Delightful: Big Sky Pie #3 (4 page)

“So, BiBi,” Bobby said, “we’ll do your interview first this morning.”

BiBi perked right up, but the glint in her eyes sent a shiver down Andrea’s spine.
No telling what she’ll say, given how pissed off she is.

As the thought occurred to her, Andrea caught Bobby and Ice exchanging an almost imperceptible look of glee. BiBi’s resentment was the drama they thrived on, the emotional element that made their pilots sell. Andrea moved into the office, worry tracking her steps. Her own interview was scheduled for sometime today, and she could only imagine what kind of drama they might drag out of her. She wished she could avoid it. She’d already played the fool twice on camera in the past two days.

She spent the next two hours ignoring everything beyond the office door, engrossed in bookkeeping and follow-up calls to potential bookings.

“Molly!” The high-pitched alarm in BiBi’s voice brought Andrea to her feet. She hustled into the kitchen, visions of the day Molly had collapsed in this room racing through her head. But Molly stood near the ovens, looking as startled and clueless as Andrea felt.

“Molly!” BiBi’s voice came again from the hallway. They met her coming out of the cold room, her Crocs awash in dark liquid. She was juggling a dripping cloth as she raced toward the sink. “Something’s wrong with the storage freezer. It’s gushing like a chocolate fountain.”

W
hat are you talking about?” Andrea demanded, but the words
freezer
and
gushing
in the same sentence could only mean one thing. Bad news. Alarm did another turn through her system, slamming home a variety of possible calamities that losing the freezer could mean for upcoming events.

“The big freezer in the cold room is sitting in a puddle of goo,” BiBi said, wrenching on the faucet as she plopped the saturated purple cloth into the deep work sink. She leaned toward the rag and sniffed, wrinkling her nose in disgust. “Smells like rancid fruit juice.”

“Oh, no.” Molly scooted past BiBi, hurrying down the hall. Andrea dogged her steps, a sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach.

Molly muttered, “I knew I should have bought a new freezer, but that darned Charlie Mercer swore this one was refurbished and would outlast the newer models.”

“Maybe it’s not as bad as BiBi thinks,” Andrea said, trying to calm her boss, not liking the high scarlet of her cheeks. Logically, she realized Molly probably wasn’t having heart issues, just that she was heartsick about the possible loss of produce, but despite all the reassurances that the spritely redhead was doing great, Andrea couldn’t stop worrying about her. She supposed it came from how close Molly had come to dying, a reminder Andrea hadn’t needed of how suddenly life could end.

She shook off the thought and realized that, with every step, Molly was bawling herself out. “Why did I listen to Charlie? Jimmy used to say that man could sell bullshit to a cow, and still this old cow fell for a freezer-f of his steaming lies.”

“I’ll deal with Charlie Mercer,” Andrea assured her. Part of her job description included handling salespeople and warranties. “Plus, you have insurance that covers the large appliances and loss of perishable inventory.”

“Insurance can’t replace fresh-frozen fruit from this past summer. I was counting on that to get us through the winter.”

Andrea shut her mouth. Not being a chef, she looked at the fruit as a necessary tool of their trade, a commodity that could be replaced if something like this occurred, like the spilled milk this morning. To Molly, however, fruit was the paint for her artistic talent, the thing that took her pies from ordinary to extraordinary. The quality of the fruit was all-important, not to mention the hours of hard work that would be lost. She didn’t want solutions. She wanted it not to be true.

Molly charged into the cold room first, banging the door against the wall. The space was large, filled with rows of racks with adjustable shelves that held apples, canned goods, and other supplies needed for making pies. A second Sub-Zero took up one wall, and the freezer hugged the opposite wall.

The windowless room was mostly kept in the dark, but the overhead lights were brilliant. Andrea blinked several times as she followed Molly, barely registering the cool temperature. Her attention was riveted on the massive white appliance that stood like a mound of dirty snow in one corner, a tall, upended ice fort that seemed to be melting into a pool of inky liquid.

“Holy crap,” Molly said on a moan as she tiptoed through the puddle and yanked the door open. A gush of juice spilled out, followed by a couple of small, plastic-wrapped packets that cart-wheeled through the air and landed in the liquid, splashing her Crocs and pant legs. Molly let loose a string of profanities that would make a sailor blush, leaping back, slipping on the wet floor.

Andrea caught her from behind, keeping her upright.

Molly shook her off. “I’m okay, dear, but I might need to be bailed out of jail later today for doing bodily harm, or worse, to one fast-talking, jackass appliance dealer.”

BiBi arrived with a bucket and mop. Andrea took them, and Molly sent BiBi back for a large trash container. Molly continued ranting as Andrea swabbed the floor directly in front of the freezer, getting the majority of the liquid, but leaving a smeary, purplish stain on the concrete.

The second she finished, Molly stepped to the freezer and plucked up a limp, drippy package of berries like she might a mouse by its tail, examining it from every angle, shaking her head in disgust. “It’s what I feared. Warm. Ruined. All of it. The freezer has either been out for days or slowly giving up the ghost.”

“Why didn’t anyone notice?” Andrea asked, moving the mop to one side.

BiBi returned with two large, lined garbage pails.

“We aren’t doing frozen berry pies yet.” Molly dropped the package she’d been examining into the closest can, then continued doing the same, clearing the freezer shelves. Cherries, strawberries, blackberries, marionberries, and blueberries.

Andrea thought she heard a soft sob, but from the angle of Molly’s chin and the ramrod set of her spine, she decided she’d imagined it. Although she felt like crying herself.

“Man, this sucks,” BiBi said, hoisting a full pail, her face expressing the same pain as Molly’s. “All the hours we spent cleaning and prepping this fruit…”

Andrea had no words to console either woman. She did the books and ran the café. She didn’t work in the kitchen, hadn’t had any part in preparing the packages now being tossed away, and yet her heart was just as heavy over this loss.

Her first instinct, however, was always to figure out how to fix a problem, not to wallow in the aftermath. That probably went back to those helpless teenage years when her mom was so ill. What she could do about this was contact their insurance agent to get the ball rolling on minimizing the dollar damage. That might not make Molly feel good at the moment, but it would help once she’d calmed down.

A noise behind her brought Andrea shifting toward the row of shelving. She half expected to find that Jane had joined them, but there was no one. And then a movement between the rows of shelving caught her eye. Flynn, camera to shoulder, was filming the whole mess. How long had he been standing there?

He noticed her glaring at him and waved his hand. “Just keep doing what you’re doing. This is great stuff, ladies. Pretend I’m not here. We’ll do some sound bites later.”

No one kept doing what they were doing. Instead, everyone froze, staring at him. He lowered the lens, and Bobby popped up behind him. “Cut. Darn it.”

“How long have you two been standing there?” Molly asked. If looks could kill, hers would have Bobby and Flynn staggering into the shelves and dying slow deaths.

 A bead of suspicion rolled around in Andrea’s head a few times before it clicked. She glanced at the freezer, curious as hell suddenly about what exactly had happened. Had it died of natural causes? Or had it been…murdered? Just how far would these guys go to create drama if none was occurring organically?

And where was Ice? Nothing happened without his hand guiding the wheel of this TV pilot.

“Well, here’s some real-life drama for you,” Molly said, anger in every word. Flynn’s camera flew to his shoulder, its green light glowing. “We’ve lost all of the blueberries for Dean and Betty Gardener’s wedding reception.”

“Oh, no.” Andrea sagged at this news. The reception was two weeks away, the biggest of their upcoming events. Dean and Betty owned a local floral shop, The Flower Garden, and their love story had touched everyone in the pie shop.  They’d wanted to marry as soon as they finished school, but their parents took steps to ensure that didn’t happen.  Betty was sent away, and Dean joined the army. For several years, he was thought to have been killed in action, but he’d been captured and imprisoned.  By the time he returned to the states, Betty was married to someone else, expecting her second child.  When they finally found one another again, they eloped.  But now they wanted to celebrate their marriage with family and friends, and Andrea wanted to make their special day perfect for them, and for Big Sky Pie.  She felt sick.  “Dean and Betty have themed the party around those blueberry pies. Blue flowers, blue tablecloths, centerpieces, outfits.”

This was a major fail.

“You’ll need to call the Gardeners,” Molly said, “explain what happened, and reassure them that we’ll fix it somehow, but there is no way we can do blueberries or blackberries or strawberries now.”

“Seriously,” BiBi said, “it’s not like this is anyone’s fault. Shit happens, you know? I’m sure they’ll understand once you explain it.”

Andrea nodded, but she didn’t share the assistant pastry chef’s confidence. This celebration was too many years delayed for anything to go awry. She wouldn’t blame Dean and Betty if they were too upset to trust Big Sky Pie to find a substitute. What if they hired someone else instead? Word would get around. The shop’s reputation was at stake. Damn.

She didn’t voice her concerns, but she feared Flynn and his camera had caught the worried expression that flashed across her face. He might look young, but that didn’t mean he was naïve or innocent. He filmed reality shows for a living. And she realized that she’d be a fool to underestimate just how good he was at his job.

The question of how good niggled again. Had the young man tampered with the freezer? She scooted past Molly, seeking the wall outlet, needing to know whether or not someone had unplugged the cord. Disappointment jabbed through her. It was plugged in. And the “on” switch was activated inside the unit. But the walls and shelves were warmer than room temperature.

Another thought occurred to her. Unplugging the appliance would point directly to someone being guilty of causing this calamity. How else could a freezer be disabled? Do something to the motor? Sure, but then one of the kitchen staff might have realized it wasn’t running while they were in here getting apples. So what then?

She caught up with BiBi at the outside disposal area. “How did Flynn and Bobby know to be in the cold room to film the cleanup at the freezer?”

Guilt crossed BiBi’s face, quickly followed by a defiant set to her jaw. “My dad used to have his own TV show. I know what makes good TV. When I noticed the mess around the freezer—”

“You told them before letting Molly or me know,” Andrea finished for her.

“So what if I did? You want this pilot to sell, right?”

Andrea couldn’t deny that. She bit back the urge to read the assistant pastry chef the riot act. Going through proper channels wouldn’t have changed the outcome. The freezer was already dead, the fruit already ruined. And starting an argument with BiBi would only fan the fire between them. “Did you notice either of them, or Ice, in or around the cold room in the past couple of days?”

BiBi frowned as she considered the question. “You think one of them did something to the freezer to make it stop working?”

Andrea shrugged, not hiding the suspicion she felt.

BiBi’s eyes were silver-dollar rounds. “Why would they do that?”

“For exactly the same reason you told them before you told Molly about the freezer.”

BiBi gasped. She leaned closer, her words conspiratorial now. “I see. Uh, I did see Ice and Flynn coming out of there the other day, but they said they were just doing interior shots. So I didn’t think anything more about it. Is there some way to prove they did something to the freezer? I mean, if they did?”

“I don’t know. But for now, let’s keep this between you and me. Okay?”

“Of course.” She ran her finger and thumb across her mouth. “My lips are zipped.”

 Andrea wasn’t sure she believed that, but she nodded as though she did. She left BiBi to the cleanup task and headed to the office to call Betty and Dean Gardener, uncertain how to break the news. As she looked up their number, she began to wonder whether or not Freon could be drained from a freezer. She supposed Charlie Mercer could answer that. She looked up his number and dialed.

Digital technology is sick
, Ice thought as he watched the video coming through from Big Sky Pie.
Greatest invention since sliced…pie.
He could view all the action from his hotel room without stepping foot on-site, and all of it was fodder for his script. If they couldn’t get the employees and owners of the shop to bare their claws or expose their flaws, then they’d use any little disaster they could to create audience interest and ensure a following. The repercussions from the failed freezer and loss of the frozen fruit were gold in their pockets.

Network execs only cared about getting sponsors and viewers. Therefore, the content they presented them had to be guaranteed to snag viewers’ long-term interest. And the emotion Flynn had captured in this sequence gave them a real shot at selling this pilot.

If they ever actually got a pilot rolling.

So far it was bits and pieces that needed editing and splicing together for the most entertainment value. Berg excelled at choosing the most titillating clips to splice together. The camera swept across the women as they emptied out the freezer, the dialogue compelling, the expressions on Molly and BiBi’s faces pity-inducing. It was perfect.

But when
her
face filled the screen, Ice froze. Andrea. A walking wet dream. His body responded accordingly, blood flooding into his groin, desire stoking his hunger. The video offered a full body shot, and his gaze tracked over the long legs in patterned cowgirl boots, the hem of her skirt short enough to tease his imagination. And make him harder. Damn. His breathing caught and accelerated, and he realized, more than anything, he wanted a piece of that.

The lens moved in, focused on her face, on that incredible mouth, those intelligent eyes. She seemed to be staring directly at him. For a second, it disconcerted him, but then he understood. She’d realized Berg and Flynn were there, filming the freezer debacle. Her expression said this was not a nice surprise.

Ice grinned. She wasn’t a pushover like that kid BiBi. This woman had been around the block. She would be a handful, and that tantalized. Andrea stared pointedly at the camera, then at the freezer, then back at the camera…a narrow-eyed suspicion spreading through her gorgeous brown eyes. In that instance, it felt as though she were reaching through the lens to grab hold of him by the neck.

That don’t-mess-with-me glint lighting her gaze belonged to a wildcat. Damn, but he’d bet she could scratch it up in bed. No holds barred. Fantasies romped through his head as he dropped his legs onto the ottoman, lifted the Starbucks container of his favorite hot beverage off the end table, and raised it like a toast toward the screen now frozen on Andrea’s image. He imagined her hands on his neck, his face, and destinations farther south. “Any time, sweetheart, just come and get me.”