. Still, it came as no surprise when he discovered that bullies also existed in uniform.

  Charlie made it through basic training on sheer will, but didn’t fit in no matter how hard he tried. There was rarely a day when he wasn’t picked-on for his size by his fellow soldiers. Sometimes it was good-natured ribbing, but more often it turned malicious. He found himself volunteering for chores that others detested just to get through his day without a hassle.

  Of these jobs, kitchen patrol (or “K.P.”) duty was considered the worst by all the troops, yet Charlie found solace there. Cleaning pots and pans turned into peeling potatoes, and from there he progressed to assistant cook. In no time, the officer supervising the mess hall discovered that the young private had an extraordinary gift for baking. Charlie was happy when he found himself permanently reassigned.