A. Gardner - Poppy Peters 01 - Southern Peach Pie and A Dead Guy (4 page)

"I'm Jeff," he says quietly.

"Poppy."

"Yes, I know." He grins. "I remember from yesterday."

"Right," I respond. "My epic pie failure."

"Come on, it wasn't
that
bad. I once a dated a girl who thought potatoes were called
fry balls.
At least you know the basics." He pauses. "And that fries are made from potatoes."

I laugh.

"You
do
know that, right?" he jokes.

"I do now," I reply. His eyes linger on the curves of my face as he grins.

Mr. Harris clears his throat as he puts his hand on the shoulder of a tall student in a white uniform. The student is covered in flour. He also has a half smile, and his eyes are darting from us to the bread ovens. He opens his mouth when a timer starts chirping, but he quickly closes it as another student rushes to take care of it.

"This is Steve, the head baker this semester."

"Only because Tom's gone," Steve chuckles, folding his arms. The smirk disappears from his face when he notices the stern way that Mr. Harris is looking at him.

"Uh, excuse me," I call out. "Do you mean Tom as in Tom Fox?"

"Yes," Steve answers. Mr. Harris narrows his eyes and looks at me, singling me out. He tightens his hold on Steve's shoulder and glares at him like he's seconds away from being handed a detention slip. "Sorry, sir."

"Everyone, Steve," he repeats. "Steve, this is everyone. Go ahead." Mr. Harris looks to Steve to finish the rest of his introduction. As soon as Steve catches on, Mr. Harris takes a few steps back to finish his morning coffee. I watch him discreetly snag a scone and nibble on the end as Steve starts pointing out things in the kitchen.

"Okay," Steve says. "Well, the ovens are over there, and we all rotate stations. So basically you will all get the chance to make everything we sell. You'll also take a turn washing dishes."

A few students groan.

"Hey," Steve continues. "You can't mess that up, so it's not so bad."

I see Georgina glance back at me.

"Some of us might," Georgina mutters.

I contemplate sticking out my tongue at her like a five-year-old, but I decide against it. Besides, Jeff is standing right next to me.

The sound of pots and pans banging grabs my attention. I look over and see a couple of students working on beignet batter. My mind jumps back to last night. My chest starts pounding and not because Jeff looked at me again.

"Beignets are made over here," Steve says, leading us through the bustling kitchen. "We use certain bowls to make our special blend of homemade brown sugar and spices." He holds up a mixing bowl with an emblem of the school on it. "The founder of CPA had these made for his trip to France."

"What do you make over there?" a student asks, just as a bowl of batter accidentally drops to the floor.

"Really, Bramley?" Steve whines. "That's the second time this morning." He rushes to help the student clean up the mess before anyone steps in it. I feel stupid watching and not helping, but I can hardly move where I am standing.

"Shouldn't we help them?" I mutter.

"You'll get your turn to clean up messes, don't worry," Georgina states. A couple of girls next to her giggle.

"This is where we make our signature Buzz's Rise and Shine Orange Rolls," Steve says, wiping the last of the spilled batter. I smile as I think of how good that orange roll tasted when I tried it.

"Who is Buzz?" a student asks.

Steve smiles.

"I am glad you asked," he replies "Buzz was the nickname for the founder's son. The kitchen hands used to call him Buzz, but his real name was Thomas or
Old Man Thomas
. He came up with this recipe for orange rolls as a cover up when he accidentally ordered a double delivery of oranges. He didn't want to tell his dad he had made a mistake, so he made these rolls as if he ordered the oranges on purpose."

"Nice save," Cole chuckles.

The same student raises her hand.

"What happened to Buzz? Is his family still around?" the student asks.

"He's dead," Steve says bluntly. "He went missing one night, and no one knows what happened to him."

Everyone glances at each other with confused looks on their faces.

"I guess we will never know," I say out loud.

"Oh," Steve adds. "I can't believe I almost forgot this, but Old Man Thomas's ghost haunts the school. Or so people say. The legend is that you can hear him banging around in the kitchens late at night, but no one has seen his ghost in years."

"Or maybe no one is stupid enough to tell people they're seeing things that aren't there," Georgina says boldly. She laughs and lifts her chin. Her blonde ponytail bounces around as she does.

I swallow the lump in my throat. The group continues walking through the kitchen, but I stay frozen in place. Cole stays behind and nudges me. I look at him and keep walking.

"What's wrong?" he whispers.

"I think I heard a ghost last night," I admit.

"You should have come out with me and my roommate." Cole slowly follows our group to one of the store rooms. I'm almost elbowed in the gut by a student whipping meringue.

"I'm not joking," I mutter. "I saw something last night near our classroom."

"What were you doing over there?" he asks.

I hear another bang that makes my head throb. I think about last night and how the shadowy figure stared at me from the end of the hallway while I stood frozen and a little drunk. I look over my shoulder and see someone using one of the school's specially-made bowls to mix sugar with molasses. The student pauses to add a few spices and then continues mixing vigorously.

"Never mind that." I clear my throat. "There was someone in the kitchens last night."

"Did you see who it was?" Cole narrows his eyes as he looks at me.

"I couldn't see a face but—"

"You didn't see Old Man Thomas, Poppy." He chuckles and shakes his head. "I'm sure it was just someone trying get ahead on cake construction or something."

"No," I whisper. "Whoever it was just
appeared
out of nowhere."

"No one appears out of nowhere," he argues. "I'm sure there's a logical explanation."

"You're right," I say sarcastically. "It must have been Georgina mixing up gourmet cake recipes for her debut baking line."

Georgina's head tilts when I say her name. She swiftly glances over her shoulder and glares at me before directing her attention back to Steve. I cover my mouth with my hand as Steve, the head baker, points to the various pantry items that are stored in airtight containers.

"What was that about?" Cole whispers. I wait until Georgina's attention is focused solely on Steve's presentation.

"Her ears must have been burning."

For the rest of our tour we observe the many stations where each pastry is made. My mouth waters when a hot pan of orange rolls is pulled from the oven and frosted with orange glaze. The sweet frosting melts perfectly over each bun. Mr. Harris snags one and takes a bite like it's a completely normal thing to do. He does the same with the other pastries, and just when I think he can't bear to stomach any more he nibbles at the first piece of peach pie. In truth, Mr. Harris did the things we all wished we could do if it weren't socially inappropriate. But then we would all be his size. Plump and round like a ripe nectarine.

"Mr. Harris, will we be tested on all this?" Georgina raises her hand but speaks freely when Mr. Harris looks at her. He looks bothered that she's even asking that question.

"Does it matter?" he responds.

"It matters to me." She raises her eyebrows as if his retort is inappropriate.

"Not everything is a test, silly girl," he murmurs. He coughs to clear his scratchy voice.

"Excuse me?" Georgina bites back. She places her hands on her hips. "Mr. Harris, I'm paying good money to attend this program. My family has built a successful business in the food industry from nothing, and our company was even listed as one of Oprah's
Favorite Things. That's right.
Oprah
. What qualifies you to sit there choking down pie and refer to me as a silly, little girl?"

The entire class and most of the kitchen goes silent as Mr. Harris clenches his jaw. He springs forward so quickly that it startles me. His round body moves from its spot near the hot pastry counter in a flash. Georgina takes a step back trying to play it cool, but she's blushing.

"What qualifies me?" he shouts. "What qualifies
me
?" Beads of sweat form on his forehead, and his entire face looks as if it might light on fire. "I've prepared meals for hundreds of thousands of soldiers back when I served in the army.
I
have earned the right to teach as I please."

Georgina nods. She firmly clasps her hands together.

"My apologies," she gulps.

Mr. Harris growls and storms out of the kitchen. I've met men like him before. Men with a short fuse. I suppose seeing certain things from the front lines, or from the cook's line, can scar a person for life. My dad once did business with a captain in the Navy who dove to the floor during lunch after a plate shattered in the kitchen. He thought he was being shot at.

"Remind me never to piss him off," Cole says quietly.

I wipe another bead of sweat from my forehead after Jeff nods in my direction. I follow Cole back outside just as the sun is starting to rise. It turns the sky an orangey color that reminds me again of orange-scented sticky buns. I clutch my stomach to stop it from making loud noises. At least one good thing came of this bakery orientation. I met Jeff.

"Ready?" Bree finally joins me again as our class breaks up across the quad before our morning lessons.

"Ready for what?"

"Day two," she responds. "We still have a full day of classes ahead of us."

"But our first one isn't until ten this morning, right?"

I feel relieved when Bree nods. That means I can head back to our apartment and sleep off my headache. The two of us walk back to our apartment. Bree makes another pot of coffee, and I collapse on my bed and close my eyes. Day two
cannot
be like day one. I have to try harder.

I have to wear flats.

My eyes open to the sound of chirping. I sit up quickly and glance around my room. I didn't bring an alarm clock. I check my phone. It's almost time for class. I stand up and move towards my dresser, and the chirping stops. I scratch my head and take a few steps back again.

Chirp. Chirp. Chirp.

It sounds like a cricket, but sunlight is streaming through my window. I rub my eyes and rummage through my suitcase for something more presentable to wear to class. Something that helps me fit in instead of stand out. I own way too many yoga pants, and I know that Georgina would find a way to poke fun at me if I wore a skirt and high heels.

I settle on my only pair of khakis and a silky, emerald green top. It kills me to slip into my only pair of ballet flats, but I force myself to do it when I hear Bree grabbing her bag in the living room. I jog to meet her before she leaves without me.

"Do I look the part?" I ask.

Bree looks me up and down with a wide smile. Her wavy, strawberry blonde hair is tied up in a bun, and she's wearing the same peach colored button-down that she wore this morning for our bakery tour.

"Well, you're not wearing black for once," she replies. "But I never thought there was anything wrong with the way you dress."

"I'm going for a fresh start."

"On day two?" She raises her eyebrows.

"Okay," I sigh. "Just promise me something…"

"Anything." Bree shuts and locks our front door. We begin our walk across campus to the student kitchens.

"If today goes like yesterday did, keep your bourbon to yourself." I straighten my top as we walk. My heart is racing and my stomach churning as I think about the look on Professor Sellers face when he sees that I've come back for more.

"Honey, I warned you that a little taste would be plenty for you." She reaches into her bag and pulls out a double chocolate chip cookie wrapped in plastic wrap. She hands one to me. "Chocolate?"

I smile.

"I think we were destined to be roommates." I take the cookie and unwrap it. "Also, I think there's a cricket trapped behind my dresser. It seems to have gotten confused between night and day. It wouldn't stop chirping this morning."

Bree laughs as we stroll towards our building. I glance at the front entrance, and it brings back flashes of hazy memories. I remember the door being propped open last night. My eyes dart to a bed of flowers next to the front windows. I spot a few rocks among the dirt.

"Poppy?" Bree says, gazing at me suspiciously.

I am standing in the doorway with my fists clenched together.

"Sorry." I shake my head. "Got lost in thought for a minute there."

"Uh-huh." Bree's eyes stay wide as she turns and casually walks into our classroom.

When my eyes wander down the hallway, a burst of adrenaline soars through my chest. My heart starts pounding, and my palms feel sweaty. Part of me is expecting to see something lurking in the farthest corner looking back at me. I lift my chin and think of Grandma Liz.
What would Grandma Liz do?

For starters, Grandma wouldn't let a bossy little tart like Georgina make her feel like she didn't belong. I've worked just as hard as these people. It might not have been in the same subjects, but I've still come a long way to be here. Literally.

Bree and I are not the first students to arrive. Most of my classmates are sitting at the same stations as yesterday. I reluctantly take my spot up front next to Bree and pull open my tote bag. I pull out a pen and my notebook and review my notes from yesterday.

Don't over-sweeten.

Don't over-salt.

Don't call Professor Sellers Mr. Sellers or Stuart.

I read the same notes over and over again until I hear the sound of Professor Sellers zipping up his chef's jacket. He walks to his table at the front of the class with a tray of cupcakes. In most situations, a tray of cupcakes is a good thing – a symbol of celebration or a treat on a special occasion. I remember licking the frosting off of the tres leches cupcakes Grandma Liz made for my sixth birthday party. I almost got away with it too.

Professor Sellers is the only man I've met that can make a sweet thing like a petite, vanilla cupcake look like a punishment.

He sets the tray down and arranges the cakes in a straight line so we can see them all. He pulls out a knife and sets it down on the table. I gulp when he looks around the room, afraid that he might scowl when he sees my face. I didn't exactly make a good first impression with any
of my teachers.

"Today we are going to start with the basics," he announces. His eyes briefly look in my direction. "The
very
basics." He pauses and clears his throat. "Here we have a dozen cupcakes, but they aren't just ordinary cupcakes. I've prepared the cakes and frostings using different consistencies to show you how to manipulate your batter."

He stops and chooses a cupcake. He gently takes his knife and slices it in half, showing us the inside. The frosting looks a little flat compared to the others, and the cake is smaller. I take a deep breath. I can do this. I can bake cupcakes from scratch. I've done it before, and I can do it again. Why didn't we start with this yesterday?

"This is not
an ideal cake," he continues. "Who can tell me why just by looking at it?"

Bree is the first one to raise her hand.

"The frosting looks too thin," she answers. "And the cake looks really dense. Almost like a bread. Most people assume that dense cake is caused by using too much flour, but it actually happens when you use too much of your wet ingredients. We definitely wouldn't sell that in the cupcake shop where I worked back home."

"Exactly right," Professor Sellers agrees.

"And it looks like the cake was still warm when it was frosted," Bree adds. "I've made that mistake myself before."

"You are correct." The professor moves on to another cake. He cuts it in half and holds it up for everyone to observe. "As you can see, the texture of this cake is more like a sponge. The frosting however is too stiff." He moves a piece of frosting with his finger. "See how it creates more and more crumbs when I try to smooth it down? The frosting needs more liquid."

He sets the cupcake down and holds up another one.

"See this one." He peels back the wrapper. "This one has the perfect ratio of frosting to cake. The frosting isn't too sweet, and it's a medium consistency. The cake is also light and airy." He takes a bite of the vanilla cupcake and smirks. "Perfect." He licks his lips and swallows before speaking again. "By the end of the day I expect a dozen cupcakes that look just like this. Turn to page ten in your booklets. You may use any cake recipe you like. Remember that cocoa powder can dry out a cake faster."

"I'll make chocolate and you make vanilla," Bree mutters. "That way we have two flavors when we take the leftovers home."

"Vanilla." I nod. "Okay, I can do vanilla."

"For those of you who did the assigned reading, this shouldn't be too hard." Professor Sellers gives us the okay to start baking. "We will discuss our batters in more detail later. You have one hour to get your batters ready for the ovens. That should be plenty of time." He glances at me as he walks around the classroom.

I open my recipe booklet containing a bunch of basic recipes that we will be using over the course of the program. We all received them yesterday, and I was overwhelmed when I flipped through mine and saw things like crème filled éclairs with a salted caramel drizzle and pistachio encrusted cherry cheesecake.

"Vanilla, huh?" a voice says over my shoulder. I turn and see Jeff grinning behind me. His blond hair is combed back, and his icy blue eyes gleam more than ever in the morning sunlight that is coming in through the blinds.

"Yeah," I reply. "Thought I'd stick to the basics. You know."

Georgina brushes past me and glances at Jeff as he leans on the counter. Her gaze turns sour when it moves to me. She brushes her hair over shoulder and keeps walking.

"I'm sure you'll be fine," Jeff responds, barely noticing Georgina's little once-over. "They're only cupcakes. I'm sure you could do this in your sleep, am I right?"

Jeff's attempt to make me feel better is only making it worse. I have baked cupcakes before but not as often as he has, I'm sure. Cupcakes weren't really something on the menu for me until I left the world of ballet. I bite the corner of my lip.

"I've got this," I say. Whether or not it's true, I choose to believe that it is.

I read over the list of ingredients that I'll need for vanilla cupcakes and gather the things I'll need from the pantry. Bree is already preparing her bowl of dry ingredients. She gently spoons in her cocoa powder, careful not to use too much.

"Hey, Jeff," Georgina says from across the room. Her expression is perkier than usual, and she's sticking her chest out as she waits for him to look up and notice her. "You're a tall guy. Will you grab that mixer for me on the top shelf?"

"Sure." Jeff lightly taps my counter before he walks away to help Georgina.

"Is it just me, or does everyone on our group seem to be single?" Bree whispers. I had no idea that she had been watching Jeff and me the whole time.

"Well,
someone
is definitely on the prowl," I mutter, glancing up as Georgina touches Jeff's arm while she says thank you. "My parents would be ecstatic if I told them I've met someone here. All my mom talks about these days is how she'll never be a grandma."

"My mom is the opposite," Bree says quietly. "She says all men are scum. Of course, she is always referring to my
father
when she says it."

"Since when did it become a crime to enter your thirties without a husband or boyfriend?"

"I guess that makes me a criminal." Bree shrugs.

I concentrate on my batter. I mix my dry ingredients and my wet ingredients in separate bowls before blending them together. I read through my recipe again to make sure I have everything right. I watch Bree scoop her batter into muffin tins. Each tin has the same amount of chocolate batter. I copy her exact movements until I'm looking at the perfect specimen. I show my cupcakes to Bree, and she nods approvingly.

"All you have to do now is make sure they aren't undercooked," Bree comments. "Or overcooked."

"You really think they look good?"

"See." Bree follows me to an open oven. "Yesterday was a total fluke."

I preheat my oven, and Bree finds another one because her chocolate cakes bake at a different temperature. I wait until my oven beeps before sliding my cupcake pan onto the baking rack. I shut the oven door and carefully set my timer.

Georgina snags an oven next to mine. She glances down into my oven and raises her eyebrows. I open my mouth to say something to her – something that might get me kicked out of class, but I decide not to. Over the years, I've learned the hard way that it's better to hold your tongue than lay it all out on the table. Maybe the more I observe Georgina and what makes her tick, the less upset she will make me.

Nah.

Something that makes Georgina tick at the moment is Jeff. Georgina spends a little too much time bending over as she places her pan of batter into her oven. When she stands up straight again she discreetly looks over her shoulder to where Jeff is sitting. He didn't take the bait.

I cover my mouth and hold in a giggle, but it comes out anyway. Georgina's head jerks in my direction and for a split second, her cheeks turn rosy. She glares at me the way she has since the first moment she laid eyes on me.

"Is something funny?" she asks. Her long, blonde ponytail bounces from side to side when she tilts her head.

"Oh, it's nothing."

"A little advice," she continues. Her eyes dart to my oven. "Spend less time flirting and more time studying, and maybe you'll actually have a shot at passing this course."

"Good advice," I reply, walking past her to wait at my station. "But lucky for me, I'm really,
really
good at multi-tasking."

I hurry back to my station before Georgina has the chance to come up with another snotty remark about my famous pie failure yesterday. Bree washes her hands and sits next to me. I open my notebook and begin doodling a picture of a blooming flower.

"Uh, why does Georgina look like she just walked past an outhouse?" Bree whispers.

"I'll tell you later."

I read through my textbook and get caught up on the chemistry behind yeast. Bree reads alongside me, eagerly waiting for her oven timer to go off. As timers chirp, Bree or Georgina jump up and yell the oven number. When Bree's chocolate cupcakes are done I hear her giggle with delight as she pulls them out to cool. I put my head down and read a few more pages before another sound fills the classroom.

But it's not chirping.

"Oh, great!" Professor Sellers runs to the oven where the fire alarm is going off. I see smoke emerging from an oven, and the professor is shouting for someone to grab a fire extinguisher. Jeff and Cole leap out their chairs and run to fetch it.

"We've got to kill this smoke before—" The professor's sentence is cut off by the sound of Georgina squealing. The smoke persists long enough to set off the safety sprinklers. Water pours from the ceiling, forcing everyone to flee from the classroom.