Bake Sale Brawl Read online




  Bake Sale

  Brawl

  Renee Summers

  This is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and events depicted in this book are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any similarity to actual people, either living or deceased, is purely coincidental.

  Chapter 1

  Mackinac Island, Michigan

  Before the Brawl…

  Breathlessly, I set my son’s backpack down on the dusty tile floor of the foyer. I seriously needed to do some cleaning, but that task would require a 25th hour in the day. “How many books do you have in here?” I asked, still winded. “Or are they really bricks?”

  “I told you I could carry my backpack, Mom,” Hunter said sweetly. At 10 years old, he was rapidly (too rapidly!) becoming a young man and treated me with chivalry. I could only hope his benevolent behavior would stretch through the teenage years. Ha! Fat chance!

  “Come on, let’s just get settled in. I have some baking to do and you have homework to do,” I said authoritatively as a pout emerged on my boy’s freckled face.

  “Aw, come on Mom, can’t I have a snack first? And I could help you bake! Quality time, right?” He offered as my lips curved into a bittersweet smile. Since Hunter’s father had abandoned us last year and started a new life with his girlfriend in Chicago, I had tried to spend all the quality time I could with my child.

  “Why not? Baking is a good skill for a boy to learn. You’ll impress all the girls,” I said as he grinned and followed me into the kitchen.

  I opened the window so the aromas from our baking would circulate through the air. It was a pristine spring day on Mackinac Island, a little slice of heaven tucked away in Lake Huron. Stepping onto our island is like traveling backwards into history to a much simpler time. Cars are forbidden on Mackinac; people get around on foot, bicycle, trolley, ferry, and even horse and carriage. I would be happy to stay on my island forever and couldn’t understand how my ex-husband was lured into the drama and stress of big city life.

  “Let’s see,” I murmured, opening the refrigerator. “What should we make for the bake sale tomorrow?”

  “Rice Krispie treats!” Hunter said immediately.

  “Okay, we can do that,” I obliged. “How about some fudge brownies too? And maybe some good old fashioned chocolate chip walnut cookies?”

  “Yum!” Hunter smacked his lips and rolled up his sleeves.

  Quickly, I tied my chocolate sauce-colored hair into a messy bun and yanked a few key ingredients out of the fridge. “How was school today, sweetie?” I asked, handing my son a dry measuring cup.

  “It was okay,” he said vaguely. “Mr. Blynn says hi.”

  I blushed furiously at the mention of Hunter’s flirtatious science teacher, Robert Blynn. Ever since my divorce, the man had been shamelessly trying to catch my eye, but I wasn’t ready to date yet. Even though Robert was dashingly handsome with his wavy russet hair and pure blue eyes, I needed to focus on my son, not to mention my job as a secretary for the School Board. Life was too busy for romance. Heck, it was almost too busy for baking!

  “What else? Tell me what you learned today,” I implored, always eager to hear about my son’s academic adventures. With no education beyond my high school diploma, I had an insatiable hunger for knowledge. Even a crumb from my fifth grader’s day at school would provide a tasty tidbit for my intellectual appetite.

  “We learned about clouds today in Mr. Blynn’s class,” Hunter shared. “Cumulus nimbus and all these weird names. It was cool. Mr. Blynn is so smart.”

  “How about your other classes?” I asked tightly, eager to hear about anyone other than Robert Blynn.

  “They were fine, Mom. But you know science is my favorite,” Hunter said proudly.

  “Yes, I do, dear. And I’m so happy about that. You’re my little scientist!” I exclaimed, pinching his cheeks as he wriggled away from me.

  During the next two hours, we whipped up a tempting array of treats for the next day’s bake sale. And of course we had to sample each one…just to make sure they were edible. Wink wink. Prepared from scratch with plenty of TLC, they were definitely edible if not downright scrumptious if I do say so myself.

  The next day dawned vivid and vivacious as I walked the half mile with Hunter to his elementary school. Between his two-ton backpack and the stacks of baked goods, I worried that we would topple over and get scraped up before the day even started. But we made it as I kissed Hunter goodbye, sending him off to his classroom. Carrying the goodies to the designated tables outside the gymnasium, I waved a cursory “hello” to each parent I passed. Melody Sweeney, mom of Hunter’s closest buddy, Danny, was the only one among the moms whom I considered a friend. For the most part, I liked to keep to myself and avoid the catty gossip that the others thrived on. Hastily, I placed the brownies, cookies, and Rice Krispie treats on the table and hurried across the street to my office.

  Two hours later, I hobbled away from my desk, massaging the kinks out of my neck and taking a much needed coffee break. Strolling over to the bake sale with a steaming cup of hazelnut in hand, I wondered how many of my creations had already sold. There was an unspoken competition among the women to sell out all “inventory” by the end of the day.

  “How are my products doing?” I joked, spotting Melody at the cash box.

  My friend gazed up at me through concerned eyes as she pointed to a pile of garbage on the floor. “Beatrice, I’m so sorry. I don’t know who did it, but someone smashed everything you baked and threw it on the floor! It’s so malicious! Who could have done it?”

  Chapter 2

  Within moments, half a dozen women were swarming around me like I was entertainment for a circus side-show. They simultaneously gasped as I knelt on the linoleum floor to pick up my destroyed desserts. “How did this happen?” I mumbled, scooping up the crushed brownies as my fingers became soiled with gooey chocolate icing.

  “Maybe one of the kids did it as a prank,” Kerri Lorenson, the mother of Hunter’s latest crush, suggested hopefully. “I mean, of course my Stella would never do something like this. Maybe some of the boys thought it would be funny. You know, like toilet papering the trees on Mischief Night.”

  “I don’t think so, Kerri,” Mary Jane Delaney, the proud mom of identical twins disagreed. “The kids have been looking forward to this bake sale for weeks. They don’t want to ruin the treats; they want to eat them!”

  Demoralized, I picked up the remnants of my baked goods and walked them over to the nearest trash can. The women continued to hypothesize as I dumped my wasted sweets into the garbage. “How did this happen with so many people around?” I questioned as I made my way back to the table. “No one saw what happened?”

  “I wish I had seen what happened, Bea!” Melody cried. “I would have smacked the person upside the head!”

  “And no one else’s desserts were touched?” I continued. “Just mine? This seems very personal.” I shivered involuntarily. After my hideous divorce, the last thing I needed was a secret enemy playing tricks on me in my son’s school.

  “It looks like someone has a little vendetta against you,” Mary Jane said knowingly. “Did you tick anyone off at the last PTA meeting?”

  “No, Mary Jane, not that I know of,” I replied coldly.

  “Beatrice is the sweetest person around. You all know that.” Melody wrapped an arm around my shoulder. “That’s why I call her my sweet honey Bea!”

  “Thanks Melody. You’re a doll,” I said softly as my voice trembled ever so slightly. The unexplained incident had me more than a little unraveled. “I better get back to my desk now. I was just taking a little coffee break,” I said sullenly, pulling away from my friend and walking with dignity away
from the whispering women.

  “Hey there, Beatrice!” A male voice called to me from down the hall.

  “Robert,” I pronounced, greeting the schoolteacher with a forced smile.

  “How are you?” He asked warmly, stepping into my invisible zone of private space so close to me that I could smell his cedar aftershave.

  “Busy,” I clipped. “I was just heading back to work.”

  “Why don’t I walk with you? I have a free period right now,” Robert ventured eagerly as he politely opened the exit door for me.

  “How’s Hunter doing in science class?” I asked, eager to steer the conversation away from the forbidden topic of Me.

  “Phenomenal,” Robert declared. “He has one of the highest averages in the class. That boy is like a sponge when it comes to science.”

  “Thank you. I’m glad to hear it.” The smile I offered this time was genuine.

  “He told me that you guys did some baking last night,” Robert remarked with a chuckle as though the image charmed him. “At lunch, you’ll have to point out which cakes are yours so I can buy them.” I must have visibly stiffened because Robert quickly asked, “Is something wrong?”

  “No,” I fibbed. “Just thinking about how much work I have to do. The superintendant has got a whole laundry list of stuff for me today.”

  “Sounds like you need a relaxing lunch,” Robert effortlessly seized the opportunity. “Maybe we could get a sandwich at the General Store down the road?”

  “Maybe another day. I think I’m going to work straight through lunch today,” I said definitively, speeding up my pace and leaving Robert Blynn staring after me with a blank expression on his handsome face.

  Chapter 3

  Back at my desk, I expelled an enormous, frustrated breath. Nothing in my life was going smoothly. I couldn’t even enjoy a little harmless flirtation with an attractive man anymore. For the past decade of motherhood, I had shunned the concept of “me time,” dismissing women who indulged in manicures and massages as selfish. But as I stared at the mountain of paperwork on my desk, I suddenly felt the urge to be selfish. Maybe I could leave work early just once, feign a headache, and go home to take a fragrant bubble bath with essential oils…

  “How’s that report coming, Bea? Did you proofread it for me yet?” My boss’s strident voice instantly shattered my bubble bath daydream.

  “It’s coming along,” I said vaguely. “You don’t need it until tomorrow afternoon, right Dr. Haggart?” I cringed inwardly as I addressed the school superintendant with the ridiculous title of “doctor.” Basil Haggart insisted that everyone use his official title when speaking to him, but I found the idea to be a narcissistic charade. Sorry, but if you can’t prescribe an antibiotic when my son has strep throat, then you’re not a doctor. Plain and simple.

  “Tomorrow afternoon at the latest,” Dr. Haggart clipped, stroking his pencil-thin moustache contemplatively. “And how about the notes from the last PTA meeting? You typed those up, didn’t you?”

  “Actually, I emailed them to you this morning,” I said tensely.

  “Ah you did? I’ll have to check my inbox again. I’m bombarded with so many emails, you’d think I was the President of the United States!” Basil Haggard laughed arrogantly at his grandiose joke.

  Affixing a hand to my forehead and rubbing gently, I murmured, “You know, I’m not feeling very well today. I have a terrible headache. Would you mind if I went home a little early?”

  “Well, there’s a lot of work to be done. But I suppose you could just stay late tomorrow,” my boss replied unsympathetically as I swiftly strapped my purse over my shoulder and rose from my swivel chair.

  “Thanks for understanding,” I mumbled, rushing out the door into the bracing fresh air.

  Before I had a chance to soak up the spring sunshine, I heard high heel footsteps rushing up behind me. “Bea! Hang on!” A woman called.

  I turned around to see my college age co-worker, Raina, waving an envelope in her hand. “Is that for me?” I asked.

  “Yes,” Raina said, sweeping a tuft of her ultra long cappuccino hair aside. “I don’t know who it’s from. It just has your name on it and it says “urgent.” She handed me the envelope as I frowned with perplexity.

  “Where did you find this? Did someone give it to you?”

  “No, it came through interoffice mail,” Raina explained as I nodded. One of the college student’s tasks at the office was to sort mail and deliver to everyone’s slot.

  “Okay, thanks,” I said.

  “Are you okay? I heard what happened to your baked stuff,” Raina said softly.

  “Who told you?” I demanded. If chatterbox Raina knew, then soon the whole school would know. And I didn’t want Hunter to find out. He would be devastated that all our hard work had gone to waste. Plus, he had become very protective of me since his father walked out and would try to defend me.

  “No one told me. I overheard Mary Jane talking about it to some of the other women at the bake sale tables,” Raina explained.

  “Lovely,” I muttered. “Listen, I’m on my way home. I have an awful headache.” And it was no longer a lie. My temples throbbed with tension and an odd sense of foreboding.

  “Okay, feel better Bea. Let me know if you need anything,” Raina said kindly. “Are you sure you can walk home?”

  “What choice do I have?” I shrugged. “If I wanted to drive, I would move to Detroit. But I’d rather live right here on our island.”

  Nodding her assent, Raina gave me an encouraging pat on the shoulder before dashing back to the office. I glanced at the envelope in my hands, wondering what could be so important that the sender felt it necessary to write URGENT in bold black Magic Marker. But I didn’t want to open it and deal with whatever office emergency the envelope contained. I had the rest of the day free and I intended to savor every moment of it.

  Perpetually rushing around, I decided to simply stroll home and enjoy the timeless views. I offered a friendly wave to mesmerized tourists as they experienced a leisurely horse and buggy ride across the island. Smiling at the numerous bicyclists I passed, I spontaneously slipped out of my shoes and let my stocking feet touch the cool grass. Quaint little bistros were starting to buzz with the lunch crowds and sweet boutiques showcased their artisan goods.

  My headache had vastly improved by the time I arrived home. Twisting the key in the lock, I could still see my ex-husband walking through the door with me…hastily, I banished my memories of the louse. Sade’s wise song, “Never As Good As the First Time” always echoed in my mind whenever I thought of my ex. Rainbows and roses our marriage was not. I was much happier without him even if I did have double the responsibilities falling on my shoulders.

  Slapping the interoffice envelope down on the kitchen counter, I headed directly for the bathroom, peeling off my office attire and filling the bathtub with soothing warm water. Baths were a rare luxury these days. Opening the vanity cabinet, I selected a packet of jasmine bath salts from the collection Melody had given me for my birthday. Pouring the salts into the water, I sighed luxuriantly and slipped into the tub. Closing my eyes, I allowed myself to drift into unconsciousness as a breeze from the open window lulled me to sleep.

  ***

  I awoke abruptly and stared down at my skin. Describing my flesh as a prune would be a compliment. I must have spent hours in the tub! Hurriedly, I stood up, splashing water all over the bathroom as I lunged for my robe. Knowing that Hunter would be dismissed from school soon, I sent him a text message that he should walk home on his own. Dressing in a well-worn pair of jeans and divinely comfortable cotton tee-shirt, I headed to the kitchen for a snack. The “urgent” envelope called to me from the counter. Although I didn’t want to deal with any work issues, I forced myself to open the envelope and get it over with.

  Tucked inside was a single sheet of loose leaf paper like the ones Hunter kept in his binder. My blood went cold as I read the alarming message printed in crude lettering:
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  Beatrice, it’s just beginning.

  You won’t be winning.

  But you might be sinning.

  Just wait, Beatrice.

  It’s just beginning…

  Chapter 4

  Disturbing vibrations of the threatening sing-song poem made my headache return with a vengeance. Who had penned the spiteful yet cryptic verses? With trembling hands, I picked up the envelope and looked intently at the writing. I didn’t recognize the handwriting at all. But the mean spirited poem appeared to have been scrawled with deliberate messiness so that its author would remain anonymous.

  As I inspected the envelope, I noticed for the first time that it was a plain white type in which one might send a greeting card. “But Raina said it came through interoffice mail,” I whispered to the empty kitchen. Interoffice mail usually came in long manila envelopes with a string to untie on the top. This observation led me to deduce that the sender was affiliated with the school but not necessarily an employee.

  I tried to dismiss my fearful trembling as a result of my lengthy bath and the fact that my hair was still soaking wet. But in my gut, I knew that I was stone cold afraid. Whoever had crushed my desserts must have also written the warning poem. Confrontation was not my style, and I had never engaged in an argument with anyone from my son’s school. Employment with the School Board required that I maintain a professional demeanor at all times. Wracking my brain, I just couldn’t figure out who I had possibly offended.

  Minutes ticked by as I stood immobilized in the kitchen, trying in vain to come up with a plausible suspect. My heart leapt achingly as I heard a key turn in the lock. Could it be past 3 o’clock already? The only person who had a key to the house was Hunter. I had promptly called a locksmith to change all the locks the same week my ex-husband left for Chicago. “Hunter?” I called, hoping the shaking in my voice wasn’t too noticeable.

  “Yeah, hi Mom!” Hunter’s sweet little voice called as I breathed a sigh of relief.